Chapter 7 - Scars of the Past
With the foyer temporarily cleared, we retreated back toward the subterranean junction that led to the safe room to check on my daughters. The air was thick with the acrid stench of spent cordite, copper, and ozone.
As Claire leaned against the reinforced steel bulkhead to reload her magazines, the strap of her tactical vest caught on her torn maid sleeve, pulling the fabric down past her left shoulder. Underneath the tactical gear, a dark, jagged mark stood out against her pale skin—a tattooed insignia of a stylized skull wrapped in silver wings, heavily scorched and partially cut away by scar tissue.
I froze, grabbing her wrist before she could adjust her shirt. "Where did you get that mark?" I demanded, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. "That's the unit crest of the Ghost Vanguard—the black-ops contractor group that handled security for Victor three years ago."
Claire didn't pull away. She looked me straight in the eye, her gaze filled with profound sadness. "I told you I was the surgeon on call the night your wife died, Mr. Vale. What I didn't tell you was why I was in Chicago that night."
She took a slow, painful breath. "The Ghost Vanguard hired me under false pretenses as a medical advisor. I didn't know they were planning an assassination. When the bomb detonated in your wife's car, I realized what they had done. I ran to the wreckage to try and pull her out, but their squad leader shot me in the arm to stop me from saving her. I cut the tattoo out of my own skin the next day and went into hiding."
May you like
She reached out and laid her hand over mine. "I couldn't save your wife, Julian. But I promise you on my life, I will not let Victor take your children too."
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