Chapter 13 - The Reckoning of Spencer Harrington—Stripped of Wealth and Pride
Federal agents and tactical police units surrounded Pier 42 fifteen minutes later, guided by encrypted distress beacons Gabriel had fed directly to the United States Attorney’s office.
Viktor Vane was dragged out in heavy chains, surrounded by federal marshals, facing multiple counts of racketeering, kidnapping, and the unsealed federal indictment for the first-degree murder of Julian Vance.
Spencer Harrington sat on the wet pavement, wrapped in a coarse emergency blanket, weeping hysterically as agents cuffed his wrists behind his back.
I walked up to him, wrapped securely in Gabriel’s heavy wool overcoat, with Gabriel standing tall and silent at my side.
Spencer looked up at me, his eyes filled with pathetic desperation.
“Shantel... please tell them,” Spencer begged, tears and snot running down his face. “Tell them I was forced into this! Tell them I was a victim too!”
I looked down at the man I had once thought was steady, thoughtful, and protective.
“You weren't a victim, Spencer,” I said with icy clarity. “You were a coward who thought women were trophies to be bought, managed, and traded when your debts came due. You will spend the next thirty years in a federal penitentiary, and not a single soul in this city will remember your name.”
Spencer opened his mouth to shout, but an agent shoved him into the back of the police cruiser, slamming the door shut.
Gabriel looked down at me, his hand settling gently at the small of my back—not with Spencer’s painful, controlling grip, but with a steady, protective warmth that grounded my soul.
“Are you ready to go home, Shantel?” Gabriel asked softly.
May you like
I looked up at his handsome, scarred face, feeling a peace I hadn't known in five long years.
“Take me home, Gabriel.”
