Chapter 75 *

Chapter 75 Chapter 75
Angelina’s POV
Daniel tensed beside me. His hand moved toward his jacket pocket, but I caught his wrist. Shook my head once.
Crooked-nose leaned in closer. "Been a while since we had some fun around here." Crooked-nose licked his lips. "Young thing like her, bet she's never been with real men. Bet she doesn't even know what she's doing."
His friend nodded eagerly. "We could teach her. Show her the ropes, you know?"
"Educational." Slicked-back's grin widened. "We'd be doing her a favor, really."
More people were watching now. The woman in the red dress whispered something to her companion. He smirked.
The businessman took a sip of his champagne and leaned back against the wall. Getting comfortable for the show.
A third man from Trent's crew joined the first two. This one was older, with gray streaks in his beard. "What do you say we show the little girl a good time? Help her understand how things work around here."
More laughter from his crew. Around us, some of guests smirked. Some looked away like they hadn't heard anything at all.
Human nature. Always the same. People loved a show as long as they weren't part of it.
As long as they could tell themselves they weren't responsible.
I let go of Daniel's wrist. Looked directly at the two men in front of me.
"So what you're saying is—you're not letting us leave?"
My voice came out calm.
The slicked-back guy blinked. Then he threw his head back and laughed. "Is this chick serious?"
Trent actually doubled over. He was laughing so hard he had to brace himself against the pillar. "You're fucking dreaming, sweetheart! Let you leave? That's the funniest thing I've heard all night!"
His crew joined in. The whole group of them, laughing like I'd just told the best joke in the world.
I felt something shift inside my head. A switch flipping.
When I was on a job, emotions didn't exist. They couldn't.
In my past life, they'd drilled that into us from day one. The first rule: detachment. You couldn't afford to care. Couldn't afford to feel.
Anger made you sloppy. Fear made you slow. Pride made you stupid.
The moment you let your emotions cloud your judgment, you made mistakes. And mistakes got you killed.
I'd spent years training myself to ignore verbal attacks. Insults. Threats. Humiliation. Someone could spit in my face and call me every name in the book, and I'd just stand there. Blank.
None of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was completing the objective.
Stay focused. Stay calm. Get the job done.
That was why my success rate had been one hundred percent. Five years as the world's most feared Alpha. Hundreds of contracts. Hundreds of targets. Not a single failure.
Because I never let anything interfere with the mission.
But there were lines. Boundaries you didn't cross.
Daniel was my protection target. He was supposed to walk out of here alive and unharmed. That was the contract. That was what I'd been paid for.
These men had just made it clear they wouldn't let that happen.
"I understand," I said quietly.
Trent was still chuckling. "Understand what?"
I let my hands fall to my sides. Started walking forward.
My hands moved. Just a small flip of my wrists.
Two blades appeared in my palms. They'd been concealed under the sleeves of my dress—secured with thin straps around my forearms. Simple. Effective.
I held them in reverse grip. The blades pointing down from the bottom of my fists.
I looked at Trent. At his crew. "I understand," I repeated. "You can all die now."
The slicked-back guy's face went white. "What the fuck—"
I moved.
My body blurred. One moment I was standing ten feet away. The next I was past the first man, blade already sliding across his throat.
The flesh parted like silk. Red spray hit the wall behind him.
He made a choking sound. Wet. Gurgling. His hands flew up to his neck, trying to hold the blood in. Too late.
The carotid artery was severed. He had maybe thirty seconds before he bled out. Less if he kept panicking.
I was already moving to the next target.
Crooked-nose. The one who'd licked his lips at me.
He was faster than his friend. Saw me coming. Started to raise his hands in some pathetic attempt at defense.
Didn't matter.
In my past life, they'd trained us on human anatomy. We'd spent hours studying diagrams. Memorizing Arteries. Organs. Every vulnerable spot on the human body.
Where to cut to cause pain. Where to cut to cause paralysis. Where to cut to kill.
I knew exactly where to strike to make it fast. Clean.
The blade went in under his ribs. Angled up toward his heart. I felt the resistance as it punched through muscle, then the give as it found the organ.
His eyes went wide. Shocked. Like he couldn't believe this was happening to him.
I pulled the blade out and moved on.
No wasted motion. No fancy tricks. Just speed and precision.
The gray-bearded man—the third one who'd made those comments—he was trying to shift now.
But shifting took time. Two, maybe three seconds for an inexperienced wolf. Four or five for someone who didn't do it regularly.
I had his throat open before his transformation was halfway complete.
Screams erupted throughout the hall.
The guests scattered like startled birds. Complete chaos.
A fourth man managed to shift fully. He lunged at me—a massive gray wolf with yellow eyes.
I sidestepped. Let him sail past me, his jaws snapping shut on empty air. The momentum carried him forward. He couldn't adjust mid-jump.
I spun and drove both blades into the soft spot behind his jaw, angling up into his brain. The blades went in smooth. Hit the brain stem.
Instant kill.
He dropped mid-leap. Dead before he hit the floor. His body shifted back to human as he fell—a naked man with two holes in his head and a surprised expression frozen on his face.
The rest of them were trying to shift now. One of them—Slicked-back, the first guy who'd spoken to me—he was screaming while he shifted. Actually screaming. Like that would help him somehow.
I moved through them like water. Smooth. Fluid. Unstoppable.
Blade in, blade out. Throat. Femoral artery. Kidney. Heart.
Every strike lethal. Every movement efficient.
The banquet hall was painted red now. Bodies on the floor. Blood on the walls, the tables, the white tablecloths. The chandelier's light reflected off the puddles, casting strange shadows.
The hall was almost silent now except for some distant sobbing from wherever the guests had fled to.
My dress was ruined. Blood had soaked through the fabric. It clung to my skin, warm and sticky.
I'd need new clothes before we left.
Trent was still standing. So were three of his crew. They were staring at me with eyes the size of dinner plates. One of them was shaking so hard his teeth chattered.
They hadn't said anything during the harassment. That was the only reason they were still breathing.