Chapter 6
The harsh red-and-blue strobes of the police cruiser washed over the greasy windows of the diner, painting the interior in flashing ribbons of crimson and azure. Julian stood up so fast his knee slammed into the underside of the table, sending the salt shaker clattering to the floor. Across from him, Marcus remained perfectly still, his face shadowed under the brim of his hat as he smoothly slipped the silver key back into his pocket.
"Don't look at the door," Marcus murmured, his voice laced with absolute authority. "If those cops are on Arthur’s payroll, stepping outside right now is a suicide mission."
"They have Clara in the car," Julian hissed, panic clawing at his throat. "I can't just sit here while Arthur walks up to my daughter."
Before Marcus could answer, the bell above the diner door chimed again. Arthur stepped inside, shaking the rain from his tailored charcoal suit with the casual grace of a man who owned the entire town—which, practically speaking, he did. His silver hair was neatly combed, his tie perfectly straight, and his expression radiated an oily, condescending warmth. Flanking him were two local police officers whose badges gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights.
Arthur didn't even look at Marcus. His sharp, calculating eyes locked immediately onto Julian standing by the corner booth.
"There you are, my boy," Arthur called out, his voice carrying easily across the empty diner. He spread his hands in a gesture of paternal concern, though his eyes remained as cold as winter stone. "Running away in the middle of the night with a traumatized child? What on earth were you thinking, Julian? You're not well. Everyone in this county knows it."
The two officers stepped forward, resting their hands casually on their holstered sidearms. The taller officer, a thick-necked man with a jagged scar over his left eyebrow, eyed Julian’s bruised eye with a knowing smirk.
"Mr. Sterling," the officer said, his tone dripping with false politeness. "We received a call from Mr. Vance reporting a vehicle theft and an abduction. I'm going to need you to step away from the table and place your hands behind your back."
Julian felt a hot rage surge through his veins. He looked past Arthur toward the parking lot, where his dented sedan sat idle under the flashing lights. Through the rain-streaked rear window, he could see Clara’s tiny silhouette stirring in the back seat. She was waking up. She was going to see him cornered, helpless, just like always.
"She's my daughter," Julian said, his voice deadly calm as he took a slow step out from the booth. "You know damn well she isn't abducted."
"She's a minor in distress, and you're unstable," Arthur replied, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper meant only for Julian’s ears. "You broke our wine glass, Julian. You broke the peace. Now you pay the price. Hand over the keys to the car, and maybe I’ll let you say goodbye to her before they take you downtown."
Julian’s hand drifted toward his chest, brushing against the manila envelope hidden inside his shirt. He remembered the photographs. He remembered the blood-stained knife. He remembered Marcus’s warning.
"I'm not going anywhere with you, Arthur," Julian said clearly, locking eyes with his tormentor.
May you like
Arthur’s smile vanished instantly, replaced by a dark, ugly mask of fury. He nodded to the officers. "Take him down."
The tall officer lunged forward, grabbing Julian by the shoulder and slamming him hard against the diner wall, while the second officer drew his handcuffs. But before the metal cuffs could snap around Julian’s wrists, the lights in the entire diner abruptly flickered and died, plunging the room into absolute, pitch-black darkness.
