Chapter 4 - The Grip of an Angel
Before Jolene could fall, a calloused, grease-stained hand clamped around her wrist like a steel vice.
Meredith was lying flat on the steel grating of the walkway, her ribs crushed against the edge of the iron platform. Her other hand was locked around a structural handrail, the muscles in her forearm bulging to their absolute limit under the sudden, violent jerk of Jolene’s falling weight.
"I have you!" Meredith roared, the strain tearing through the ligaments in her shoulder. "Look at me, Jolene! Grab my sleeve with your other hand! Do not look at the floor!"
Jolene dangled forty feet above the ruined staging area, swinging over empty air, sobbing hysterically. But looking up into Meredith’s fierce, unflinching brown eyes, she found a shred of resolve. She reached up with her left hand, digging her fingernails into the thick canvas of Meredith’s jumpsuit.
Below, Kieran’s heart nearly stopped.
The ruthless king of Chicago's underworld, a man who had faced armed hitmen without flinching, felt his knees nearly buckle as he watched his little sister hanging by a thread. For the first time in his life, all his money, all his armed soldiers, and all his terrifying influence were completely useless.
"Get the landing bags under them! Now!" Kieran bellowed, his voice echoing off the concrete walls like thunder. "Move, you cowards!"
His private security team sprang into action, dragging heavy foam staging mats and inflatable rescue cushions beneath the platform, while Bryce stood ready with ropes.
Up above, Meredith refused to let go. Gritting her teeth so hard a trickle of blood ran from her lip, she leveraged her entire core against the walkway railing. Inch by agonizing inch, she hauled Jolene upward.
"Pull!" Meredith cried out, her voice raw.
Jolene found a foothold on a secondary support beam. With one final, desperate heave, Meredith pulled the trembling heiress up onto the solid steel mesh of the platform.
Both women collapsed against the railing, chest-to-chest, gasping for air amidst the smoke and dust drifting from the crash site below. Jolene threw her arms around Meredith’s neck, weeping uncontrollably against the technician's grease-smeared shoulder.
"You're safe," Meredith whispered, her breath ragged as she stroked the girl’s trembling back. "You're okay. The ride is over."
Fifteen minutes later, the municipal fire department finally breached the atrium with heavy mechanical ladders. Working alongside Kieran's private tactical unit, they safely lowered both women down to the ground.
The moment Jolene’s boots touched the marble floor, Kieran broke through the ranks of firefighters, dropping to his knees and wrapping his sister into a fierce, suffocating embrace.
"I'm sorry," Jolene sobbed into his chest, clutching his lapels. "I turned my phone off... I just wanted to be normal for one afternoon... I thought I was dead, Kieran..."
"I have you, Jolene. You're safe," Kieran murmured, his hands shaking as he held her head against his neck. For two long minutes, the underworld boss let down every guard, his face buried in his sister's hair.
When Jolene finally pulled back, she pointed a trembling finger toward the emergency gurney where paramedics were wrapping Meredith’s dislocated shoulder in a sling.
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"She went up alone, Kieran," Jolene whispered, wiping the soot from her face. "Her manager told her to leave me there. She almost fell with the car to pop the lock."
Kieran slowly stood to his full height. The softness in his eyes vanished, replaced by an aura of immense, towering reverence. He turned toward the gurney and walked slowly across the crowded concourse.
