Chapter 25 – Lance #2
Amber had been suspiciously quiet during our little family reunion, but now she moved back into my line of sight. Her expression had changed. Less manic glee, more focused intensity.
"Father," she said, her voice taking on a professional tone. "We're running out of time. If his team is really out there—"
"Then we escalate," grandfather said calmly. "Find the pressure point that will break him. Find the girl, bring her to me. I’ll kill her in front of him."
That was the only pressure point that could touch me. The realization hit like ice water. If they got Morgan, if they could hurt her while making me watch—
They don't have her. She's with the team. She's safe.
But doubt crept in anyway, cold and poisonous. Because this was my grandfather, and he didn't make threats he couldn't follow through on.
"Ah," he said, reading my face like an open book. "There it is. The fear you've been hiding."
"Your precious wife is quite beautiful," he continued conversationally. "Such lovely skin. Those pretty brown eyes. I can see why you'd want to protect her. Maybe I should see for myself why you want her so badly. Like I did with your mother?"
My hands clenched involuntarily, zip ties cutting deeper. "You don’t get to talk about her. I’ll kill you."
"Don't what? Don't mention how soft her voice is? How she smells like lime and coconut? How she looked in that green dress at Atticus's party?"
He's been watching her. For how long?
"I know more about your wife than you think, Lance. I know she works late at that little co-op. I know she walks alone sometimes, despite all your careful security arrangements. I know she trusts too easily."
“Fuck you.”
"I know," he continued, his voice dropping to that silky tone that had given me nightmares as a child, "exactly how to break her. Now be good and tell me where my money is."
The rage that flooded my system was volcanic. Pure, undiluted fury that made every other emotion pale in comparison. The zip ties strained as every muscle in my body coiled for violence.
"Easy, boy," grandfather said with satisfaction. "There's the passion I remember. The fire that made you such an effective weapon."
I lifted my head, meeting his gaze with everything I had left. "Go. Fuck. Yourself."
Amber's backhand snapped my head sideways, stars exploding across my vision. "Wrong answer," she said pleasantly.
I worked my jaw, making sure nothing was broken. Everything seemed functional. Good.
"You want to know what I find the funniest?" I asked, grinning despite the pain. "Knowing my mother outsmarted you. For fifteen years, you've been looking for evidence that's been right under your nose the whole time."
Grandfather's expression sharpened. "Meaning?"
"Meaning she was smarter than both of us gave her credit for." I let my head fall back, staring at the ceiling. "She didn't just hide the files, old man. She hid them in plain sight."
"Impossible," grandfather said, but I caught the flicker of uncertainty in his voice. "I searched everything. Her belongings, her accounts, her properties. Everything."
"Did you search her jewelry?"
The question hung in the air like smoke. Grandfather went very still, his face cycling through a series of expressions as he processed the implications.
"The ring," he breathed, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Christiane engagement ring."
"Took you long enough," I said. "For a criminal mastermind, you're pretty fucking slow on the uptake."
Another punch had pain exploding in my cheek. "Tick tock, Lancelot," Amber sang, trailing the knife down my arm just hard enough to part skin. Blood welled up in a thin line. "How long can you really hold out?"
As long as it takes.
But even as I thought it, I knew she was right. Pain was cumulative. Blood loss was a factor. And grandfather had proven he was willing to go after Morgan directly if I didn't cooperate.
I closed my eyes, shutting out Amber's eager face and grandfather's calculating stare. Focused on the sounds around me instead of the pain. The hum of fluorescent lights. The distant noise of Marseille traffic. The soft whisper of air through ventilation systems.
Wait.
There, beneath the other sounds. So faint I almost missed it.
Helicopters.
Multiple rotors, flying in formation. Military precision.
That's not search and rescue. That's an assault team.
My heart rate spiked, adrenaline cutting through exhaustion like a blade. They'd found me. Pierce had worked his magic, tracked down this location, and now they were coming in hard.
I opened my eyes to find both grandfather and Amber staring at me with newfound wariness.
"You look pleased about something," Amber observed, knife still poised against my arm.
"Just thinking about how much I'm going to enjoy watching you die," I said pleasantly.
That's when the first explosion hit.
BOOM.
The building shook. Dust rained down from the ceiling, and the fluorescent lights flickered. Somewhere in the distance, alarms started shrieking.
Grandfather's head snapped toward the sound, his composure cracking for the first time since I'd been dragged in here.
"What the hell—" Amber started.
Another explosion, closer this time. The building groaned, steel beams protesting the assault. One of the overhead lights came loose, swinging wildly and casting crazy shadows across the walls.
I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face, despite the blood running down my chin. "That's my cue to tell you both that you're absolutely fucked."
Grandfather's face went pale. "Impossible. This location is—"
"Compromised," I finished.
A third explosion shook the foundation, and this time I could hear gunfire. Rapid, precise, coordinated. Not random noise, a tactical assault.
I could make out distinct weapons, the sharp crack of sniper fire, the steady rhythm of assault rifles, what sounded like Rowan's preferred shotgun. Each sound was another nail in grandfather's coffin.
"Impossible," grandfather breathed, his hand moving toward the gun beneath his jacket. "Security protocols were designed by the best—"
"Designed by humans," I cut him off. "And humans make mistakes."
Amber's knife was suddenly at my throat. "Move and I'll cut your throat," she snarled toward the approaching sounds.
The main power cut out. Emergency lighting kicked in, bathing everything in hellish red. In the strobing crimson glow, Amber looked like something out of a horror movie, blood on her hands, madness in her eyes, the knife trembling against my carotid artery.
Grandfather had drawn a gun, his composure completely shattered now. The distinguished grandfather was gone, replaced by the stone-cold killer who'd built an empire on other people's bones.
And then, cutting through the chaos, I heard a voice that made my heart stop and restart.
"LANCE!"
Morgan.
Fuck.
She was here. In this nightmare. In the middle of a war zone where bullets were flying and grandfather was unraveling and Amber had a knife to my throat.
"Well," grandfather said, raising his gun despite the chaos erupting around us, "unexpected guests."
The knife pressed harder against my throat, and I felt blood start to trickle down.
But instead of fear, I felt something else settling over me. Calm. Cold calculation. The familiar ice-water focus that had made me the French Devil.
I closed my eyes and thought about Morgan's laugh. About the way she felt in my arms when she was sleepy and warm and completely mine. About the future we were supposed to have, kids, chaos, growing old together without the shadow of my family's violence hanging over us.
And then the door exploded inward in a shower of splinters and smoke.