Chapter 67 - Blood on the Velvet
The moment the door opened, the contractors reacted with terrifying speed.
"Contact!" one barked, raising a tactical shotgun.
I threw my weight against the sliding door, slamming it forward to deflect the first blast. The buckshot hammered against the reinforced steel, turning the exterior glass port into a spiderweb of opaque fractures.
Clara didn't wait. Dropping low to the threshold, she fired beneath the half-open door, targeting their exposed lower limbs. Two hollow-point rounds found the kneecaps of the lead mercenary, dropping him to the carpeted floor with a guttural roar of agony.
I kicked the door open with all my strength, using the falling contractor as a human shield as the other three opened fire. The interior of the luxury carriage erupted into absolute bedlam. Bullets shredded the mahogany wall panels, shattered decanters of liquor into sparkling rain, and tore the antique upholstery to ribbons.
I shoved my captured sidearm forward over the dying contractor's shoulder, firing double-taps into the center mass of the second gunman. He collapsed backward into a glass display cabinet, pulling a shower of historical artifacts down with him.
The third operative lunged at me with a combat blade, knocking my gun aside. We crashed against the heavy oak conference table, smashing through crystal glassware and leather-bound portfolios. His fingers clamped around my throat, his combat knife descending toward my eye with cold, calculated weight.
From behind him, a deafening shot cracked through the confined space.
The contractor's eyes went wide. A dark circle bloomed on his forehead, and his body went entirely limp, collapsing on top of me like a sack of wet sand.
Behind him stood Clara, her smoking pistol raised, her arm bleeding from a ricochet graze, her eyes burning with maternal fury. Lily stood behind her in the doorway, clutching the floral handbag tightly against her chest.
"Julian, look!" Clara gasped, lowering her weapon.
At the far end of the car, Cynthia Vance had pulled a concealed emergency lever on the carriage bulkhead.
A deafening siren began to wail throughout the train.
May you like
"If I cannot deliver the sovereign heir to the council," Cynthia whispered, her face pale, her lips pulled back in a feral grin, "then no one will inherit."
Beneath our feet, the screech of steel against steel became agonizing. The carriage violently decoupled from the main locomotive.
