Chapter 9 - Blood on the Leather
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The black armored SUV raced south along the rain-drenched curves of Lake Shore Drive.
Thunder cracked across the black sky, illuminating the churning waves of Lake Michigan in violent flashes of white.
Inside the vehicle, the tension was suffocating.
I sat in the back seat, staring down at my trembling hands.
"He's going to kill her, Dante," I choked out, unable to hold back the torrent of grief any longer.
"If we give him the ledger, he kills Clara to tie up loose ends."
"If we don't give him the ledger, he stops her medication."
"There is no winning move."
Dante sat beside me, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles in his neck looked like taut wire.
"Victor Sloane is a creature of leverage," Dante said, his voice vibrating with absolute certainty.
"He doesn't want an exchange, Nora."
"He wants to eliminate the ledger and everyone who has seen it."
"He knows we will never hand it over willingly."
"Which means—"
Before Dante could finish his sentence, a blinding pair of high beams exploded in the side windows.
A heavy, modified industrial tow truck roared out of a darkened cross street, slamming into our front quarter panel with deafening force.
The impact threw me violently across the cabin.
Metal shrieked against metal as the SUV spun across the slick asphalt, tires smoking against the wet pavement.
"Ambush!" Gabriel roared from the front passenger seat, drawing his weapon as the SUV slammed into a concrete barrier and came to an abrupt halt.
Through the spider-webbed, bulletproof glass of the side window, I saw two black vans screech to a halt around us.
A dozen masked men clad in black tactical gear poured into the rain, raising automatic rifles.
"Down!" Dante commanded.
He lunged across the seat, using his massive body to push me down onto the floorboards beneath him.
A hail of high-caliber rifle rounds slammed into the reinforced armor of the vehicle like a violent thunderstorm of lead.
The reinforced glass cracked into white spiderwebs, holding against the onslaught but beginning to buckle under the sustained fire.
"The rear tires are blown!" the driver yelled, drawing his sidearm.
"Gabriel, lay down suppressive fire," Dante commanded with chilling calm, completely unbothered by the chaos erupting around us.
"We move to the drainage tunnel on foot."
Dante reached down, drawing a heavy black semi-automatic pistol from his shoulder holster.
He looked down at me, his face inches from mine in the cramped, shadowy floor of the SUV.
"Stay directly behind me, Nora."
"Do you trust me?"
Looking into his dark, fierce eyes amid the gunfire and shattering glass, I didn't hesitate for a single second.
"Yes."
"Good."
Dante kicked the heavy rear door open with a single, thunderous blow.
The storm raged outside.
Gunfire erupted instantly from the nearest van.
Dante stepped into the rain, firing three precise shots over the hood of the SUV with terrifying accuracy.
Two gunmen collapsed onto the pavement before they could adjust their aim.
Gabriel and our driver burst out the other side, laying down a blistering wall of return fire that forced the remaining shooters to dive behind their vehicles.
"Move!" Dante grabbed my hand, pulling me swiftly through the blinding rain toward the concrete pedestrian underpass leading away from the highway.
I gathered the heavy emerald train of my gown in one hand, running as fast as my heels could carry me across the slick pavement.
A single rifle crack echoed from the overpass above.
Dante violently twisted his body, throwing himself between me and the trajectory of the bullet.
A sickening, wet thud echoed through the air.
Dante grunted, a sharp intake of breath escaping his lips as he stumbled half a step forward.
"Dante!" I screamed, catching his arm.
"Keep moving!" he barked, his voice tight with sudden pain.
He didn't slow down.
He shoved me into the shadowed concrete alcove beneath the expressway bridge just as Gabriel and the surviving team eliminated the last shooter on the road behind us.
The rain poured over the concrete ledge above like a waterfall.
Safe in the shadows, Dante leaned heavily against the concrete wall, his breathing labored and shallow.
I looked down at his chest, and my heart stopped.
The left shoulder of his tailored tuxedo jacket was soaked in deep, spreading crimson.
Dark blood dripped through the torn wool, staining his crisp white shirt and dripping steadily onto the cold concrete below.
"You're shot," I cried, tears mixing with the rainwater running down my face.
"You took a bullet for me."
Dante looked down at his bleeding shoulder, then lifted his right hand to gently cup the side of my wet face.
His touch was remarkably gentle, completely at odds with the violence of the last five minutes.
"A graze," he murmured softly, though the grimace of pain around his eyes told a different story.
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"I told you, Nora."
"No one touches you while I still draw breath."
