Chapter 167: Kiss Him

Chapter 167: Kiss Him

Dominic didn't respond. He turned his head to the side, veins throbbing wildly along his neck.

Penelope walked toward him.

Each step felt like walking on cotton, the blood in her veins boiling like water brought to a furious simmer. She reached him and lifted her hands to cradle that face covered in blood and sweat.

Dominic's entire body went rigid. Those crimson eyes finally locked onto hers.

"You?" His voice came out hoarse.

Penelope rose onto her toes and kissed him.

Not tentative. Not comforting. Deliberate. Aggressive. Claiming.

Dominic froze like he'd been struck by lightning—for less than half a second. Then that wire pulled taut for far too long finally snapped.

He grabbed her, lifting her entire body and slamming her against the cold stone wall behind them. There was nothing gentle in the movement. His knee forced its way between her thighs. Loose gravel scraped against her tactical vest, but the pain was completely swallowed by the kiss.

He kissed her like he wanted to devour her whole. His ragged breath heated her cheekbone. His right hand clamped around the back of her neck, thumb pressed against her wildly pulsing carotid artery.

Penelope's mind went blank. Rational thought was the last piece of ice floating on water, melting rapidly in scalding currents.

But just as that final shard of ice was about to disappear completely, her peripheral vision caught something above them.

The ventilation shaft. Next to the metal grate, embedded in the wall—a four-digit mechanical combination lock.

The gas had been pumped in through there. If Jonathan had set this trap, he would have left himself a failsafe. He wouldn't actually turn this room into a death trap with no way out.

He needed her 'discovered' alive. She was only useful alive.

The code.

Penelope's brain scrambled desperately through the fog for information. The safe code had been her birthday. What about the ventilation shaft?

Dominic's lips had already slid from the corner of her mouth to the shell of her ear. His teeth caught her earlobe. Penelope went so weak she could barely hold herself up.

No. Ten more seconds and she wouldn't have the strength to even lift her arm.

Her right hand reached for her hair, fingertips finding the cold tungsten hairpin.

No hesitation. Penelope pulled the pin free and drove it straight through her left palm.

The tip pierced clean through. Searing pain sliced through the fog like lightning, instantly dragging her consciousness back.

Her mind cleared for three seconds.

Three seconds was enough.

Penelope shoved hard against Dominic's shoulder. The sudden force made him stumble back a step, those crimson eyes filled with confusion and lingering madness.

She spun around, climbed onto the folding table, then up onto the filing cabinet. Her left hand dripped blood. Her right reached for the combination lock.

Four digits. Jonathan's logic.

The safe had been her birthday—that was meant for her. The ventilation shaft was the backdoor for 'intruders.' The code wouldn't be personal information.

The architectural blueprints. She'd glimpsed them earlier. The drawing number had been 1973.

Jonathan's birth year.

Her fingers spun the dial. 1-9-7-3.

---

The ventilation grate popped open. A powerful reverse airflow immediately flooded the chamber, rapidly sucking away the white mist. At the same time, the wall at the far end of the room—the one carved with the blood-red phoenix—let out a deep mechanical grinding sound.

The entire stone wall pushed outward like a door, slowly opening. Blinding fluorescent light poured through the widening gap.

Penelope squinted against the glare. Before her vision could focus, an old, cold voice drifted from within the light.

"Penelope. Smart as ever."

Penelope's pupils contracted.

Beyond the stone door was a wide concrete corridor lined with armed personnel on both sides. In the center of the passage, a withered old man sat in an electric wheelchair, a dark red blanket draped across his lap.

The old man's face was covered in dark liver spots, his eye sockets sunken, but those eyes burned with frightening intensity—the kind of excitement a scientist has when observing something fascinating in a petri dish.

Penelope stared at the skeletal figure in the wheelchair. Her brain completed all calculations within three seconds.

Behind her, Dominic's breathing was as rough as a broken bellows. Ahead, at least sixty gun barrels aimed directly at her head. The armed personnel lining both sides of the corridor were fully equipped—night vision goggles, assault rifles, tactical armor. Their gear was two grades higher than the jungle trash from earlier.

This was Preston's core guard unit.

"Long time no see, Penelope." Preston's voice was dry and cold, like the rasping sound of a snake shedding its skin. "You look more and more like your mother."

Penelope didn't respond.

Her gaze swept quickly over the corridor structure—poured concrete, no side doors, industrial floodlights every five meters overhead. Standard military bunker hallway design. Only one exit, completely blocked by Preston.

Zero escape routes.

"Hand over Subject 07, and I'll let you walk out of here alive." Preston raised one liver-spotted, skeletal hand and gestured casually toward Dominic, his tone as indifferent as if discussing laboratory supplies.

Dominic forced himself to stand straight, positioning himself in front of Penelope. The cloth wrapped around his left hand was soaked through with blood. His right hand hung empty—he'd lost his gun in the earlier chaos.

Penelope pressed her hand against his back. Beneath her palm, everything was burning hot and slick with blood.

"Move." Her voice was quiet.

Dominic didn't budge.

Penelope stepped around him and walked forward three deliberate steps. Sixty gun barrels tracked her movement in unison, infrared laser dots converging in a cluster on her chest.

She stopped, lifted her head, and met Preston's unnaturally bright eyes directly.

"Preston, you've lived over seventy years, built an empire across Aurelia. How is it that you've gotten more foolish in your old age?"

Preston's eyes narrowed.

Penelope slowly unclasped the metal case from her tactical belt. Her movements were exaggeratedly slow, every angle visible to everyone—she didn't want to give anyone an excuse to shoot.

Her fingertips entered the code. The lock popped open.

She pulled the sealed vial from the case.

Dark red liquid refracted eerie light under the fluorescents, the vial wall still bearing a temperature control label. From the outside, it looked identical to an authentic active antibody sample.

Preston's fingers clamped down hard on the wheelchair armrests. Those withered eyes instantly blazed with fanatical greed.

"This is what you want." Penelope raised the vial to shoulder height, her thumb resting lightly on the edge of the seal.

"Active extract. Viable outside the body for less than forty-eight hours. After that, it's just worthless liquid."

She didn't blink once while lying.

A middle-aged man in a white lab coat standing beside Preston hurried forward two steps. He stared at the vial for several seconds, then leaned down and whispered something in the old man's ear.

Preston nodded slowly, his gaze returning to Penelope's face.

"Good. Put it down. I'll send someone to retrieve it."

"Did I say I was finished?"

Penelope's voice dropped suddenly, taking on a bone-chilling calm.

Her thumb pressed down one millimeter, her nail catching in the seal's release mechanism.

"This vial has a trigger-release seal. If I let go right now, the cap pops open. Want to guess what's inside besides the antibody?"

The corridor went instantly silent.