Chapter 12 - The Strike in the Sun
The assault happened in a fraction of a second.
As Rachel charged across the kitchen, her knife raised high, Julian saw an opportunity to save himself. He lunged forward from the door, aiming to tackle Rachel from behind to win favor with Nora, or to grab the knife for himself.
The collision was chaotic and violent.
Julian’s heavy body slammed into Rachel’s side, throwing her off balance. Rachel screamed in fury, twisting mid-air, bringing the long hunting knife around in a vicious, horizontal arc to clear her attacker.
The blade cut deep into Julian’s thigh.
Julian shrieked in agony, a fountain of dark arterial blood spurting out onto the stark white kitchen cabinetry as he collapsed onto his knees, clutching his leg with both hands. "My leg! God, my leg!"
Rachel scrambled back to her feet, her face smeared with sweat and blood, raising the knife once more to finish Julian off.
BANG!
A sharp, deafening report echoed through the enclosed space of the kitchen, drowning out the sound of Julian's screams.
Rachel froze. Her eyes went impossibly wide. She slowly lowered her gaze down to her chest, where a small, smoking hole had opened in the center of her dark leather jacket.
Behind her stood Nora.
In her right hand, held with a steady, unshakeable grip, was an antique silver-plated revolver—a weapon that had rested inside the hidden drawer of the kitchen island for over forty years, kept loaded and maintained by the Saint-Martin security team.
Rachel coughed, a thin trail of blood trickling from her lips. She looked up at Nora, her eyes filled with shock and disbelief.
"You... you old..." Rachel gasped.
Nora did not let her finish. She pulled the trigger a second time.
BANG!
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The second round struck Rachel squarely in the throat. The assassin dropped like a sack of lead, crashing heavily onto the floor right next to the puddle of spilled orange juice and shattered glass, her knife sliding across the oak boards until it tapped against Chloe’s shoe.
Silence descended over the kitchen once more—a heavy, suffocating silence punctuated only by the wet, ragged gasps of Julian bleeding out on the floor, and the faint crying of Victoria from inside the locked pantry.
