Chapter 9 - The Chase in the Dark
"We need to leave," Arthur said urgently, pulling a set of car keys from his pocket. "My driver is waiting in the alley behind your garage. Safe house outside of Fort Worth. Now."
"Arthur, stop panicking," I said, though my own pulse was roaring in my ears. "Julian is a coward, not a cartel boss. He's broke, he's disgraced—"
"He's desperate, Elena!" Arthur shouted, his voice cracking. He ripped open the manila envelope on the table and pulled out a single photograph, slamming it down onto the wood.
It was a picture taken less than an hour ago through our kitchen window.
In the background of the photo, standing right outside the glass where I had been sitting ten minutes prior, was a tall man in a dark hoodie, his face half-obscured by the glare of the streetlamp. But I knew that posture. I knew those sloping shoulders.
It was Julian. And he wasn't looking at the kitchen table. He was looking straight up at Noah's bedroom window.
The blood drained from my face. I spun around toward the stairs. "Noah, get back in your room—"
Too late.
The power in the house suddenly clicked off. Every light, every digital clock, every hum of the refrigerator died instantly, plunging the hallway into absolute, suffocating darkness.
Thud.
A heavy impact rattled the back kitchen door, followed by the sickening sound of wood splintering under a heavy boot.
"He's inside," Arthur hissed, pulling a small silver-plated pocketknife from his coat.
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"Mom!" Noah's voice cried out from the top of the stairs, filled with sudden terror.
"Stay back, Noah! Don't move!" I screamed, lunging toward the staircase to reach my son. But before I could take two steps, a heavy hand grabbed my arm from the shadows of the coat closet, yanking me violently backward.
