Chapter 49 - The Race Home
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I descended the exterior fire escape of the Zenith Casino, moving like a phantom in the shadows of the Mediterranean cliffs. Sirens wailed from the main entrance as local police responded to the gunfire, but I was already slipping through the coastal brush toward the private harbor.
Julian’s syndicate had endless resources, but I had desperation.
I reached the docks, moving silently past the multimillion-dollar yachts until I found exactly what I was looking for: a sleek, twin-engine Gulfstream parked at the end of the private runway, its engines idling as the pilot performed pre-flight checks.
I climbed up the boarding stairs, raising my stolen pistol. The co-pilot turned, his eyes widening in terror at the sight of a barefoot woman in a torn crimson gown covered in blood.
"Get out," I ordered, my voice devoid of any human emotion.
The crew didn't argue. They scrambled down the stairs, hands in the air. I sealed the cabin door, strapped myself into the pilot's seat, and shoved the throttle forward. I had learned to fly during the Vanguard wars, and right now, regulations didn't mean a damn thing.
The jet hurtled down the runway and lifted into the night sky, tearing across the Atlantic at maximum cruising speed.
"Audrey, status," I demanded into my earpiece, engaging the autopilot once we hit altitude.
There was only a terrifying hiss of static.
"Audrey! Respond!"
Nothing. The connection had been completely severed.
For the next ten hours, I sat in agonizing silence in the cockpit. I watched the sun rise over the ocean, the golden light mocking the darkness consuming my chest. Julian Vance had set a masterclass trap. He used the gala not just to capture me, but to pull me across the world so his men could hit the one place I thought was safe.
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If I lost Nicolás, the world would burn. I would personally ensure Julian Vance lived long enough to watch me dismantle everything he loved.
When the jet finally touched down on a private, abandoned airstrip outside Chicago, it was mid-afternoon. I bypassed customs, stole a motorcycle from a nearby farmhouse, and raced toward the city. The storm was here.
