Chapter 3 - The Counter-Strike
Julian roared, his face contorted into a mask of pure, murderous rage. He charged forward, his leather-soled dress shoes slipping slightly on the wet marble as he raised the silver knife above his head, aiming directly for the base of James’s neck.
"James, stop lying!" Julian screamed, his voice echoing off the high crystal chandeliers. "You ruined her! You killed her three years ago!"
James didn't turn around until the last possible second.
He felt the displacement of air, the sound of squeaking leather behind him. Without lifting his body off the floor, James reached out with his left hand, shoved Maya gently backward onto a soft pile of fallen linen napkins, and pivoted his upper torso on his right hip.
Julian brought the silver knife down in a lethal arc.
James’s right arm shot upward like a steel spring. His forearm intercepted Julian’s wrist mid-air, blocking the blade three inches from his throat. The impact made a dull THWACK.
Before Julian could recover his balance, James twisted his torso, drove his left palm into Julian’s exposed ribs, and swept his leg across the floor, catching Julian’s ankles.
Julian lost his footing again, his weight shifting forward into empty space.
James exploded upward from his kneeling stance. He stepped into Julian’s turning body, planted his foot, and brought his left fist up from his hip in a short, devastating upper-cut.
The punch landed flush against Julian’s jaw.
CRACK.
Julian’s head snapped back violently. Teeth clattered together, blood sprayed into the sunlight, and the silver knife flew out of his limp hand, spinning across the marble until it struck the base of a white column.
Julian crumpled to the floor like a puppet with its strings severed, falling flat on his back in the center of the dance floor, his eyes rolling back into his head, his chest heaving as he gasped for air through his shattered nose.
Silence fell over the Grand Regent ballroom.
The string quartet had stopped playing. The guests stood frozen around the perimeter of the room, their faces pale, holding their breath as they looked at the dark-haired man in the grey jacket standing over the ruined heir of the Vance estate.
James stood over Julian, his knuckles bleeding, his chest rising and falling in deep, rhythmic breaths.
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He didn't check Julian’s pulse. He didn't look at the crowd.
Slowly, the heavy double mahogany doors at the main entrance of the ballroom began to creak open once again.
