Chapter 19 - The Blood on the Linoleum
I tore off the hem of my midnight silk gown with one sharp pull, freeing my legs for movement, kicked off my high heels, and sprinted bare-foot across the shattered glass and debris of the ballroom floor.
The service doors burst open ahead of me.
I plunged into the bright, stainless-steel corridors of the Drake’s industrial kitchen. The cooks and kitchen staff had already fled, leaving pots boiling and steam hissing across the stainless prep tables.
At the far end of the hallway, Julian was flanked by two massive operatives clad in unmarked tactical plate.
"Block the corridor!" Julian shouted, not even looking back as he kicked open the emergency fire exit leading into the underground loading tunnels.
The two guards spun around, raising compact submachine guns.
I didn't slow down.
I dropped into a baseball slide across the slick, wet linoleum, passing beneath their initial spray of bullets that peppered the hanging copper pots above me with deafening clatter. As my body slid between the first guard's legs, I drove the ceramic blade upward with all my strength, severing the femoral artery beneath his tactical groin protector.
He screamed, collapsing like a felled oak.
The second guard tried to swing his muzzle down at me, but I didn't give him the angle. Using the momentum of my slide, I kicked his planted ankle outward, sweeping him to the ground. Before he could hit the floor, I drew the neurotoxin applicator from my clutch and drove the steel-tipped point straight into the side of his neck.
His eyes rolled back into his head. Within two seconds, his convulsions ceased, his body going completely limp.
I rose to my feet, chest heaving, wiping a splatter of warm blood from my cheek.
The heavy steel fire door at the end of the hall was swinging shut.
I snatched the fallen guard’s submachine gun, checked the chamber, and kicked the fire door wide open, descending into the concrete maze of the hotel's underground service tunnels.
"Julian!" I called out, my voice bouncing off the concrete walls with icy authority. "You wanted to see if I was just a maid! Why are you running?"
Ahead, around the corner of the maintenance tunnel, a shadow darted toward an idling black sedan parked near the subterranean exhaust vents.
I raised the weapon, sighted his leg, and pulled the trigger.
A short, controlled burst tore through the back of Julian's right knee.
He let out an agonized howl, collapsing face-first onto the oily concrete. The briefcase he was carrying flew from his grip, bursting open and scattering files and blueprints across the wet ground.
I walked up behind him, stepping directly on his shattered knee with my bare foot.
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Julian screamed again, clawing at the concrete, his ivory tuxedo ruined with dirt and blood.
"You're very loud for an aristocratic ghost," I said coldly, pressing the warm barrel of the submachine gun against the base of his skull. "Now tell me what you were really looking for tonight."
