Chapter 144 Taking the Final Blow
The light in the parking garage flickered, casting long, skeletal shadows across the concrete. I adjusted the weight of Elias in my arms. He was heavy, his breathing shallow and rhythmic against my neck. I could feel the heat of his small body through my silk blazer. Behind me, the elevator hissed shut, the sound echoing like a final breath in the empty space.
I reached the black SUV, my hand trembling as I fumbled for the keys.
"Minerva."
The voice was cold and sharp. I froze. Slowly, I turned.
Penelope Ashcroft stood near a concrete pillar. She wasn't alone. Two men in dark suits stood behind her, their faces expressionless. In her hand, she held a small, black device. A jammer. My phone was useless.
"You really thought a few shares would buy your safety?" Penelope asked. She stepped into the light. Her eyes were hard, filled with a resentment that went deeper than corporate politics. "You humiliated the Whitmores. You destroyed Celeste's future. Did you think we would let you keep the prize?"
I tightened my grip on Elias. My knuckles turned white. "He is a child, Penelope. This is between us."
"He is leverage," she countered. She nodded to the men. "Take him."
I backed away, my heels clicking frantically against the pavement. "Stay away from him."
The men moved with clinical efficiency. They didn't run; they simply closed the distance, cutting off my path to the car. One of them reached out, his hand grasping for Elias’s blanket. I swung my bag at his face, the metal clasp catching him across the cheek, but he didn't flinch. He grabbed my wrist, twisting it until I gasped in pain.
"Let go!" I screamed.
Elias woke up. His eyes snapped open, wide and terrified. He started to wail, a high, thin sound that tore through my chest.
"Mama!"
"I’m here, Elias! I’m here!"
Suddenly, the roar of an engine filled the garage. A silver sedan tore around the corner, its tires screeching as it drifted toward us. The headlights blinded me. The car didn't slow down; it swerved sharply, forcing the men to jump back.
Tristan jumped out before the car even fully stopped.
He didn't look like a billionaire. He looked like a man possessed. His shirt was torn, and his face was a mask of primal rage. He didn't say a word. He lunged at the man holding my wrist, a solid punch landing squarely on the man's jaw.
"Get in the car, Minerva!" Tristan shouted.
I didn't hesitate. I scrambled toward the passenger side of his sedan, shielding Elias with my body. But Penelope wasn't finished. She pulled a small, silver pistol from her jacket.
"Nobody leaves," she hissed.
She leveled the gun at me. My heart stopped. I looked at the barrel, then at my son's tear-streaked face. I braced myself for the impact, closing my eyes and curling around Elias.
The shot rang out.
It was deafening in the enclosed space. I felt a surge of adrenaline, waiting for the cold sting of lead, but it didn't come. I opened my eyes.
Tristan had stepped into the line of fire.
He was standing between me and Penelope. He didn't fall immediately. He stayed upright, his hand pressed against his side. A dark, wet stain began to spread across his white shirt, blossoming like a morbid flower.
"Tristan!"
He turned his head slightly, his face pale. "Go, Minerva. Now."
The men lunged at him again, but Tristan fought back with a desperation that defied logic. He used his body as a shield, taking blows that should have leveled him, simply to keep the path to the car clear. Penelope looked at the blood on the floor, her eyes widening. She hadn't expected him to be there. She hadn't expected him to bleed for a woman he had once discarded.
I threw the car into reverse. "Tristan, get in!"
He threw one last punch, sending the second man reeling against the pillar. He stumbled toward the driver's side, his movements heavy and uncoordinated. He collapsed into the seat, his breathing coming in ragged, wet gasps.
"Drive," he wheezed.
I grabbed the wheel from the passenger side, steering us out of the garage as Penelope fired again. The bullet shattered the rear window, glass raining down on the back seat. I didn't look back. I drove until the garage was a distant blur in the rearview mirror.
Tristan was slumped against the door. His eyes were half-closed. The blood was everywhere now.
"Tristan, stay with me," I pleaded. I reached out, my hand covering his where it pressed against the wound. His skin was cold. "Why did you do that? You idiot, why did you do that?"
"He has... my eyes," Tristan whispered. He looked at Elias, who was trembling in the back seat, staring at the blood with wide, silent horror. "I couldn't... not again."