Chapter 235

Chapter 235

Patrick came running from behind and shoved the gunman aside. The impact threw the man off, and the bullet caught Patrick in the arm. Blood seeped from the wound and ran down his sleeve, soaking into the dark fabric in a spreading stain.

Vivian didn't look at him. She stepped back twice and quickly scanned the crowd around her.

Some people screamed and scattered. Others had their phones out, recording. She said to Arthur, "The car's over there." Arthur grabbed her wrist and the two of them moved quickly through the chaos toward the parking lot.

Riley followed behind.

Patrick stood between them and the men. His left arm hung at his side, blood dripping from his fingertips onto the pavement, but he didn't move back.

When Vivian got in the car, she glanced at Patrick through the window.

"Go."

The car pulled out of the parking lot. Vivian opened her bag and checked the silver piece — untouched, catching the faint light with a quiet gleam.

Riley turned around. "Those men weren't acting on impulse. They knew we were landing tonight. They were waiting for us." Her voice was a little short of breath. The shove earlier had hit her hard.

Arthur was quiet for a moment, then pulled out his phone. "Get the private jet ready. We're heading there now."

He hung up and looked at Vivian. "What about him?"

"If he wanted to put himself in the way, that's his choice. Besides, anyone who dares to follow us to Country M isn't going to let himself die here."

They drove on for a bit, then Riley suddenly said, "Let me out at the next intersection."

Vivian looked up. "What for?"

Riley pulled a dark cloth bundle from her bag and unfolded one corner — inside was a silver piece that looked almost identical.

"I made this in case tonight went sideways. Take yours back. I'll take this fake one and run a loop. If those people were able to intercept us at the airport, they're definitely watching our place too. I'll show up with the fake and they'll think I've got the real thing."

"That's too dangerous."

"I've done it plenty of times. And I've got backup."

Riley pushed the car door open. Vivian called her name. She looked back.

"Come back alive."

Riley smiled — a brief one. And in that moment, it finally clicked. Winslet had given her a new face and placed her beside Vivian not for her fighting skills, but to be a stand-in. Someone to die in Vivian's place.

A perfect decoy.

Winslet Vance, you're ruthless.

She shut the door and walked into the shadow beyond the streetlight.

By the time Vivian and Arthur reached the airport, the jet was ready. They entered the tarmac through a side passage.

Vivian settled into her seat and opened the bag again to check — the silver piece was fine.

Arthur handed her a bottle of water. She took it and drank.

She didn't have time to think about Riley. She just wanted to get the silver piece home safely.

After takeoff, there was nothing outside the window but deep, solid dark.

Vivian leaned back and closed her eyes, but the scene kept replaying — the men rushing in, the gunshot, the last look Riley gave her. It all left her with a sharp, restless unease.

She opened her eyes. Arthur was watching her, his expression relaxed, reassured she was okay.

"I'm not hurt."

"I know. I checked when you got in the car."

Vivian turned back to the window. Nothing but darkness.

The plane landed in Country H before dawn. The wind on the tarmac carried the chill that belongs to the early hours, mixed with the faint smell of jet fuel from the runway.

Vivian got off the plane with the bag on her shoulder, confirmed no one was following, and got into the waiting car.

On the way back, the sky began to lighten — deep blue shifting to gray-blue, then pale gold.

She called Ronan to confirm the handoff time. His excitement and relief didn't ease her own tension. She just felt exhausted.

Then Riley's message came through: [Made it back. Need a few days but I'll be fine.]

Vivian read it, and something that had been pulled tight since that night finally gave a little.

Arthur handed her a warm cup of water.

"What are you thinking about?"

"That the piece is finally coming home. That Riley's okay."

Arthur didn't ask anything else.

Vivian didn't think about Patrick.

......

Patrick's security arrived quickly. Aside from the one bullet, he wasn't hurt anywhere else.

The blood from the wound in his left arm had clotted, dried stiff in the fabric of his dark coat.

His team brought him to a nearby hospital.

After the wound was sutured, the doctor said he'd lost a fair amount of blood but the cut wasn't deep — no major vessels hit. He'd need to stay a few days for observation.

He lay in the hospital bed, left arm wrapped in white gauze, listening to a nurse push a medication cart past in the hallway.

His phone was dead. A nurse plugged it in for him. When it powered back on, he scrolled through the unread messages — not one was from Vivian.

He set the phone on the nightstand and looked out at the pale gray light coming through the window.

In the parking lot, she had glanced at him through the car window as she got in. It was quick, and he couldn't read her expression. Then the car drove away, taillights fading into the dark.

She hadn't spared a thought for whether he lived or died.

......

Riley stood in the shadows for a moment, letting her eyes adjust, then moved along the wall toward the street.

She held the cloth bundle with the fake silver piece in her hand, walking at an unhurried pace but placing each step deliberately, as if she wanted the sound to carry.

She didn't know whether they were behind her, but she knew — as long as the fake piece was visible, they would follow.

At the corner she heard footsteps behind her. More than one person. She picked up her pace and turned into a narrower alley.

No streetlights here. The high walls on both sides cut the sky into a long thin strip of deep blue. The footsteps got closer, with low, muffled voices in a foreign language.

Riley shifted the bundle to her left hand and reached into her jacket for the folding knife. She kept walking.

At the end of the alley was a locked iron gate. She stopped, heard the footsteps pause at the entrance behind her. She tucked the bundle under her arm and started climbing.

She was halfway up when she heard a sharp hiss — like air forced through a narrow gap. Then her right arm dropped like a weight, and pain exploded through it, radiating into her shoulder and fingers.

She let go of the gate and fell, landing hard on her shoulder. The knife skidded out of her hand into the shadows by the wall.

Riley lay on the ground, curled inward. Her right arm was bleeding, warm blood soaking into her sleeve.

She couldn't see the wound in the dark, but from the pain and the amount of blood, the bullet had gone clean through her upper arm.

A bad call. She should have brought a gun.

She gritted her teeth and tried to push herself up with her left hand. She got partway and collapsed again. Her right arm was useless, hanging off her shoulder like a dead weight. Footsteps approached from a distance, slow and steady, like they already knew she had nowhere to go.

Riley lay there looking up at that thin strip of night sky above her — and thought that this time, she might not make it back.