Chapter 2 - The Muffled Truth
The leather of the sofa groaned beneath their combined weight as Clara landed hard on her side, automatically curling her legs inward to shield her abdomen and the crying toddler held fast in her arms. The house alarm shrieked continuously—a high-pitched, mechanical scream that echoed off the high ceilings and exposed wooden beams.
"Shut up! Just shut up!" Julian hissed through gritted teeth.
He hovered over her, his hands pinning her wrists down against the soft brown leather. His dark blue sweater smelled of copper and bitter almonds—a strange, unnatural scent that sent a wave of nausea rolling through Clara's stomach.
Outside, the heavy thuds against the glass door intensified. Through the spiderweb of cracks, Arthur was throwing his entire body against the frame, his face distorted by panic and rage.
"Father!" Clara managed to choke out, her voice breaking as she struggled beneath Julian’s weight. "Father, help me!"
Julian’s eyes flashed with a terrifying, manic brightness. He shifted his weight, pressing his forearm across her chest to hold her down, and brought his bare hand down hard over her mouth. His palm was calloused and cold, smelling heavily of chemical solvent. He clamped his fingers tight over her nose and mouth, cutting off her oxygen, pressing her head deep into the leather cushion.
Clara’s world narrowed to the pressure on her face, the rhythmic thud of her own racing heartbeat, and the terrified cries of little Lily, who was trapped beneath her arm, squirming against the leather. Clara thrashing violently, kicking her legs, trying to wedge her knee up to dislodge Julian, but her pregnant body lacked the leverage. Her vision began to spot at the edges with dark, swimming shapes.
"You don't talk to him," Julian whispered directly into her ear, his breath hot and ragged against her neck. "He signed you over to me three years ago, Clara. He took the money. He signed the non-disclosure. You belong to the estate now."
He's lying, her brain screamed through the suffocating darkness. He has to be lying.
Through the haze of her fading consciousness, Clara listened to the physical reality surrounding her. The glass door finally gave way with a thunderous, cascading crash. A spray of safety glass showered across the wooden floor like hail. Cold, autumn air rushed into the warm living room, carrying the smell of wet pavement and damp leaves.
Heavy, rushing footsteps entered the foyer.
"Get off her!" Arthur’s voice boomed, no longer muffled by glass, accompanied by the metallic click of a semi-automatic pistol slide being pulled back. "Julian, take your hands off my daughter or I will put a round through your spine!"
Julian froze. The tension in his arms spiked to a rigid, trembling peak. Slowly, reluctantly, he lifted his palm from Clara’s mouth.
Clara gasped violently, drawing in huge, ragged gulps of air, coughing as her lungs expanded. Tears streamed down her cheeks, burning her skin. She pulled Lily closer, checking her frantic breathing, ensuring the child was unhurt.
Behind them, near the shattered entrance, Arthur stood with his feet planted wide, his silver hair windblown, pointing a dark gray 9mm handgun directly at Julian’s head. His gray overcoat was torn at the shoulder, covered in glass dust.
Julian didn't raise his hands in surrender. Instead, he slowly sat up on the edge of the sofa, leaning his elbows on his knees, staring at Arthur with a mocking, bitter grin.
"You brought a gun to my home, Arthur?" Julian said smoothly, wiping a smear of Clara’s lipstick from the back of his hand. "The police are already en route. The silent alarm tripped the moment you cracked the glass. How are you going to explain being alive to the federal marshals?"
"I don't care about the marshals," Arthur said, his hands surprisingly steady despite his age. "Clara, get up. Walk toward me slowly. We're leaving."
Clara pushed herself up from the leather sofa, her body trembling so violently she could barely find her footing on the smooth floor. She cradled Lily against her shoulder, her eyes darting between the father she thought was dead and the husband who had just tried to suffocate her.
Before she could take a step, heavy boots stomped on the wooden porch outside.
More men.
May you like
Julian’s face snapped toward the hallway, his eyes narrowing in shock as loud, rhythmic knocking rattled the wooden side door leading from the garage.
"Catch her!" Julian suddenly screamed toward the hallway, his voice echoing off the brick accent wall. "Don't let her reach the perimeter!"
