Chapter 6 - The Pawn and the Queen
Kaelen Vance didn't lower her weapon.
Instead, her cold, predatory gaze flicked over Arthur’s stance, analyzing his grip on the shotgun with the trained eye of a seasoned killer.
"You're not going to shoot me, Artie," she purred, her voice shifting effortlessly into the mocking parody of the sweet, submissive girl she had played for two years. "You remember Paris? You remember that little balcony overlooking the Seine where you cried about how much you missed your father?"
Arthur’s hands tightened on the shotgun, his finger resting on the heavy curved trigger.
Every word she spoke was like acid poured directly into an open wound.
"I sat there and held your head against my chest," Kaelen continued, taking a slow, calculated step forward. "I stroked your hair and told you that you were strong. And all the while, I was timing how long it took your private security detail to switch shifts at the front gate."
"Shut up," Arthur whispered, his teeth grinding together.
"You loved me," she mocked, taking another step. "You loved the way I smelled. You loved the way I looked at you like you were the only man on earth. Do you know how hard it was not to laugh in your face every time you told me I was your soulmate?"
"I said, shut your mouth!" Arthur roared.
He fired.
The heavy blast of buckshot tore through the air, but Kaelen was already moving.
She had anticipated his trigger pull, diving horizontally across the marble corridor and rolling behind a massive neoclassical statue of an ancient Roman general.
The buckshot slammed into the marble statue, obliterating the general's arm in a shower of stone dust.
Before Arthur could rack the slide, Kaelen leaned out from behind the pedestal and fired two rapid, suppressed rounds.
The first bullet clipped Arthur’s right shoulder, tearing through his custom tuxedo fabric and carving a burning furrow through his flesh.
The second round struck the barrel of the shotgun, knocking the heavy weapon from Arthur’s grip and sending it skittering across the slick floor.
Arthur cried out, staggering back against the mahogany wall, clutching his bleeding shoulder.
Pain radiated through his arm like liquid fire, but the shock didn't paralyze him.
He dropped behind an antique credenza just as three more rounds punched through the wood where his head had been half a second prior.
"You're out of your depth, little boy!" Kaelen called out, the sound of her footsteps echoing off the marble as she advanced down the hall. "You're a consumer of life. I am a harvester."
Arthur breathed hard, his vision blurring slightly from the pain in his shoulder.
He looked down the corridor.
His shotgun was twenty feet away, lying in the open red glow.
He had no weapon.
He was bleeding out on the floor of the home where he had grown up, hunted by the woman who had promised to stand by him until death did them part.
*Until death,* Arthur thought, his eyes hardening.
He reached inside his inner tuxedo pocket.
His fingers didn't find a gun, but they closed around a heavy, solid-gold heirloom: his father’s vintage pocket watch, suspended by a thick braided platinum chain.
It was heavy, dense, and solid.
He wrapped the chain tightly around his right knuckles, turning the heavy gold timepiece into an improvised, bone-crushing knuckleduster.
He heard her boots stop outside the credenza.
"Any last words for your bride, Artie?" she whispered from the other side. "I’ll make sure to leave a white lily on your casket."
Arthur didn't answer with words.
With a sudden, violent burst of energy, Arthur threw his entire weight against the credenza, shoving the heavy piece of antique furniture directly into Kaelen’s shins.
The sudden impact caught her off balance.
She stumbled backward, her shot going wild and punching a hole in the ceiling plaster.
Arthur surged forward out of the shadows like a wounded animal.
Before she could bring the muzzle down, Arthur drove his chain-wrapped fist straight into her scarred jaw.
The impact produced a sickening, heavy crunch.
Kaelen gasped, her head snapping sideways as blood sprayed from her split lip.
The pistol flew from her grip, clattering across the marble.
Yet, despite the devastating strike, she didn't collapse.
She was a hardened killer who had survived street wars and mercenary black sites.
With terrifying speed, her hand shot out, her thumb driving straight toward Arthur’s injured shoulder wound.
Arthur screamed in pure agony as her fingers dug into the torn flesh, ripping the bullet furrow open.
His vision flashed white.
Kaelen spun him around, wrapping her muscular arm around his throat in a lethal rear-naked chokehold.
"You should have stayed a coward, Arthur," she hissed into his ear, her breath hot and smelling of copper. "It would have hurt a lot less."
The pressure on his trachea closed off his air instantly.
Arthur clawed at her forearm, his heels kicking uselessly against the floor as his lungs burned for oxygen.
Dark spots began to dance in the periphery of his vision.
He could feel the cold weight of the Hawthorne Star sapphire pressed against the back of his neck, still secured in her tactical belt.
*No,* Arthur thought, feeling consciousness slipping away. *Not like this. Not to her.*
With the last ounce of his fading strength, Arthur stopped clawing at her arm.
Instead, he reached up, hooked his fingers into her ear and hairline, and threw his entire skull backward in a desperate, brutal headbutt.
The back of Arthur's head slammed directly into Kaelen's nose.
The sound of cartilage shattering was loud and wet.
Kaelen let out a muffled, choked cry as her grip loosened, her hands flying to her broken, spurting nose.
Arthur dropped to his knees, gasping for air, his lungs pulling in the cold, dusty smoke.
He didn't hesitate.
May you like
He lunged forward, tackling her around the waist, driving both of them through the double glass doors of the grand conservatory.
***
