Chapter 2 - The Breach
I didn't wait for Julian to process my words. I didn't give him the satisfaction of a prolonged standoff. As the heavy rain continued to wash over the pristine marble steps of the Thorne estate, I hit the small, tactile button on the side of my phone—the signal.
Julian chuckled, a wet, arrogant sound. He tightened his grip on the polished ash wood of the baseball bat. "You think you're tough, old man? You think you can just walk up to my house and make demands? My family owns the judges in this county. We own the police. You're nothing but a grease monkey."
He stepped forward, shifting his weight to swing. It was a sloppy, amateurish stance. A man who had only ever used violence against those smaller and weaker than him.
"Julian, enough," Arthur sighed from the doorway, swirling his bourbon. "Just call the police and have the trash removed."
But the bat was already in motion. Julian swung it aimed directly at my ribs, intending to shatter them. He never saw my hands move. Twelve years in the military and a decade dealing with the worst criminals the state had to offer doesn't leave you. It settles into your muscle memory.
I stepped inside the arc of his swing, jamming my left forearm against his wrists to kill the momentum. With my right hand, I gripped the collar of his expensive cashmere sweater, twisted my hips, and used his own forward momentum to send him crashing face-first into one of the massive stone pillars on the porch. The bat clattered uselessly down the stairs.
Julian let out a pathetic shriek, clutching his bleeding nose.
Arthur dropped his bourbon glass, shattering it across the threshold. "You son of a b*tch! I'll kill you!"
Miriam finally lost her composure, screaming for the private security guards.
I stepped over Julian's groaning body and breached the front door. "Where is she?" I roared, a voice I hadn't used since my days in the service. The sheer volume of it seemed to freeze Arthur in his tracks.
I didn't wait for his answer. I remembered the pale hand against the upstairs window. I took the grand, sweeping staircase two steps at a time. The house was massive, filled with expensive art and cold, lifeless furniture. At the end of the second-floor hallway, I saw a heavy oak door. The handle was locked from the outside with a deadbolt.
"Audrey!" I yelled, slamming my shoulder against the wood. It was solid.
"Dad!" a muffled, terrified voice cried from inside. "Dad, please!"
I backed up, planted my boot squarely next to the locking mechanism, and kicked with every ounce of strength I had left. The door frame splintered, the wood groaning before giving way entirely. The door swung open, hitting the interior wall with a deafening crash.
Audrey was huddled in the corner of the lavish bedroom, wearing a torn silk blouse. Her face was bruised, a dark purple swelling around her left eye, and there was a terrifying, hollow fear in her usually bright gaze.
My heart shattered into a million pieces, instantly replaced by a cold, calculating rage. I dropped to my knees, gently wrapping my arms around her trembling frame. "I've got you, sweetheart. I'm here. Nobody is ever going to touch you again."
Before we could move, heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs. Julian appeared in the doorway, his face covered in blood, holding a heavy bronze bookend he’d grabbed from the study.
"She's my wife!" he screamed, spit flying from his lips. "She stays here!"
Before I could position myself to intercept him, the sound of shattering glass and loud commands echoed from the first floor.
"State Police! Drop the weapon! Drop it now!"
My old colleague, Detective Miller, burst into the bedroom, his service weapon drawn and leveled directly at Julian's chest. Two other heavily armed tactical officers flanked him. Julian froze, the bronze bookend slipping from his trembling fingers and hitting the plush carpet with a dull thud.
Miller looked at Julian, then at the broken door, and finally at Audrey cowering in my arms. His jaw tightened. He holstered his weapon, pulled out his cuffs, and shoved Julian hard against the wall.
"Julian Thorne, you are under arrest for domestic battery and unlawful confinement," Miller growled, clicking the steel shut around Julian's wrists.
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I helped Audrey to her feet, wrapping my heavy rain jacket around her shoulders. As we walked past Julian, he was sobbing, demanding his father's lawyers. I leaned in close to his ear.
"This was just the beginning," I whispered.
