Chapter 170
Kellan and Allison stumbled through the dense forest, the Mafia's reinforcements closing in faster than expected. "Watch out!" Kellan's warning coincided with a cold breeze rustling the leaves, lifting Allison's dark hair. He felt it too—a prickling premonition of danger. His pupils narrowed, and he instinctively pulled her into his arms. They hit the ground, rolling behind a massive tree just as bullets tore into the trunk, splintering the bark.
The thugs were closing the gap rapidly. Moonlight filtered through the thick woods, casting silver slivers across the uneven path. Bushes and branches created a maze of shifting shadows, concealing their movement. The thugs advanced cautiously, their steps deliberate and measured, hesitant to charge without a clear target.
"Spread out. Keep your eyes peeled. Damon and Rugal are dead," a red-haired man ordered coldly. "These two can't be far."
Allison stilled, barely breathing, feeling the reassuring strength of Kellan's arm. Footsteps crunched closer on the dry leaves. The scent of the sea drifted on the cool air. She whispered, "The coast isn't far. There's a boat. If we make it, we can stall until the police arrive." However, from their vantage point, they saw several thugs blocking the route to the coast. They were fanning out, leaving no area unchecked. Discovery was imminent.
"I'll draw them away," Kellan said firmly. "You go take out the guards at the coast. I'll buy you time."
"Okay, wait for me here," Allison replied, her brow furrowed. "And don't do anything stupid." Romantic notions of dying together held no appeal. Risk was their only path forward.
Allison nodded and vanished into the trees, her movements swift and precise. Kellan watched her disappear, feeling not abandoned, but captivated by her competence. He trusted her; Allison always kept her promises. Their bond, forged in harsh circumstances, was unshakeable. In this life-or-death crisis, they were united.
Kellan slowly stood and coughed loudly, "I'm over here!" His voice, though not a shout, carried through the silence. Footsteps rushed toward him from all directions. His hands rose slowly, his expression composed, his eyes unwavering. He was betting everything on her.
Meanwhile, at the coast, a short, red-haired man paced impatiently, flicking ash from his cigarette. He tugged his jacket tighter, irritated by the cold. "I always knew Damon and Rugal were useless, dead or alive," he muttered. "They let a woman slip through their fingers. What a bunch of clowns."
A taller man grunted in agreement, adjusting his rifle. "Yeah, and now we're stuck cleaning up. Think she'll even make it this far?" A rustling noise came from behind them.
"Who's there? Show yourself!" The redhead snapped around, tense, but the trees remained silent. He felt jittery. Turning to leave, he was startled by a thin figure stepping into view—a woman, lit by the moon. Her hair cascaded in waves, her high heels smeared with dried blood. Her clothes swayed in the night air.
"There she is!" The redhead's eyes widened, but his words were cut short. Her hands moved with deadly precision, twisting his neck. It was over instantly. The others quickly aimed their guns. "Don't move!"