Chapter 4: First Blood
999 Words
Derek didn’t knock. Cross men didn’t knock.
The carved cedar door exploded inward. Wood and iron hinges hit the zellige tile. Three men in black tactical gear filled the archway. Not Derek. His dogs first.
Yvonne was already moving. Sabastian had shoved her behind a pillar when the tires stopped. “Stay down,” he’d hissed. “They’re not here for tea.”
She didn’t stay down. She rolled out, VI-9 up, and put two rounds in the first man’s chest before he cleared the threshold. Center mass. He dropped. The second man turned, muzzle flashing. Tile exploded by her head. She fired again. Head shot. He went down on top of his friend.
The third man was smarter. He dove left, using the fountain for cover, spraying the courtyard. Water and bullets. The doves on the roof scattered, screaming.
Sabastian came over the top of the pillar like something not human. No gun. A knife. He hit the third man mid-roll, blade to throat, and twisted. Blood hit the fountain. Turned the water pink. Cardamom and liars and blood.
Silence. Then groaning from the doorway.
Derek Cross stepped over his dead men. No gun in his hands. Just a smile. The same smile from the proposal. The same smile from her nightmares.
“Jane,” he said. Like they were old friends. “You’re not Jane. You’re smaller. Prettier. You dyed your hair.”
He looked past her, to Sabastian wiping his knife on a dead man’s shirt. “Vance. I should have known. Victor said you were getting bold. Didn’t say you were suicidal.”
“Derek.” Yvonne stood. Kept the VI-9 on him. Her hands didn’t shake. Five years. This was the moment. “Wallet’s on the table. No initials. You lied.”
“I improvised.” He took a step in. “Like you did with the car fire. Cute. Did it hurt? Watching your parents burn?”
She fired. The bullet hit the wall by his ear. Warning. Next one wouldn’t be.
He didn’t flinch. “Still can’t kill me, can you? You loved me, Yvonne. You told me the account numbers. You begged me to take you away from them.”
“I was twenty-two.”
“You were a Lancaster. Rich. Stupid. Easy.” He took another step. “Victor wants you alive. Says you’re the last signature he needs to make Lancaster Holdings disappear forever. Come with me now, and I’ll make it quick. Fight, and he’ll take you apart in a basement.”
Sabastian moved. One second he was by the fountain. Next he was between Yvonne and Derek, knife gone, new VI-9 in his hand, pointed at Derek’s forehead.
“She’s not going anywhere with you,” Sabastian said. Voice flat. Deadly. “She’s Vance equity now.”
Derek’s smile finally slipped. “Equity? She’s a liability. Victor has ten million reasons to see her dead. You can’t protect her, Vance. Your father couldn’t even protect your brother.”
“Elissa,” Sabastian said. The name was a bullet. “You helped kill her too.”
“I watched.” Derek shrugged. “Victor likes an audience. Says it’s good for morale.”
Yvonne saw red. Not metaphorical. Actual red, at the edges of her vision. Five years of running. Five years of Jane. Gone. Burned.
She moved around Sabastian. Fast. Put her gun under Derek’s chin. Forced him to look at her. Really look.
“Where is Victor?” she said. “Right now.”
“Selman. Presidential suite. Drinking champagne. Celebrating your death day.” Derek licked his lips. Nervous now. Finally. “Kill me and you’ll never get to him. He’s got a hundred men. Tanks. He owns the police.”
“Good,” Sabastian said from behind her. “I like it when they’re all in one place. Cheaper to delist.”
Derek’s eyes flicked between them. Calculating. “You two think this is a partnership? He’ll use you, Yvonne. Then he’ll sell you. Vances don’t share. They acquire.”
“Shut up,” she said.
“Make me.”
She didn’t. Sabastian did. He brought the butt of his gun down on Derek’s temple. Derek crumpled. Not dead. Unconscious. Useful.
Silence again. Just the fountain, still running pink.
Yvonne lowered her gun. Her hands were shaking now. Adrenaline crash. Or relief. Or rage.
“He’s right,” she said. Not looking at Sabastian. “Vances acquire.”
“I’m not my father,” Sabastian said. “And you’re not yours. Yours would have run. Mine would have negotiated.”
She turned. “And you?”
“I’m going to burn Victor’s empire down.” He nudged Derek’s body with his boot. “With you. If you’re still in. If not, I’ll do it alone. But it’ll be slower. Less fun.”
Outside, sirens started. Distant. Getting closer. Police. Or Cross men. Same thing in Marrakech.
“Three days just became three minutes,” Sabastian said. He grabbed Derek’s collar and hauled him up. “We need to move. Now. Riad’s compromised.”
Yvonne looked at the dead men. At the pink fountain. At the door hanging off its hinges.
Then at Sabastian, holding her ex-fiancé like a bag of garbage.
“Where?” she asked.
His mouth curved. Not a smile. A leveraged buyout.
“Selman. Presidential suite. Victor’s waiting.” He tossed her a set of keys. “You drive. I’ll navigate. And if we’re lucky, we’ll get there before he knows his son is the controlling interest now.”
She caught the keys. They were warm from his hand.
“Run or fight, Yvonne?” he asked. Same question from before. Different meaning now.
She racked the slide on her VI-9. Chambered a round.
“Fight,” she said.
Outside, Marrakech was awake. Inside the riad, the war just went mobile.
And for the first time in five years, Yvonne Lancaster was driving straight at the man who killed her parents.
- Writer
