Chapter 1 - The Strike of a Mother
The drywall crack was loud enough to echo, but the sound that terrified me more was the sharp intake of breath as I threw my weight forward. Margaret sneered, her fingers hooked like talons, ready to snatch my purse from my shoulder. Ethan stood six feet away, his jaw set in a cold, calculating mask of complicity, ready to catch me if I rebounded.
They had no idea what four years of building a tech agency from a one-room apartment in Charlotte had taught me about survival.
My right heel didn't aim for Ethan’s stomach, nor did it aim for the lock. It drove straight into the antique mahogany side table beside the door, smashing a crystal decanter into a thousand glittering shards that showered the hardwood floor. Before Margaret could shriek, I pivoted, my elbow connecting squarely with Ethan’s solar plexus.
The breath left his lungs in a wet, ragged gasp. He staggered backward, slamming his shoulder into the heavy oak door.
“You crazy bitch!” he choked out, clutching his stomach.
I didn't stop. I lunged past him, my fingers wrapping around the deadbolt lever. I threw it horizontally. The mechanism clicked open just as Margaret’s acrylic nails clawed at the back of my blouse, tearing the silk right across my shoulder blade.
“Ethan, grab her! Don't let her get to her phone!” Margaret shrieked, her aristocratic composure completely shattering into feral panic.
I whipped around, my hand already digging inside my leather tote. I didn't pull out my wallet. I pulled out my pepper spray—the heavy-duty gel stream variety I carried for late-night site visits—and fired a pressurized jet straight into Margaret’s wide, painted eyes.
Her scream split the expensive silence of her foyer. She dropped instantly, hands clawing at her face, howling as the stinging formulation blinded her.
Ethan lunged forward, his face purple with rage, his hand raised to strike.
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“Touch me,” I said, my voice dropping an octave into a register so chillingly calm that he froze mid-stride, “and I will ensure the police find you before you can even wipe your mother’s face.”
I yanked the front door open, the cool night air of Charlotte rushing in to fill my lungs. Without looking back, I sprinted down the flagstone steps, my hand protectively pressed against my belly, knowing the real war had only just begun.
