Chapter 2
Clara Sterling lowered her wine glass, her laughter ringing out clear and cruel across the silent ballroom before dying instantly in her throat. She had expected another pathetic display of submission from Lyra, not an earthquake.
"What is this nonsense?" Clara snapped, looking around at the paralyzed socialites. "Julian, tell your security to clear these freaks out immediately."
Julian did not answer. He stared at the shattered doorway, the leather belt slipping from his fingers to clatter against the marble floor.
A sudden, sharp concussive pop echoed through the grand hall, followed by a wet, tearing sound. Clara gasped, her hand flying to her chest as a spreading star of crimson bloomed across the pristine emerald silk of her designer gown. The heat of the impact stunned her nervous system before the pain could register.
The crystal wine glass slipped from her numb fingers, shattering into a thousand glittering shards against the floor, mixing her vintage red wine with the fresh blood pouring from her thoracic cavity.
"Julian..." Clara choked out, her knees buckling beneath her as she reached out a manicured hand toward the man in the burgundy tuxedo.
Julian stepped back, his face draining of all color, his eyes darting toward the tall arched windows that overlooked the sprawling estate gardens. The glass of every window was reflecting the silhouettes of dozens of armed figures descending from the rooflines on tactical ropes, their black gear blending seamlessly into the rainy night.
Lyra remained kneeling on the floor, her phone still pressed to her ear, listening to the calm, steady breathing of her father on the other end of the line. She did not look at Clara as the woman collapsed face-first onto the wine-soaked marble, gasping for air that her punctured lung could no longer process.
"They're early," Lyra whispered into the phone, her voice completely devoid of mercy.
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The crowd of elite guests surged backward in a blind panic, trampling one another in a stampede toward the service exits, only to find every escape route blocked by impenetrable walls of heavily armed federal agents wearing unmarked matte-black uniforms.
Julian lunged forward, grabbing Lyra by her pink hair and pulling her violently to her feet, pressing the cold steel barrel of a concealed backup pistol against her temple. "Call them off, you ungrateful bitch, or I swear I'll splatter your brains across this floor right now!"
