Chapter 181: Wentworth’s Challenge
Wentworth didn’t hesitate, one clean slash across the throat. These men trafficked in illegal activities—kill them fast, eliminate future problems. No second chances.
Upstairs, Konbu stared at the monitors. His leg bounced restlessly. He crossed one ankle over the other, fingers rasping against the stubble on his chin. Nerves. Rare for him.
Wentworth had already reached the second floor.
The instant his boot hit the landing, an arrow hissed past his ear—close enough to clip a few strands of hair. A fraction slower and his skull would have been split.
The corridor lay bare. No shadows moved. No footsteps echoed.
This level was all about hidden weapons.
If they'd set up guns in ambush, Wentworth would have been shredded in seconds. A hail of automatic fire is impossible to dodge.. But Konbu hadn’t chosen guns. He’d chosen blades, arrows, silence.
Which told Wentworth one thing very clearly.
Konbu wanted him to suffer first.
He didn’t trust Konbu to honor any deal involving Matilda. Never had. But the tiniest thread of possibility was enough. He’d claw through hell on that thread alone.
He stopped. Listened. Then—before anyone watching the feeds could process it—he ripped the sleeve from his shirt and tied it over his eyes.
Blindfold.
Matilda and Juliana couldn't understand why. But the mercenaries watching the screens knew exactly what he was doing.
Against hidden weapons, your ears mattered more than your eyes. Projectiles moved fast. If you tried using both sight and sound, the competing information became noise, actually slowing your reactions. But with only hearing? The click of a trigger, the whisper of steel leaving its sheath, the rush of air as something deadly flew past—your ears would catch all of it.
Blindfolded, Wentworth moved toward the third floor.
A gust at the nape of his neck—he dropped. Arrow clattered uselessly behind him.
Pressure on both flanks—he twisted mid-air, body curling like a whip. Two throwing knives sparked against the concrete where he’d stood.
After multiple failed attempts, the hidden assassin finally revealed himself. He belonged to a professional kill squad. Assassination meant silence—no witnesses, no alarms. Guns drew attention, made escape difficult. But a silent kill? By the time someone found the body, the killer was long gone.
Now the assassin stepped into the open, assuming Wentworth's blindfold gave him the advantage. Standing in plain sight was the same as staying hidden—if your target couldn't see you.
In plain view now, he was invisible.
He nocked an arrow. Drew. Aimed at the center of Wentworth’s chest as he rounded the final turn.
The arrow released.
The arrow flew true—except Wentworth didn’t move like prey anymore. He stood stock-still, as though deaf to the world.
Matilda's heart leapt into her throat. She screamed.
The arrow never hit him. At the last possible second, he shifted his head slightly to the side. Before the assassin could process what happened, Wentworth spun and hurled something.
A throwing knife embedded itself in the assassin's forehead.
Shock. Wide pupils. A career of perfect kills ended by one impossible miss.
He crumpled without a sound.
How had Wentworth done it?
But he'd never get his answer.
Wentworth tore the blindfold free the instant the body hit the ground. Concealment had been the assassin’s armor. Exposure was his death sentence. Wentworth had collected every missed blade on the way up, patient, waiting for exactly this heartbeat of vulnerability.
One throw. One corpse.
Matilda and Juliana exhaled in ragged unison.
Wentworth vaulted the last steps to the third floor.
Juliana was there—alive, but guns pressed to her temples by two stone-faced guards.
“Konbu!” His voice cracked across the open space toward the observation building. “You said you’d honor the rules. Let. Her. Go.”
Konbu appeared, looking down at Wentworth with cold amusement. "You really are elite special forces. You just killed how many of my people? Do you know how much money you just cost me?"
“These are your rules,” Wentworth answered, voice flat steel. “You’ve got an audience. Every man here is watching. Break your word and they start wondering who’ll be next. You want a mutiny tonight?”
Konbu gave a short, humorless laugh. “You’re good at this game.”
“Worth thinking about.”
Wentworth needed to conserve energy. He still had to save Matilda. He kept glancing toward her, making sure Konbu noticed. He needed Konbu to see that Matilda was who he really cared about. That way, Konbu might actually release Juliana and let the game continue. If Konbu thought Matilda didn't matter, he might just end everything right now.
Konbu’s smirk deepened. He saw the play. And he played along.
“Fine. This round you win.”
He jerked his chin at the guards. “Let her go.”
They released Juliana without a word. She stumbled forward, legs buckling.
She looked at Wentworth. He moved to steady her, intending to escort her to the factory entrance.
As they descended the stairs together, Juliana could feel heat radiating from his body. His breathing was labored. His stamina had to be reaching its limit.
Juliana looked up, voice small. “Wentworth… you have to save Matty.”
His voice came out rough and raw. "I will."
---
Outside, they dumped Juliana in dense forest miles from any road. No phone. No map. Insurance: if she walked out, fine. If she didn’t, no one would ever trace it back.
The second the escorts vanished, she turned east and started moving. She would get out. She had to.
---
Back inside the factory, Wentworth watched the live feed until Juliana disappeared into the trees. One shallow breath of relief. Then he wiped his face with a blood-streaked sleeve.
Konbu’s voice rolled across the space like distant thunder.
“Black Bear! Ready for round three?”
Wentworth lifted his head.
“If I win the next one… you let us walk?”
Konbu’s grin showed teeth. “Depends on how entertained I am.” He had no intention of letting anyone leave alive, but he also wasn’t ready for the game to end. Not yet.
Maybe he'd have his men assault Matilda in front of Wentworth, force him to watch the woman he loved being violated while he was powerless to stop it. Or maybe he'd leave Wentworth alive but paralyzed, bedridden for life. Wouldn't that be more entertaining than a quick death?