Part 8: Confrontation in the Crimson Light
I didn't step back. I stood my ground, looking directly into the face of the woman who had tried to destroy my life three years ago.
"You did this to yourself, Isabella," I said, my voice completely steady, projecting a calm I knew would infuriate her. "No one took your life from you. You threw it away the moment you decided your arrogance entitled you to attack a pregnant woman."
"Shut up!" she screamed, lunging forward, the taser crackling with blue arcs of high-voltage electricity. "Where is the girl? Where is Sophia? I saw the schedule! She was supposed to be in the green room backstage!"
A wave of profound relief washed over me. The trap had worked perfectly. Sophia was safe, miles away, completely untouched by this madness.
"She isn't here, Isabella," I said, a cold smile appearing on my lips. "Did you really think I would ever let my daughter within a mile of a convicted felon?"
Isabella stopped, her face contorting into an expression of raw, unhinged fury as she realized she had been completely outmaneuvered. "Then I’ll just have to settle for you," she hissed, raising the weapon and rushing toward me.
But I wasn't the defenseless woman from the hospital suite anymore. For the past three years, alongside my advocacy work, I had trained intensely in close-quarters self-defense with Richard's elite tactical instructors.
As Isabella thrust the taser toward my chest, I sidestepped the movement with fluid precision. I grabbed her wrist, twisting it outward with a sharp, leveraged snap that caused her to drop the weapon onto the concrete floor.
Before she could recover, I drove my elbow into her shoulder, sending her crashing back against the heavy metal catering carts. The carts collapsed with a deafening rattle of silverware and trays.
Isabella scrambled on the floor, gasping for breath, looking up at me with a mixture of shock and terror. She had expected a victim. Instead, she found a warrior.
The heavy steel door at the end of the corridor suddenly groaned as a thermal breach charge detonated, blowing the lock completely off its frame. Marcus rushed through the smoke, his face a mask of absolute terror, followed closely by Richard and four armed tactical officers.
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Marcus reached me in a second, pulling me into his arms, checking me for injuries. "Khloe! Are you okay? Did she touch you?"
"I'm perfectly fine," I said, my chest heaving slightly from the exertion, looking over his shoulder at Isabella, who was already being pinned to the ground by Richard’s officers. "She never stood a chance."
