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I RUN through the building, my chest tight and my legs burning, but I don't stop. I can't. My head is on a swivel, checking every corner, every shadow, praying no one's following me. My heart's hammering so loud I swear it's gonna give me away.
I'm here for one reason, and I'm not leaving without it. No matter what.
My grip tightens on the small, crappy knife I found—it's barely more than a letter opener, but it's all I've got. My breath comes in short bursts, fear gnawing at the edges of my mind, but I push it down. I don't have time to be scared right now. I keep telling myself that if I just get through this, I'll be okay. We'll be okay.
But deep down, I'm not sure I even believe that.
I sprint down the hallway, my footsteps echoing off the cold, concrete walls. Suddenly, I skid to a stop, my heart slamming against my ribs as I almost lose my footing. I grab the wall, barely catching myself before I fall. My breath comes in shaky gasps as I press myself flat against the wall, forcing myself to peek around the corner.
I catch a quick glimpse—two guards, armed and alert, followed by at least six more behind them. My stomach twists, and I yank my head back, my pulse now thundering in my ears.
Shit, shit, shit. I'm trapped.
I glance down at the small, crappy knife in my hand and groan inwardly.
This thing is practically useless.
Hearing the footsteps get closer, I drop down to the floor, putting all my weight on one leg, the other extended straight out. My hands press flat against the cold surface, my pulse racing as I wait for the right moment.
As soon as I see two pairs of boots step into the doorway, I sweep my leg across the floor, knocking the first guard's feet right out from under him. He crashes onto his back with a heavy thud. I spin around in one fluid motion, quickly rising to my feet, locking eyes with the second guard.
I've got maybe a second before he reacts, but that's all I need.
The guard glances down at his buddy, still groaning on the floor from the hard slam. He doesn't waste a second before snapping his attention back to me, his eyes narrowing as he raises his H&K MP5, the barrel aimed right at my chest.
Shit.
Without thinking, I raise my guard and twist into a spinning crescent kick. My foot connects with his hand, and the gun goes flying, clattering to the floor. He lets out a grunt, clutching his hand with the other, but the jolt from the impact sends pain shooting up my leg.
That kick hurt like a bitch.
But there's no time to focus on that. He's disarmed, and I've got to make my next move fast.
Before he has a chance to react, I lunge forward, landing a sharp jab right into his jugular. His eyes go wide with shock as he stumbles back, clutching his throat, coughing violently. His face turns red as he gasps for air, but I don't give him a moment to recover.
I can't. Every second counts now.
I grab his shoulder and drive my knee hard into his chest, sending him stumbling back, hunched over and clutching his torso. His head hangs low, gasping for breath. But before I can catch mine, I look up to see the remaining four guards at the door, eyes locked on their fallen comrades. Without hesitation, they raise their guns, barrels pointed directly at me.
Damn it.
My heart pounds, but I'm not going down without a fight.
I let out a shaky breath, my eyes darting to the two guards still recovering on the floor. My hands slip behind my back, tucking the useless knife into my back pocket.
"Put your hands up," one of the guards growls, his gun steady, his voice filled with authority.
I glare at him, my jaw clenched, tongue sliding over my bottom lip as I weigh my options. Slowly, I raise my hands, feeling the tension in the room tighten with every passing second. My heart races, but I keep my face cold, showing no fear. Not yet.
The guards don't let their weapons waver for a second. The main guard's eyes are icy, his gaze fixed on me as he nods sharply at the others. "Luis la quiere. Ahora, agarra a la perra," he snaps in a harsh tone.
(Luis wants her, now. grab the bitch.)
Two of the guards approach me, their movements deliberate and controlled, while the other two stay put, guns trained on me. I brace myself, knowing what's coming, but I refuse to show any sign of weakness. The room is thick with tension as they close in, their intentions clear.
Without wasting a second, I pivot slightly so I'm diagonal, hands still raised. I aim a side kick at the guard approaching my left, connecting solidly and sending him stumbling backward. He crashes into the guard who's holding a gun on me.
In a split-second reaction, the gun-wielding guard fires his weapon instinctively, the shot ringing out and hitting the fallen guard squarely in the head. Blood splatters across his face as the guard collapses, the room erupting into chaos.
As I turn to face the second guard, my eyes widen as he levels his gun at me. I instinctively raise my guard, but to my shock, strong arms wrap around my waist from behind, pulling me tightly against him. I struggle and twist, but the grip is unyielding.
A sharp, brutal punch connects with my jaw, making my head snap to the side. Pain flares through me, and I feel a trickle of blood down my chin. Glaring through the pain, I snap my head back to face the guard in front of me.
He's winding up for another strike, but I don't wait. With a burst of strength, I lift my legs and slam my foot into his abdomen. The impact sends him stumbling forward, groaning loudly, his face contorted in pain.
I reach for my back pocket, fighting against the iron grip of the guard holding me. My fingers close around the knife, and with a desperate twist, I swing it backward, driving the blade into the guard's neck.
His grip loosens as he gasps, his strength fading rapidly. Sensing the shift, I clench my fist and pivot sharply. My head connects with his face in a brutal headbutt, sending him reeling back with a pained cry.
I pull the knife free, my breath ragged, and prepare to face whatever comes next, my mind racing with a single focus: survival.
Two down, two to go. I turn my attention back to the first guard, who's staggering to his feet, gasping for breath as he raises his guard. I roll my eyes, my frustration boiling over. With a quick, practiced flick, I throw the small knife.
It flies through the air with deadly accuracy, embedding itself squarely in the center of his forehead. He stumbles, his eyes wide with shock, before collapsing backward.
Three down, one left. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the final confrontation.
I wipe away the stray blood on my chin, though it smears slightly across my skin. My glare locks onto the last remaining guard—the one who ordered me to put my hands up. He's struggling to shove the lifeless body of his comrade off him, his face contorted with both shock and anger.
My heart's pounding, adrenaline surging through me, but I stay focused. This is the last one.
With a forceful thud, he shoves the body off and snatches up his gun, rising to his feet. His glare is filled with pure, unfiltered hatred, but I keep my face calm, my expression unreadable. My eyes track his every movement, not giving him a single edge.
I walk slowly toward him, ignoring the gun aimed right at me. His voice cracks with warning, "Retrocede, perra. No se supone que deba matarte todavía." I ignore him, my steps deliberate, closing the distance. His grip tightens on the gun as he backs up, eyes flickering with uncertainty.
(Get back bitch. I'm not supposed to kill you yet.)
I smirk, then spin—a swift, precise hook kick lands against his face, snapping his head to the side. His guard drops just long enough for me to grab the gun from his hands as he staggers, blood dripping from his mouth. Without missing a beat, I land a sharp forward kick to his chest, making him double over, gasping for air.
No hesitation. I aim and pull the trigger—four shots, clean and final, straight into his face
I pant heavily, my chest rising and falling as I survey the pile of bodies around me. The thick, metallic stench of blood fills the hall, and I can't help but frown in disgust. This place feels like death itself.
Stepping carefully over the lifeless forms, I move toward the exit. The sound of distant shouts and footsteps echo down the corridor, getting closer. I don't have much time. Without looking back, I break into a sprint, already on the run once more. This isn't over yet.
I sprint up the stairs, each step heavy, my legs burning with the effort, but the shouts behind me only fuel my determination. They're getting closer, but so am I. Step after step, breath after breath, I push harder, refusing to stop.
The prize is near. Luis' vault. All I have to do is reach it.
As I reach the top floor, I'm greeted by a gruesome sight—bodies from our earlier escape. Gia, Kai, and I had left a trail of carnage behind, and now the floor is soaked in dark red, a mix of blood and insides strewn across the hallway.
The stench is overpowering, but I push through, barely glancing at the horrors as I charge forward.
Finally, I reach Luis' room. It's just as I remembered—dark, gloomy, almost suffocating with its heavy, oppressive air. A massive balcony looms ahead, overlooking the sea, the cliffs stretching beneath it. The Morroto estate sits on the edge of this deadly drop, and the sound of the waves crashing below echoes ominously in the background.
I scan the room.
Suddenly, my eyes catch sight of a small door tucked away in the corner. Without thinking, I rush over and fling it open. Inside, a cramped closet space greets me, but what really grabs my attention is the safe embedded into the wall, almost hidden on a shelf.
I stare at the digital keypad, my mind racing, trying to figure out what the code could be. Every second feels like an eternity, the sound of footsteps closing in, and I know I don't have much time to crack this. But I didn't come this far to fail.
I frantically punch in multiple digit combinations, each wrong guess making my pulse race faster. Then it hits me—the four-digit code Luis once mentioned. My fingers fly across the keypad, and after a brief pause, the small light flashes green.
A relieved smile spreads across my face as I pull the door open. My eyes widen with joy when I see it—the portrait of Roman's family, nestled safely inside.
I can't help but smile wider, knowing this is what I came for.
This changes everything.
I quickly grab the duffel bag resting inside the closet, gently placing the portrait inside before zipping it shut. Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I bolt toward the door, but freeze as soon as I reach it. Standing in the doorway is Luis, his grin as cold as ever.
Behind him, Elijah and Charlie step into the room, arms folded, watching me with cold, calculating eyes. They block my exit, trapping me in the room with nowhere to run.
I force a smile, my heart pounding in my chest as I look at the three of them standing in front of me. "What a happy family reunion," I say, the sarcasm dripping from my voice.
My eyes lock on Luis, who keeps grinning like he has all the power. The tension in the room thickens, but I keep my composure, knowing that I'm not going down without a fight.
Elijah chuckles darkly, his eyes narrowing as he steps closer. "You know," he says, his voice smooth and menacing, "it's always a pleasure to see someone so eager to play hero. But the thing about heroes is they rarely get to write their own endings." He tilts his head, his smile widening. "And trust me, sweetheart, you're not going to like the script we've got in mind for you."
I smirk and put on a mock-sweet tone, "Oh, adorable! Is this the part where you all twirl your mustaches and cackle maniacally? Because I've got to tell you, your villain game is seriously lacking. I've seen scarier threats in my cereal box. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a priceless painting to save and a dramatic exit to make. So if you could step aside, or at least offer me a cup of tea, that'd be great."
Elijah's smirk slowly fades as his anger takes over, and he steps forward threateningly. But Luis holds him back with a tight grip on his collar, his face still twisted into a menacing grin. Luis takes a step closer to me, his eyes cold and calculating.
"You think you can just waltz in here, play the hero, and walk out with that painting?" Luis says, his voice smooth but dripping with menace. "Veronica, I've buried men for less. You're in my territory now, and I don't take kindly to trespassers. So why don't you hand over that little bag of yours before things get messy?"
I back up slowly, my heart racing, and they follow my every step. I make my way to the balcony, the cold, dark night whipping my hair around my face. The stone railing meets the small of my back as I reach the edge, and I feel the chilly gusts of wind making it hard to focus.
Luis, Elijah, and Charlie follow me outside, their grins wide and wicked in the dim moonlight. The view from the balcony is both breathtaking and terrifying—the cliff dropping away beneath us, the sea churning violently far below. The darkness and the wind add to the looming sense of danger, making it clear that this is the endgame.
"I'm not leaving without this painting," I hiss, clutching the bag tightly against my chest. My voice is steady, though my heart is pounding in my ears.
Luis tilts his head to the side, his grin widening as he takes in my defiant stance. "Well, I guess you won't be leaving at all then," he says, his voice dripping with menace. He pauses, as if struck by a sudden realisation, and his grin turns colder. "Alive, that is." He chuckles darkly, the sound echoing ominously against the backdrop of the night and the roaring sea below.
Without a moment's hesitation, Luis reaches into his jacket and pulls out a sleek pistol, the metal glinting in the dim light. He levels it at me, his gaze cold and unyielding. The shot rings out with a deafening crack, and a blinding jolt of pain erupts in my stomach. I look down in stunned disbelief, watching as the blood pools and spreads rapidly across my clothing, staining it dark red.
The agony is immediate and relentless. As I struggle to comprehend the situation, Luis strides purposefully towards me. He presses his body against mine, his breath hot and sinister against my ear. "Never go against the family, Diabla," he whispers, his voice a chilling blend of mockery and menace. The weight of his words sinks in, heavy and final.
Luis's hands grip my shoulders with iron strength, and with a swift, brutal shove, he sends me stumbling towards the edge of the balcony. The world tilts violently as I teeter on the brink, the pain in my stomach intensifying with every second.
I catch fleeting glimpses of the crashing waves below, their roar growing louder, a cruel reminder of what's to come.
The laughter of Elijah and Charlie pierces through the haze of my agony. Their cruel cackles echo around me as I feel myself falling, the wind whipping around my face and tearing at my clothes. The duffel bag, still clutched tightly in my grasp, feels like the last tether to the life I'm about to lose.
As the ocean's dark, churning waves rush ever closer, I close my eyes, trying to shut out the terror and pain. The finality of the fall overwhelms me, and I brace myself for the impact, hoping against hope that somehow, despite everything, I might still find a way back to Roman.
~~~
CLIFFHANGER! HAHA! 🫵🫵
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~ anya ♡