Chapter Twenty-TwoTHE ARCHETYPES ARE DEAD
“I didn't know you demanded release. I thought you wanted revenge.” The woman biker cop had sworn on Earth to serve and protect. Now she could help someone for possibly the last time.
“Please,” Drake said. “Take the knife from my chest. It hurts and you're the only soul who can release me.”
“What?” she said. “Is that all you want, after all these months of running?”
“Please.”
“You confronted me with a knife. But there was time to negotiate, time to deflect the thrust with a bullet to the arm. I'm an expert markswoman and my aim would have been true. But I shot to hit your arm and the bullet went into your side in my haste, and you fell on your knife and died in blood and urine on the crimson rug. I'm sorry, Drake Dumont.”
“You're the only one
