Chapter 261
[ 497 words ]
Chapter 261:
Caroline pivoted sharply to the right. The blade missed her ribs by an inch. She reached out, her hands moving like lightning, grabbed Rocco’s wrist with both hands, twisted her body, and applied a brutal joint lock.
CRACK.
The sound of Rocco’s wrist snapping echoed off the brick walls.
Rocco screamed in agony. The switchblade clattered to the ground.
Caroline didn’t stop. She maintained her grip on his broken arm, pulled him downward, and drove her elbow violently upward into his jaw.
The bone-crushing impact lifted Rocco off his feet. He flew backward and crashed hard into a metal dumpster, sliding to the ground in a groaning heap.
The last thug froze. He looked at his two massive friends bleeding on the ground. Absolute terror filled his eyes. He turned around to run.
Caroline reached down, grabbed a loose half-brick from the alley floor, and hurled it.
The heavy brick struck the fleeing thug squarely in the back of the head with a dull, sickening crunch. He didn’t even make a sound. His eyes rolled back instantly, and he pitched forward, face-planting onto the concrete like a sack of wet mud, completely out cold.
𝖱𝖾ad 𝗐i𝗍hо𝗎𝘵 iոte𝗿𝘳𝘶p𝘵io𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝗻 𝘨а𝗹n𝗈𝗏𝘦𝘭𝘀.𝖼о𝗆
Thirty seconds. Three men down.
Caroline stood in the center of the alley. She wasn’t even breathing heavily. She dusted off her hands and walked over to Beatrice.
“Can you walk?” Caroline asked coldly.
Beatrice nodded frantically. Tears ruined her expensive makeup. She looked at Caroline not with hatred, but with absolute, terrified awe.
“Let’s go. They have friends,” Caroline ordered.
She grabbed Beatrice by the wrist and dragged the socialite down the alley, sprinting toward the street exit.
They burst out of the alley and onto a dark, narrow side street.
Caroline’s lungs burned. The adrenaline was fading, leaving her muscles screaming in protest.
Suddenly, a black luxury sedan tore around the corner, its blinding high-beam headlights pinning them against the brick wall.
Caroline threw her arm up to shield her eyes. She shoved Beatrice behind her, dropping into a defensive combat stance, ready to fight whoever stepped out of the car.
The sedan slammed on its brakes. The tires screeched against the asphalt.
The driver’s door flew open. A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out quickly.
Caroline was completely blinded by the light. She lunged forward to strike.
She crashed headfirst into a solid wall of muscle covered in expensive silk.
A pair of strong, familiar hands grabbed her shoulders, steadying her instantly. The distinct smell of expensive cologne and faint tobacco filled her nose.
“Caroline?” a deep, shocked voice asked. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Caroline blinked rapidly, clearing the spots from her vision.
She looked up.
It was Aliston Petersen.
The man she had briefly seen at the Romero estate party. One of Washington’s most ruthless and terrifying lawyers.
Aliston was not wearing his usual three-piece suit. He wore a black silk shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, looking incredibly dangerous and completely out of place.
Before Caroline could answer, the sound of heavy boots hit the pavement.
Seven men armed with steel pipes and baseball bats poured out of the alleyway, completely surrounding them.
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