Chapter 6 - The Breaking PointThe iron poker spun through the air with lethal velocity.
Julian’s reflexes saved his life by a fraction of a second. He jerked his head violently to the side, and the heavy iron bar slammed into his shoulder with a sickening crack of bone and tearing fabric.
The Walther PPK flew from his hand, clattering uselessly across the polished marble floor and sliding under the antique sideboard.
Julian screamed, clutching his shattered shoulder as he stumbled backward against the open French doors, his face contorted in agony.
I didn't give him a second to recover.
I handed Leo gently to a terrified, weeping Clara—who made no move to run, paralyzed by the horrific reality of what she had helped create—and charged across the room like a freight train.
Before Julian could regain his footing, I slammed my fist directly into his jaw. The impact sent a shockwave of pain up my knuckles, and Julian crashed backward onto the stone patio outside the French doors, blood spraying from his split lip.
I vaulted over the threshold, straddling his chest, and rained blow after blow down upon him, letting five years of phantom grief, agonizing guilt, and absolute torment pour out of my fists.
"You locked him away!" I roared, striking him again. "You stole my life! You stole my son!"
"Arthur! Stop! You'll kill him!" Clara screamed from the doorway, clutching Leo tightly to her chest.
"That's the damn plan!" I yelled back, pulling my fist back for another strike.
Before I could land the final blow, heavy footsteps echoed from the gravel driveway outside. Flashing red and blue lights suddenly painted the stone walls of the courtyard in a violent, chaotic strobe effect.
Clack-clack-clack.
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"Police! Drop your weapons! Hands behind your head!"
Three armed state troopers surged across the patio, their tactical flashlights blindingly bright, weapons drawn and locked on us.
