Chapter 7 - Blood on the AsphaltVance roared in pain, staggering backward and clutching his bleeding, broken nose as dark crimson poured through his fingers.
I didn't hesitate. I scrambled across the floor, grabbed the heavy brass lamp I had dropped earlier, and swung it with a blind, desperate arc, catching him squarely across the temple. The detective crumpled to the carpet like a felled oak, completely unconscious.
"Em! Get up, baby! We're running!" I gasped, sucking in huge gulps of air as I dragged myself to my feet.
Emily scrambled out of bed, her small hand instantly locking into mine. We didn't grab coats, we didn't grab shoes. We bolted out the bedroom door, down the dark, abandoned hallway of the apartment building, and burst through the rear fire exit into the freezing night air.
The alleyway was slick with rain and oil runoff. The city around us was dead quiet, save for the distant rumble of an elevated train.
"Dad, where are we going?" Emily cried, her bare feet slapping against the cold asphalt.
"To the precinct. To someone who isn't on their payroll," I panted, scanning the empty street for a cab or an unlocked car.
Before we could reach the main avenue, a pair of blinding white headlights swept around the corner of the alley, blocking our path. A massive black SUV slid to a screeching halt, spraying gravel across our shins.
The passenger door swung open. Jason stepped out into the glare of the high beams, a heavy iron crowbar dangling lazily from his right hand. His face was twisted into a psychotic, dead-eyed grin.
"Running away from home, slugger?" Jason sneered, taking a slow step toward us. "Bad girls who break the rules don't get dessert, Emily. And fathers who don't mind their own business... end up at the bottom of the pool."
I shoved Emily behind me, raising my bleeding hands defensively, but I knew the math. I was exhausted, injured, and unarmed. Jason was twice my size, holding a weapon, and backed by a corrupted police force.
"You're psychotic, Jason. Vance is already down," I spat, stalling for time while my eyes frantically searched the brick walls for a drainpipe or a fire escape.
"Vance is an idiot," Jason laughed, stepping closer, the metal crowbar scraping against the pavement with a grating, sparks-flying screech. "He thought this was about real estate. He didn't even know what's buried underneath that backyard concrete."
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Jason raised the crowbar, his eyes locked onto my head with murderous intent. "Say goodbye, Michael."
He lunged forward—and right before the iron bar came down, the darkness behind him erupted in a blinding flash of red and blue light.
