Chapter 412
The sharp crack of a neck snapping echoed through the kitchen, a chilling sound that lingered in the tense air. The screams that followed bled faintly through the ship’s intercom, clawing at the nerves of everyone who heard them. A creeping dread settled over the crew, and they no longer felt like hunters closing in on their prey, but quarry themselves, stalked by an unseen, relentless phantom.
The intercom continued to carry their agonized cries and the grim updates from the kitchen, each message a blow to morale. So many men failing to subdue a single woman gnawed at Ronan’s composure, stirring an edge of fear he hadn’t felt in years. His voice rasped with unease as he barked orders, “Idiots! She’s using the terrain to pick you off one by one! Stop acting alone, stay together, or you’ll all end up the same!”
Facing a whole group head-on wasn’t Rylie’s strength, but isolating targets, dismantling them one after another, was where she thrived—the silent art of an assassin perfected.
She darted swiftly through the ship’s narrow cabins, making deliberate appearances on security cameras to bait them into pursuit. The men, now on edge, moved with heightened caution. They never left their backs or overheads exposed and advanced only in tightly packed groups of four or five, refusing to wander off alone.
This slowed Rylie’s assault, forcing her to abandon immediate strikes. She cast a quick glance out the window at the dense fog that still clung to the sea, deciding to wait for the right moment. Slipping silently into the storage area, she buried herself deep among a stack of wooden crates, disappearing into the shadows.
Time crawled forward as the relentless search dragged on. Flashlights cut through the darkness, beams sweeping every corridor, while men armed with rifles scoured every corner for a trace of her. By midnight, frustration and fatigue weighed heavy on them, yet none dared lower their guard. They knew that one moment of carelessness could see them ending up like the others, dead without a sound.
In the bedroom, Ronan assembled the squad leaders, the tension in the room so heavy it felt suffocating. Every face was dark with unease as the truth settled over them—it had all been a setup from the beginning.
“So, Rylie’s been playing us this whole time?” one man muttered, his voice tight with disbelief.
“And the billions she promised — just another lie? How the hell did she even rope Deandre into covering for her? None of this adds up.”
Another man turned toward Ronan, frustration edging his tone. “Mr. Boyd, didn’t you swear Marsha would never turn on you? You said you had enough dirt to keep her on a leash.”
A third man glanced nervously toward the fog-shrouded windows. “What if the navy’s been sitting out there this whole time, just waiting to swoop in and drag us all to prison?”
“This was all planned from the start!”
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