The sudden, violent halt threw me over the handlebars.
I tumbled through the air, hitting the rough asphalt shoulder. I rolled three times, my leather jeans tearing against the road, until I slammed into the base of the wooden guardrail.
Silence descended on Crestview Drive, broken only by the ticking of overheated engines and the distant crash of the waves.
I lay on my back, staring up at the blue sky, trying to remember how to breathe. Every inch of my body felt broken.
Slowly, agonizingly, I turned my head.
The Range Rover had stopped exactly four feet from the edge of the cliff. Its side was completely shredded, the metal peeled back like a tin can.
The shattered driver’s side window was kicked outward. Evelyn Thorne crawled out of the wreckage. She dropped onto the asphalt on her hands and knees. The neon red suit was torn to shreds, covered in white dust, black oil, and the dirt of the road. Her perfect hair was wild and matted.
She looked up the hill. The road was empty. Her money was gone. Her power was a complete illusion. The men she hired to protect her had abandoned her to die.
Then, she looked at me.
I was sitting up against the guardrail, bleeding, exhausted, my torn jacket hanging off my shoulders, the faded black dragon exposed to the sun.
Evelyn stared at me for a long time. The arrogance, the contempt, the hollow pride—it all washed out of her face, leaving nothing but the terrified, broken woman underneath. She realized, in that singular moment, that all the money in the world couldn't buy the kind of loyalty and strength it took to put your life on the line for someone who despised you.
She didn't stand up. She crawled across the asphalt toward me.
When she reached my boots, Evelyn Thorne collapsed. She pressed her forehead against the rough, dirty pavement. Her shoulders shook as she began to sob, a deep, guttural sound of absolute shame.
“I’m sorry,” she choked out, her voice broken and small. “I’m so sorry. I am nothing. You saved me... and I am nothing.”
I looked down at the woman who had crushed my wife’s garden. I didn't feel anger anymore. I just felt pity.
“You’re alive, Evelyn,” I said quietly, leaning my head back against the wood. “Start acting like it’s worth something.”
By the time the police sirens wailed in the distance, I was already looking back up the hill. The mercenaries were long gone, fleeing before the authorities arrived. I wouldn't mention them to the cops. The police couldn't catch men like that anyway. But I still had a radio. I still had the network of the Black Dragon. I would deal with the syndicate in my own time, in my own way.
Tomorrow, I would buy new river stones. I would buy new marigolds. I would rebuild the boundary line, exactly the way Sarah had left it. Because some things in this world are worth protecting, and no amount of money will ever be strong enough to crush them.
THE END