Chapter 298
Chapter 298:
The impact was not a crash. It was an explosion — two massive blocks of steel meeting with apocalyptic kinetic force. The heavy bulletproof windshield shattered instantly into a million opaque spiderwebs.
The Suburban’s grille drove into Crawford’s door. The heavy armor plating of the Escalade buckled and tore like cheap tin foil. The entire driver’s side of the cabin collapsed inward with a sickening, metallic crunch.
The shockwave hurled Crawford violently to the right. His chest slammed into the steering column. The sharp, horrific crack of multiple ribs snapping echoed through the cabin. His head whipped sideways, smashing brutally against the reinforced B-pillar.
Blood exploded from his temple and painted the deployed white airbags a bright, horrifying red.
Because Crawford had absorbed the direct impact, June’s side of the car sustained only the secondary rotational force. Her seatbelt locked, driving a violent bruise into her collarbone, and the side airbags deployed, striking her hard across the side of the head.
The Escalade spun wildly across the asphalt, metal screaming against the ground, before slamming into the concrete median and lurching to a dead stop.
Thick, acrid smoke poured from the crushed engine block. The smell of deployed propellant charges and leaking radiator fluid saturated the air.
June’s ears rang with a high-pitched, deafening whine. Her vision swam. She tasted copper.
She forced her heavy eyelids open and turned her head to the left.
Her heart stopped completely.
Crawford was pinned inside a terrifying cage of twisted metal. The steering wheel was crushed against his chest. His left arm bent at a sickening, unnatural angle. His head hung forward, utterly limp, his face obscured beneath a mask of dark blood.
𝗬our 𝗱a𝗶𝗹𝘺 do𝗌e of nоvе𝗹𝘀 o𝗇
He was not moving. He was not breathing.
“Crawford!” June screamed. The sound tore her vocal cords raw — a cry of absolute, primal terror.
She frantically released her seatbelt and reached across the console. Her trembling fingers found his neck, searching desperately for a pulse. It was there, but barely — weak and fluttering, like a dying bird.
Sirens wailed in the distance and grew louder by the second.
June sat in the smoke-filled ruins of the car, his blood covering her hands. Tears streamed silently down her face, hot and uncontrolled, but she made no sound. A single ragged gasp escaped her lips — the only outward sign of the absolute terror shattering her composure from within. He had looked death in the face, and he had chosen to take it for her.
The air in the top-floor boardroom of the Compton Tower in Manhattan was climate-controlled to a perfect seventy degrees, but Cole felt like he was suffocating.
He sat at the head of the massive glass table, listening to the Head of European Acquisitions drone on about market shares. He was not hearing a single word.
Crawford’s voice played on an endless, torturous loop inside his skull. That woman alone possesses an intellectual capital that could easily outscale the foundational assets of the entire Compton Group.