Chapter 15 - The Fall of the Architect
Margaret shrieked—a raw, inhuman scream of fury and fear—as Thomas Cole crashed into the dirt, clutching his shattered shoulder. Blood welled between the mercenary’s black tactical gloves.
"Cole! Kill him! Shoot him!" Margaret screeched, frantically retreating behind the trunk of a fallen pine tree, her aristocratic composure completely shattering into manic terror.
Cole was a professional killer; he didn't panic. Rolling onto his good side, he swept his submachine gun toward the ridge, spraying a deafening burst of automatic fire through the foliage. Tree bark splintered around Daniel’s position, forcing him to duck behind a granite boulder.
"Emily, RUN!" Daniel roared over the gunfire.
Emily didn't hesitate. Adrenaline surged through her injured leg, numbing the pain. Clutching Grace with a death grip, she scrambled down the steep embankment toward the rushing waters of the roaring creek below.
Margaret watched her granddaughter slipping away and lost her mind completely. Abandoning Cole, she scrambled through the mud and brambles after Emily, her manicured nails clawing at the earth like talons.
"Give her to me!" Margaret screamed, sliding down the wet embankment. "She is my legacy! You are NOTHING!"
Emily reached the rocky edge of the creek, the icy mountain runoff churning white over jagged stones. Her sprained ankle buckled beneath her weight, and she collapsed hard onto the wet pebbles. Grace tumbled into the mossy bank, crying out in terror.
Before Emily could push herself up, two cold, bony hands seized her by the hair, violently yanking her head backward.
Emily gasped as Margaret pinned her shoulders against the sharp river rocks, her gaunt face twisted into a demonic sneer. Margaret snatched a heavy, jagged river stone in her right hand, raising it high above Emily's temple.
"You should have died on that balcony two years ago!" Margaret spat, saliva spraying on Emily’s cheek. "I’ll finish it myself!"
"Leave my mommy alone!" a tiny voice shrieked. Little Grace, barely three years old, lunged forward and bit down hard on Margaret’s wrist.
Margaret cried out in disgust and swung her left arm, backhanding the toddler into the shallow water.
Seeing her daughter struck awakened a primal, terrifying beast inside Emily. All fear vanished, replaced by an incandescent, motherly rage.
"DON'T YOU TOUCH HER!" Emily screamed.
With all the strength left in her body, Emily drove both of her knees upward into Margaret’s chest. The impact knocked the breath from the older woman's lungs, sending the heavy stone flying into the rapids.
Emily rolled on top of Margaret, grabbing the front of her designer sweater, and slammed her down onto the frozen gravel. For two years, Emily had been the victim—the broken girl who fell from the balcony, the terrified mother hiding in the orchard. But not today.
Emily drew back her fist and struck Margaret across the jaw with savage, unyielding fury.
Margaret gasped, blood pooling in her mouth, her eyes widening in genuine, paralyzed terror as she stared up into the eyes of the woman she had tried twice to destroy.
"You're not a matriarch," Emily snarled, her voice deadly quiet, inches from Margaret’s bleeding face. "You're just a monster."
A sudden splash made Emily turn. Thomas Cole was limping down the bank, his sidearm raised in his left hand, aiming straight at Emily's skull.
"Back off, girl," Cole coughed, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips.
Before Emily could move, a figure crashed out of the woods behind Cole like an enraged bull.
It was Julian.
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Julian, who had tracked them through the woods, hurled his entire body weight into the mercenary. The two men tumbled violently into the freezing, deep rapids of the gorge.
A gunshot went off underwater with a muffled *thud*.
