Chapter 92

Chapter 92

The vehicle had been rattling along the bumpy outskirts highway for nearly an hour before finally pulling up at the Fiery Cross headquarters.

Two burly men yanked Beatrice roughly from the car. She stumbled, steadying herself as her fingertips turned white from the strain. Yet she still held her spine straight, her gaze sweeping coldly over her surroundings.

"Don't look so cold, sweetheart." Jacques strode toward her, reaching out to caress her cheek. "Whatever that punk Damien can give you, I can double it."

"Stay with him, and you're just a trophy mistress hiding behind some man. Stay with me, and you'll own the entire Luminous City underground."

Beatrice jerked her head away violently. Meeting his gaze, she spat directly in his face, her voice cold as ice, "In your dreams."

"If you've got the guts, challenge him face-to-face. What kind of coward takes a hostage who has nothing to do with any of this?"

Even now, Beatrice couldn't understand why Jacques had kidnapped her.

Throughout the entire drive, she'd told him countless times that she barely knew Damien.

But he refused to believe her.

The smile froze on Jacques's face. He wiped the spit from his cheek.

The scar twisted along with his contorted expression, his eyes churning with murderous intent.

He seized Beatrice's chin, his grip so brutal it felt like he might crush her bones, forcing her to look up at him, "Nothing to do with him?"

"Everyone in that boutique saw you stay in that dressing room with him for over ten minutes, and you're telling me you're not his woman? You think this is my first time dealing with that rabid dog?"

With his other hand, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number right in front of her, putting it on speaker. The call connected instantly, and a rough, cold male voice came through the receiver—Damien.

"Who is this?"

"Long time no see." Jacques grinned viciously, shoving the phone closer to Beatrice. "How's that wound healing? I thought you'd be laid up in the hospital for half a month. Didn't expect you to be answering calls so soon."

The line fell silent for a moment. Then Damien's voice came through, laced with bone-chilling coldness, "Jacques? What do you want?"

"What do I want?" Jacques grabbed Beatrice's arm, pressing the phone against her mouth. "Come on, say something to your woman. Let him hear your voice. Let's see if he gives a damn."

Beatrice bit down hard on her teeth, using every ounce of strength to shout into the phone, "Mr. Stuart, don't worry about me! He's insane! Whatever you do, don't come!"

Before she could finish, Jacques snatched the phone back, laughing coldly into the receiver, "Hear that? Damien, your woman's in my hands now."

"I'm giving you a chance. Come to my headquarters alone. Not a single person with you. No backup whatsoever."

"If I find out you brought anyone, or if you dare call the cops, I'll chop off one of her fingers every hour. Starting with the left hand. Once I'm done with all ten fingers, I'll move on to arms and legs, until you show up."

The line went quiet for a few seconds. Then Damien's voice came through, so flat and emotionless it was as if he were discussing a complete stranger, "Jacques, you've got the wrong person."

"I barely know her. Just a chance encounter. Can't even remember her name. If you think you can use her to threaten me, you've miscalculated."

Beatrice's heart plummeted. But the next second, she heard Jacques burst into laughter, doubled over, the scar on his face trembling with his mirth, "Don't know her? Damien, you think I'm a three-year-old?"

"You expect me to believe you'd spend over ten minutes in a closed dressing room with a woman you barely know? I don't care if you know her or not. Right now, I've decided—she's Damien Stuart's woman."

His tone turned vicious, each word punctuated as he barked into the phone, "If you don't come, you can wait to collect her corpse!"

"I'm giving you twelve hours. Eight o'clock tomorrow morning. If I don't see you alone at this estate, you'll be fishing her body out of the river!"

No response came from the other end—just the sharp sound of a disconnected call.

Damien had hung up.

In the estate's great hall, Jacques tossed his phone carelessly onto the sofa. His grip on Beatrice's chin tightened further, "Hear that? Your lover says he barely knows you. Let's see if he's got the guts to show up."

Beatrice turned her face away, refusing to look at him again, though her mind churned in chaos.

She knew Damien's claim of not knowing her was genuine.

She also knew that even if Damien truly didn't come, she would never bow to this madman.

Meanwhile, at The Crimson Brotherhood headquarters, Damien gripped the disconnected phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. His face was ashen.

The wound in his abdomen, aggravated by his violent emotions, tore with a searing pain. Blood immediately began seeping through the pristine white bandages.

"Mr. Stuart! Your wound!" Liam rushed forward, trying to tend to the injury, but Damien shoved him away.

His smoke-blue eyes churned with towering fury, the rage in his chest threatening to consume him entirely.

He knew Jacques too well. This lunatic who'd ruled Luminous City's underground for over twenty years was ruthless and always followed through on his threats.

If he said he'd chop off Beatrice's fingers, he wouldn't hesitate.

Yesterday in that boutique dressing room, this woman had been trembling with fear, yet she'd forced herself to stay calm. She hadn't called for help. Hadn't turned him in. She'd even tried to get him medical attention.

For that alone, he couldn't stand by and watch her be maimed or killed because of him.

More than that, Jacques's move had been aimed at him from the very beginning.

Yesterday's attack was Jacques's trap. When he'd failed to kill Damien on the spot, he'd immediately grabbed Beatrice instead, betting that Damien's sense of honor wouldn't allow him to abandon an innocent woman caught in his mess.

"Liam." Damien's voice was cold as ice, devoid of all warmth. "Mobilize every intelligence network we have in Eldoria. Find Jacques's exact location. Now."

"His current manpower, weapons, everything. I want a full report in ten minutes."

"Yes, Mr. Stuart!" Liam didn't dare delay for even a second, turning immediately to carry out the orders.

The room fell silent. John stood to the side, his palms slick with cold sweat.

He'd heard every word of that phone conversation. When Damien had said he barely knew Beatrice, John's heart had sunk straight to the bottom.

Now, watching Damien's pale face, he felt even more uncertain whether this man—who held absolute power over Eldoria's underground—would actually help.

He clenched his fists and stepped forward, bowing deeply to Damien, "Mr. Stuart, I know I have no right to negotiate with you right now. But as long as you can bring Bea back safely, the Williams family will pay any price."

"Whether it's money, business channels in Eldoria, or even every resource the Williams family has back home—name it, and we won't refuse."