Chapter 220
Chapter 220:
Eliza blinked. Blood dripped into her eyes. She was hanging from her seatbelt.
“Dallas…” she groaned.
“I’m here. We need to move — possible fuel leak.” She heard the snick of a knife. He cut his own belt and dropped down onto the roof of the car, then crawled to her. His forehead was bleeding, a gash running into his eyebrow.
“Don’t move your neck,” he ordered. He checked her quickly for spinal injury with professional, practiced hands.
“I’m okay,” Eliza whispered.
𝖭𝖾𝗐 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝗇
He cut her belt and caught her as she fell.
He kicked the passenger door. Jammed. He kicked it again, harder. The hinges shrieked and gave way.
He dragged her out into the tall grass. Cool air hit Eliza’s face.
“Up there,” Dallas whispered, pointing toward the road.
A silhouette stood against the dying sun. The truck driver. He had a gun.
Dallas pulled her behind a large rock. “Stay down p>
He reached down and pulled up his pant leg, revealing a holster strapped to his ankle. A gun.
Eliza stared. “You have a gun p>
“I have many things,” he murmured.
The gunman fired blindly down the slope. Bang. Bang. Dirt kicked up near their feet.
Dallas didn’t flinch. He waited, counting.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Click.
Reload.
In that split second of silence, Dallas moved. Not like a hero in a film — no dramatic rise, no silhouette against the sky. He came up just enough over the rock in one fluid, economical motion. He aimed and fired once.
A cry of pain echoed from the road. The silhouette dropped to one knee, clutching his shoulder.
The gunman scrambled back to the truck. An engine roared, tires screamed, and he was gone.
Dallas didn’t pursue. He holstered the gun and turned to Eliza, his hands trembling slightly now that the threat had passed.
“Are you hurt?” He scanned her, hands moving fast.
“My arm…” Eliza winced, clutching her left arm. “It hurts p>
Sirens wailed in the distance. Sentinel had already sent the distress signal.
“We survived,” Dallas said, pulling her into his chest. “We survived p>
The hospital lights were too bright. Everything smelled of antiseptic and fear.
Eliza’s arm was fractured, now encased in a black sling. Dallas had a bandage on his forehead — stark white against his tan skin.
Weston walked into the private room holding a tablet. He looked grim.
“We ID’d the truck,” he said, without preamble. “Stolen plates. But the driver left DNA on a shell casing. He’s a mercenary p>
“Who hired him?” Dallas asked. His voice was ice.
“The Luna family. Specifically, Mrs. Luna. She wants revenge for Dante p>
“She wants a war,” Dallas said, standing. “She’ll get an apocalypse p>
The door swung open and Azalea rushed in, her face pale, her usual composure absent. She pulled Eliza into a careful hug, mindful of the sling. “Are you okay? I heard — it’s all over the news p>
“We’re fine,” Eliza said.
“There’s more.” Azalea looked at Dallas. “The Hyde family — Anson — he’s going after the Lunas too p>
“He’s doing what?” Eliza asked.