Chapter 5 - The Sanctuary of Iron and Stone
The ride in the back of the armored Maybach was smoother than anything Molly had ever experienced, though she barely felt the suspension.
She sat huddled in the corner of the plush leather backseat, her arms wrapped tightly around her bruised ribs, staring blankly out the bulletproof tinted window as the city lights blurred into streaks of gold and neon. Across from her, stretched out across the entire width of the rear cabin with his massive head resting heavily on a folded cashmere overcoat, was Brutus.
The mastiff was breathing steadily now, an IV drip secured to his front leg by a quiet, professional medic who sat unobtrusively in the jump seat, monitoring heart monitors and saline bags with military efficiency.
Victor Sterling sat in the opposite corner. He hadn't spoken a single word since they left Blackwoods twenty minutes ago. He simply watched Molly with those cold, fathomless ice-blue eyes, his expression unreadable.
“You’re not going to take me to a police station,” Molly whispered finally, her voice raspy and dry.
“If I took you to a police station, Officer Miller would have to explain why his department’s payroll is funded by my logistics firm,” Victor replied, his voice deep and resonant in the quiet cabin. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a silver flask, unscrewed the cap, and extended it toward her. “Drink. It’s un-aged rye. It will help with the shock.”
Molly hesitated, then took the flask. The fiery liquid burned all the way down her throat, but the sudden heat loosened the tight, terrifying knot in her chest. She handed it back.
“Why did you do that?” Molly asked, looking down at her scuffed, cheap shoes.
“Do what?”
“Come for the dog. And... and ruin a four-million-dollar engagement dinner over a server nobody cares about.”
Victor’s gaze drifted down to Brutus, whose tail gave another weak thump against the floor at the sound of his master’s voice.
“Brutus isn't just a dog, Miss Lane,” Victor said quietly. “Three weeks ago, an attempt was made on my estate in the North End. A rival syndicate tried to poison my perimeter security grid. Brutus took two rounds to the shoulder, killed one of the intruders, and dragged himself into the woods so the trackers wouldn't find the family quarters. Some scumbag working for the Burroughs real estate syndicate picked him up along the highway, thinking they could hold him for ransom or use him to send a message.”
Victor looked back up, his eyes locking onto Molly with an intensity that made her pulse spike.
“And you,” Victor continued. “You didn't know who he was. You didn't know who I was. You were working a minimum-wage job where you are invisible, and yet you risked your life—and took a direct blow from that vicious animal in the red dress—to keep him from dying on a kitchen floor.”
“I couldn't just leave him there,” Molly said simply. “Nobody deserves to die alone on a cold tile floor.”
Victor was silent for a long moment. He reached out, tapping a button on the privacy partition between the cabin and the driver.
“Marcus,” Victor said into the intercom.
“Yes, Mr. Sterling?”
“Has the Burroughs acquisition audit cleared?”
“Just wrapped it up five minutes ago, sir. We own seventy percent of their commercial debt. Their primary accounts are frozen as of midnight.”
“Good,” Victor said coldly. “Foreclose on every single property they hold by sunrise. And draft a warrant for Dylan Burroughs’s arrest under federal racketeering statutes. Make sure he spends the night in holding block 4.”
“Right away, sir.”
May you like
Molly’s jaw dropped slightly. She stared at Victor, realizing with sudden, dizzying clarity that the man sitting across from her didn't just have money—he held the entire infrastructure of the state in the palm of his hand, and he had just dismantled a billion-dollar family dynasty because someone had dared to hurt his dog.
And she was sitting in his car.
