Page 110 of Rescuing Aria
“They underestimated my training.” He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t need him to. The unconscious guard we left behind in the cell tells enough of the story.
“My implant’s transmitting.” He taps behind his ear where Guardian operatives have tracking devices embedded. “Delta team is already en route. They should be?—”
The building shudders suddenly, the concrete floor vibrating beneath our feet. In the distance, I hear what sounds like an explosion.
“That would be them.” Jon’s grim expression breaks into a slight smile.
“Your team has perfect timing.” Relief washes through me.
“Delta team is clearing the building,” Jon explains, checking the fallen guards’ weapons and pocketing extra ammunition. “We need to head for the main entrance. They’ll secure an extraction path.”
We move toward the sound, Jon now more confident in our path. The alarm continues its relentless wail, but beneath it, there’s gunfire. Controlled bursts, professional. Delta team making their entrance.
We move quickly through the corridors, Jon taking point, the girl and I following close behind. The sound of fighting grows louder—professional, coordinated assaults meeting desperate resistance.
“Almost there,” Jon encourages as we reach a service stairwell. “Up two flights, then across the main foyer.”
We ascend rapidly, the girl struggling to keep pace after years of malnutrition and abuse. Without a word, Jon slows, offering her his arm for support. She hesitates, then accepts, her wary eyes showing surprise at this simple act of human decency.
At the top of the stairs, Jon pauses, listening. “Delta is in the building,” he says with certainty. “I recognize Jenny’s breach pattern.”
He eases the door open, peering into what appears to be a grand entrance hall. The opulence of the upper floors is a stark contrast to the utilitarian spaces below—crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and priceless artwork lining the walls. All of it built on suffering.
“Clear,” Jon whispers, waving us forward.
We move swiftly across the open space, heading for the massive front doors that stand partially open. Freedom is meters away.
“Aria!” My father’s voice cuts through the chaos. He stands at the top of the grand staircase, a gun in his hand—the same one he took from Wolfe’s dining room. Blood soaks his left side, but his aim is steady.
“You’re not leaving,” he says, his voice eerily calm despite the madness in his eyes. “You belong to me.”
Jon pushes me behind him, weapon raised. “It’s over, Marcus. Delta team is here. You’ve lost.”
My father’s laugh is hollow, unhinged. “Lost? I never lose, Mr. Knutt. I simply adjust the parameters of acceptable outcomes.” The gun shifts, aiming not at Jon or me, but at the nameless girl. “Drop your weapon, or I put a bullet between her eyes. One worthless life to secure what’s mine.”
The girl freezes, terror rendering her immobile. After everything—the knife, the escape, the hope of freedom—to be reduced once again to a bargaining chip. A disposable object.
“I don’t belong to anyone.” I find my voice. “Especially not a murderer.”
Confusion and then rage flicker across my father’s face. He’s not used to direct defiance from me.
“Don’t be foolish, Aria. Get over here now, and I’ll let them live.” Rage flashes across his features. “Everything I’ve done has been for you. For your future.”
“You’re a monster and a liar,” I tell him, my voice steady despite the fear churning inside me. “You’ve always been a liar. You lied about my mother. You lied about your business. You’ve lied to me my entire life.”
“I protected you from uncomfortable truths. There’s a difference.” His expression hardens.
“No, there isn’t,” I counter. “Truth is truth. And the truth is, you’re a monster. You kill people you deem worthless. You killed my mother when she threatened your precious company. And you’d kill me too, if you thought you couldn’t control me.”
“Don’t be dramatic,” he dismisses, but the gun wavers slightly. “Everything I’ve done has been for you. For your future.”
“For yourself,” I correct. “Always for yourself.”
“I’m a visionary,” he corrects, his tone shifting to something almost reasonable. “You’ll understand someday. After we’re away from these—influences.” His gaze shifts to the nameless girl cowering behind me. “Leave the trash behind. She’s nothing.”
The casual cruelty—the absolute certainty of his superiority—ignites something in me. Years of careful obedience burn away, replaced by a rage as pure as it is righteous.
“She has more worth in her little finger than you have in your entire being,” I tell him, stepping forward despite Jon’s attempt to keep me behind him. “She survived. She helped me. She’s brave and human and decent—everything you pretend to be but aren’t.”
