My 8-year-old daughter interrupted my sister’s $luxury wedding with a silver flash drive, and when the groom demanded to see what was on it, my sister screamed, “TURN THAT MIC OFF!”—but the voice that filled the ballroom changed everything. / Chapter 97 / 100

Chapter 97 - The Rage of a Mother

Something inside me snapped.

Every ounce of fear, every shadow of trauma from the past eight years, every ounce of Arthur Vance's poisonous legacy that had hung over my head since childhood evaporated, replaced by a pure, volcanic fury that set my veins on fire.

I pushed myself up from the cold water, ignoring the warm blood trickling down into my left eye. My hand swept across the floor, closing around the heavy, serrated combat knife Evelyn had dropped during the scuffle.

The mercenary who had struck me turned, raising his sidearm, but I didn't give him the chance to level it. I lunged forward with everything I had, driving the heavy steel blade upward beneath his tactical vest, piercing straight through the soft tissue below his ribs.

The man let out a wet, strangled gasp, his eyes bulging behind his ballistic goggles. I twisted the handle with feral strength and shoved his massive body violently to the side, sending him crashing into the second operative who was trying to pin Evelyn down in the smoke.

Julian heard the commotion and whipped around, his eyes widening in shock as he saw me charging toward him through the red strobe light, blood dripping from my face, the knife dripping red in my hand.

"Stay back, Claire!" he shouted, pulling a snub-nosed revolver from his inner coat pocket and leveling it directly at my chest.

I didn't stop. I didn't even slow down.

"You touch my daughter again," I snarled, my voice sounding like something wild, "and I will tear your throat out with my bare teeth."

Julian pulled the trigger.

*BANG.*

The bullet tore through my left shoulder, spinning me half-a-turn with the impact of a sledgehammer. The pain was blinding, a white-hot iron rod shoved through my muscle, but the adrenaline surging through my body completely overrode the agony.

I kept moving.

Before Julian could cycle a second shot, I closed the distance, throwing my entire weight against him. We slammed against the cold steel face of the vault door with a bone-jarring crash. The gun went flying out of his hand, skittering across the floor into the murky water.

Julian brought his hands up, trying to throttle my neck, his fingers digging into my windpipe with desperate strength. "You're dead, Claire! The whole family is dead!"

I drove my knee into his groin, breaking his grip, and slammed the heavy hilt of the combat knife across his temple once, twice, three times, until his knees buckled and he collapsed into the stagnant pool at our feet, his face bloody and his eyes rolling back into his head.

Panting, gasping for air, I stood over him, my chest heaving, the blood from my shoulder soaking through my shirt.