Chapter 170 Crisis at Sea
Chapter 170 Crisis at Sea
Sophia forced herself to calm down, suppressing the terror clawing at her chest.
Fear wouldn't solve anything—she had to save herself.
She made muffled sounds through the gag, twisting her body to indicate she wanted to speak.
The tattooed man frowned, apparently seeing her as nothing more than a lamb for slaughter. He gestured for the stocky man to remove the cloth from her mouth.
Once the gag was out, Sophia gulped down the cold, briny air, her throat dry and aching.
She lifted her head, and despite her pale complexion and disheveled hair, her eyes remained sharp as ever, locking onto the tattooed man—clearly the one calling the shots.
"How much are they paying you? I'll double it—no, triple it! Name your price for my life."
She cut straight to the point, her voice hoarse from oxygen deprivation and tension, but carrying unmistakable gravity.
The tattooed man was momentarily stunned, then sneered, his yellow teeth particularly repulsive in the dim light. "Well, well, loaded little princess, aren't you? Too bad we're in the reputation business. Besides, if we let you go and piss off the big shot who wants you dead? We'd like to live a few more years."
Sophia caught the wariness in his words and let out a cold laugh. "You're already pissing off a big shot! Do you think Henry will let this slide if you kill me? He'll hunt down every last one of you and everyone behind you, and tear you all apart. You know exactly what the Windsor family is capable of!"
Her words hit home with the stocky man, whose face went even paler. He tugged nervously at the tattooed man's sleeve. "She's right. We can't mess with Henry."
A flicker of uncertainty crossed the tattooed man's face before being replaced by viciousness. "Shut up! If we let her go now, our employer will kill us anyway! We're dead either way!"
"Employer? Clara?" Sophia precisely dropped the name, watching the tattooed man's reaction carefully. When she saw his pupils contract slightly, her confidence grew.
"How much did she pay you? Is it worth betting your life and your family's lives? She's acting like a madwoman, dragging you down with her! If I die now, you're just her disposable pawns, the first ants Henry will crush! But if you let me go now, I can guarantee Henry won't come after you, plus I'll give you enough money to take your families and disappear, start fresh somewhere new!"
Sophia's fingertips were white from tension, her words rapid but logically clear. "I know you're just in this for money. Whatever Clara paid you, it can't buy you peace for the rest of your lives. Your families, friends—as long as they're still in this country, they'll be found eventually. But I'm different. I keep my word. I can have Henry transfer a deposit to your accounts right now, with the rest paid in full once I'm safe. Plus, I'll help arrange your escape route out of the country so you can stay out of trouble forever."
"Guarantee? What guarantee can you give us?"
The tattooed man's eyes flickered, clearly tempted but still suspicious.
He unconsciously touched the bank card in his pocket—Clara's advance payment of half a million dollars. But suddenly, against the picture Sophia was painting, that money seemed insignificant.
Money was useless if you weren't alive to spend it.
"Because I'm the woman Henry has chosen! Don't you have any idea what he'd do for me?"
Sophia's tone was decisive. "You can choose to trust a desperate woman with nothing left to lose and her empty promises, then spend the rest of your short lives running from Henry. Or you can take the money, avoid the trouble, and get a real chance at survival. Your choice!"
The stocky man wavered completely. "She's got a point, man. Clara's going down anyway, we don't need to..."
Just then, the tattooed man's phone shrilled piercingly.
He glanced at the caller ID, his expression shifting as he walked to a corner to answer.
"Yeah? I know, stop pushing! Almost there—we're nearly at the drop zone!" he growled impatiently, clearly with Clara pressuring him.
Clara's voice was shrill through the phone, audible even from a distance to Sophia—threats about what would happen if they didn't finish the job quickly.
After hanging up, the tattooed man's eyes hardened, apparently, Clara's pressure triggering his violent instincts, or perhaps his distrust of Sophia's verbal promises overrode his reason.
He shouted at the stocky man, "Don't listen to her bullshit! Do it! Throw her overboard! We're running out of time!"
The stocky man hesitated, wanting to argue.
"Listen to me!" The tattooed man brooked no argument, and together with the hesitating stocky man, roughly dragged Sophia up from the deck toward the cabin door.
On deck, the wind was fiercer, ice-cold and cutting like knives.
The black ocean surface was like a silently roaring beast, churning with white foam, bottomlessly deep.
"Whatever Clara paid you, she's using you! If I die, you'll never get out of this alive!" Sophia struggled with all her might, screaming at the top of her lungs in one last desperate attempt.
Cold sea spray hit her face, bringing the chill of death.
Her gaze swept across the distant horizon, silently praying Henry would find her quickly.
The kidnappers' grip tightened, the rope cutting deeper into her wrists until cold sweat beaded on her forehead from the pain, but she still didn't give up.
"Think about your children! Do you want them growing up with the stigma of being murderers' kids, maybe even facing Henry's revenge? Let me go, and you can still go home to your families, take the money, and live peacefully!"
"Shut up, you damn bitch!" the tattooed man snarled viciously, dragging her toward the ship's rail with the stocky man.
Half her body was already suspended over the edge, the all-consuming darkness below.
Just as Sophia's heart sank to its depths and she closed her eyes in despair...
In the distance, clear and urgent police sirens pierced the night! Multiple vessels!
Growing closer at an alarming speed.
Then, the thunderous roar of rotors overhead, and a blindingly powerful searchlight beam, like the sword of divine judgment, suddenly sliced through the darkness of the sea.
It locked onto their small yacht with pinpoint precision, illuminating everything on deck like broad daylight!
A helicopter!
A voice, ice-cold yet seething with towering rage and absolute authority, boomed through a megaphone across the entire seascape, each word carrying soul-shaking power.
"Vessel ahead, stop immediately and lay down your weapons! Release the hostage! Failure to comply will result in deadly force!"
It was Henry—he'd come!
The tattooed man and stocky man instantly went white as sheets, frozen in place.
A wave of terror washed over them.