Chapter 8 - THE BLOOD TRAIL.
Our command center was a sprawling underground bunker beneath the city.
Monitors lined the walls, tracking every known associate of my husband's family.
My father handed me a suppressed pistol, its heavy metal frame grounding my racing thoughts.
"They are holding her at a private airfield on the northern border," he informed me.
My mother had brokered a deal with them, trading my daughter for a seat at their table.
She had sold her own flesh and blood to the very people who had tried to discard me.
I loaded a fresh magazine into the weapon, the sharp click echoing in the concrete room.
"We leave immediately," I ordered, taking command of the strike team.
May you like
No one questioned the pregnant woman covered in dried blood.
They only saw the fire burning in my eyes.
