Chapter 59 A Narrow Escape
While Norman’s back was turned, I struck.
Crack.
Herman Altair’s neck snapped in my hands. So simple...so long overdue.
Norman turned around sluggishly at the loud sound, a crystal decanter of amber liquid in his hands.
Thud.
The rich scent of aged whiskey spiked the air, soaking into the Persian carpet.
I closed the distance between us and closed my hand around Norman Altair’s fat neck in a flash.
He lifted both hands shakily into the air.
Air rattled through his chest, his eyes wide with terror.
"Don’t! Please— is it money you want? You can have it..." Norman rasped out with difficulty.
I kept my grip firm around his throat, ready to snap it instantly so that he could join his son underground.
They could share a funeral.
I removed the dark mask from my face and smiled.
The terror on Norman Altair’s face turned into something solid.
"Emmanuel..." he breathed.
The thrill of satisfaction it gave me was almost enough to put a tremor in my hands.
"Pity that you spilled the whiskey. I was looking forward to that toast," I said mildly.
A toast to your death, this time.
"Emmanuel, my son..." The look of frozen terror on Norman’s face suddenly melted into a watery smile.
"Now I am your son, am I?" I tightened my grip slowly, watching his face turn red.
"My— my—" he spluttered, eyes bulging out. "You understand— I did not mean it—it was not what I wanted."
My grip continued to tighten, until he began to flail against my arms, causing a sharp flare of pain when he hit my shoulder, but I did not falter.
"I’ll make you my heir!" he managed to cry out, wheezing.
I laughed.
I did not relax my grip, though I could not resist a glance to the slumped body of Herman Altair on the Persian carpet. So much for fatherly love.
"You are— you are— my only son now— but you’ll get nothing if— I don’t change the will—"
"I will have everything you have ever owned," I promised. "I do not need your inheritance. I will take it."
Norman could not speak anymore. His face was turning purple, his feet kicking against the carpet.
Just a few seconds more...
Without warning, the wooden double doors behind me opened.
"Sorry to interrupt, sirs— your morning tea service—"
SMASH.
The butler dropped his tray of delicate china tea service.
"Guards! Guards!" he shrieked.
Footsteps thudded down the hallway.
I cursed.
Releasing Norman Altair, I grabbed hold of the brass floor lamp and smashed in the tall window, jumping through it onto the front lawn.
The entire estate was lighting up in flashing lights.
A car skidded across the grass.
Dover threw open the passenger door.
I got in. The car pelted towards the gates.
"Get him!"
"Kill him!"
"Don’t let them get away!"
Two of my men in the assassin uniforms rolled down the windows and returned fire as the car drove straight up to the barrier.
The guard at the gate had barely looked up before a bullet found his forehead. We forced our way through the gates, Dover driving in a snake-like swerving path to avoid the shots that followed us.
——
"That was the closest fucking chase of my life. I need to sleep for a week."
Dover slumped against the steering wheel when we finally made it back to the Tower after changing cars several times to throw off our tail.
"You can," I said. "You have well earned it. Thank you."
"Successful?"
"Partially."
I had been too cocky, I thought, regret sitting low in my stomach. I should have snapped his neck in the first instant.
Desire had that way of creating mistakes, where cold rationality would never fail.
I wanted him to see me when I killed him.
I wanted him to know it was me.
Perhaps I wanted to hear what he would say, whether he would beg for mercy from the child that he had thrown away. Now that I heard it, it was not particularly satisfying. Only his blood would satisfy my need for vengeance.
"A grand success," said Simon. "I can’t believe we’re still alive.
"Your information was most useful." I turned to look at him. "How would you like to work for me?"
The assassin pulled at one corner of his mouth.
"An opportunity I can’t say no to," he said with dry irony.
"You won’t regret it," Dover said. "Wait until you hear about the health insurance."
——
I turned the doorknob and let myself into Lara’s room. I needed to see her, needed to see with my own eyes that she was still there. Still safe.
Like the last time I had come here, Lara was asleep in her bed.
Unlike last time, her sleep was not peaceful.
She tossed and turned, tiny whimpers escaping under her breath. A nightmare.
I sat down beside her and shook her shoulder lightly.
"Lara..."
"No! No!" she cried out, jerking upright.
"It’s me," I said, and then immediately pressed my lips together.
That was hardly going to make her any calmer, when I was practically the Devil in her eyes.
"You were dreaming," I said instead. "You’re safe. It wasn’t real."
Her gaze finally focused on me, her breaths shaky.
"Emmanuel..." her voice wavered, close to a sob. "It was that man in the tunnel...he asked me why I killed him...why..."
She was afraid of having pulled the trigger on a man who would never have walked out of that tunnel anyway. I could not share the sentiment. No one I had ever killed dared to haunt my dreams.
I pulled her into my arms and stroked down her spine in what I hoped was a soothing manner.
"Tell him to bring such questions to me," I told her softly. "It was me that they were trying to kill. My fight. My burden. You may put your mind at ease."
Lara sniffed, her shaky breaths slowly returning to something more even.
She laid her head on my shoulder.
A second later, she pulled back, pressed her hand to her mouth, and gagged.
"You still smell like blood..." she complained, muffled.