Chapter 5 - A Threat in the Clinic
Before Emma could respond to Julian’s outrageous claim, the heavy double doors of the private office rattled.
A commotion broke out in the outer lobby. Shouting echoed through the hallway, followed by the dull thud of a body hitting a drywall partition. Marco immediately pulled his Glock from beneath his coat, stepping in front of Emma, while Julian’s posture shifted instantly into lethal combat mode.
“Stay behind the desk,” Julian told Emma, his voice dropping into that chilling, icy calm.
The office doors splintered open.
Four men in tactical windbreakers burst into the room, their weapons raised. Leading them was Silas Drake—a brutal, thick-necked syndicate boss who had terrorized Bellmont’s south districts for over two decades. Drake had a silver crew cut, eyes yellowed from whiskey, and a jagged scar splitting his lip.
“Julian!” Drake sneered, pointing a suppressed automatic pistol straight at Julian’s chest. “You thought blowing off my sit-down would go unanswered? You think you can hand over my river docks to the feds and drink whiskey in your penthouse while my men scatter?”
Julian didn't flinch. He didn't even raise his hands. He stood tall, looking at Drake like an annoying housefly that had buzzed into his study.
“Your docks were running human trafficking under the guise of electronics, Silas,” Julian said coldly. “I told you three years ago: you touch people in my city, and I give your coordinates to Homeland Security. You should have stayed in Gary, Indiana.”
Drake’s eyes flicked to Emma standing behind the desk, her face pale but her jaw set firm. A vile grin spread across Drake’s face.
“Who’s the girl, Jules? Another high-society toy? No... look at those sneakers. A working-class little pet.” Drake raised his weapon toward Emma. “Let’s see how cold you look when I blow her pretty little head across your mahogany desk.”
Everything happened in less than two seconds.
Julian moved faster than human reflex seemed to allow. He closed the gap between them in a blur, his left hand catching Drake’s wrist and driving it upward as the silenced gunshot tore into the ceiling plaster. In the same motion, Julian drove his elbow into Drake’s temple with sickening force.
Bone cracked. Drake let out a muffled scream, stumbling backward.
The three gunmen raised their rifles, but Marco opened fire from the flank, dropping two of them to the floor with double-taps to the center mass. The third gunman lunged at Julian with a combat knife, but Julian caught the man’s throat, slammed him against the glass wall with enough force to spiderweb the reinforced pane, and drove a vicious knee into his ribs until the man collapsed limp onto the floor.
Drake lay on the Persian rug, clutching his shattered jaw, blood pooling between his fingers.
Julian stood over him, breathing evenly, adjusting his cuffs as if he had just finished an afternoon tennis match. He reached down, picked up Drake’s dropped firearm, ejected the magazine, and racked the slide to clear the chamber. He tossed the empty gun onto Drake’s chest.
“Marco,” Julian said calmly.
“Yes, Boss?”
“Call Commissioner Vance. Tell him Silas Drake is gift-wrapped in my penthouse with six warrants for federal kidnapping. If the paddy wagon isn't here in ten minutes, I throw him off the balcony.”
Marco nodded and dragged the groaning men out through the private elevator doors.
Silence returned to the high-rise. The scent of gunpowder and ozone hung thick in the air.
Emma stood behind the desk, her heart pounding so hard she felt dizzy. She had seen trauma victims, car wrecks, and emergency surgeries, but she had never witnessed such raw, terrifying violence executed with total surgical efficiency.
Julian turned to her. For the first time, his gray eyes carried a flicker of dread. He looked down at his bloodstained knuckles, then at Emma’s wide eyes.
“You’re terrified of me,” he whispered, keeping his distance. “I understand. You heal people. I break them.”
Emma swallowed hard. She walked around the desk, stopping right in front of him. She reached into her canvas bag, pulled out an alcohol prep pad from her nursing kit, ripped the foil open, and gently took his bruised, bloody right hand into hers.
She wiped the blood from his knuckles with practiced, tender care.
“You didn't break them to be cruel, Jules,” Emma said softly, looking up into his eyes. “You broke them to protect me. Just like you protected this city from their poison.”
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Julian closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling as her small, gentle hands tended to his skin. For twelve years, he had been a monster to everyone in Bellmont.
Only to her was he still the boy in the snow.
