Chapter 17 - The Wreckage
The suppressed gunshot blew a spiderweb of shattered glass across the sedan’s reinforced partition, narrowly missing Jasper's head. The confined space filled with the acrid smell of burnt gunpowder. Jasper twisted the man's wrist brutally, utilizing a desperate, animalistic strength he hadn't known he possessed since his days in the prison yard.
The car was entirely out of control, accelerating rapidly down a desolate, rain-slicked industrial avenue. The rogue cyber-hack had locked the accelerator to the floorboard.
"We're going to crash!" the driver shrieked, frantically ripping at the locked door handles.
Jasper drove his elbow hard into the assassin’s face, shattering his nose. The man cried out in agony, dropping the pistol onto the floor mats. Jasper scrambled backward, pressing himself flat against the leather seats, bracing for the inevitable impact.
At eighty miles an hour, the hijacked sedan missed a sharp curve, vaulted over the concrete median, and smashed head-on into a massive, steel-reinforced stanchion beneath the elevated highway.
The world exploded into a terrifying symphony of crunching metal, shattering glass, and deploying airbags.
Jasper was thrown violently against the seatbelt, the sheer kinetic force driving all the air from his lungs. The cabin filled with thick, white chemical smoke from the airbags. For a long, terrifying moment, the only sound was the hiss of the ruptured radiator and the frantic, rhythmic blinking of the hazard lights.
Jasper groaned, his vision swimming with dark spots. He unbuckled his seatbelt with trembling hands and kicked violently at the rear passenger door. The frame was warped, but the electronic locks had failed upon impact. The heavy door groaned and popped open.
He spilled out onto the wet, freezing asphalt, coughing violently as the rain washed over his face. He looked back into the wreckage. The driver was completely motionless against the steering wheel. The man in the topcoat was slumped against the shattered partition, his neck bent at a horrific, unnatural angle.
Jasper was the only survivor.
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He leaned against the cold concrete pillar, clutching his bruised ribs. Victoria had orchestrated this. She had built a digital trap so absolute, so ruthless, that it had physically reached out and crushed the men trying to steal from her.
He looked at the burning wreckage of the mobile command center. The manila envelope with the fake passport and the offshore account numbers was gone, consumed by the flames. Jasper was bleeding, stranded in the industrial district, and technically guilty of violating his parole by leaving his designated zone. He had absolutely nothing left to lose.
