Chapter 37 Grasping Iris' Slender Waist
BOOM!
An explosive device blew open the door. A blinding flash of light was followed immediately by the sound of hurried yet cautious footsteps entering the room.
Donovan closed his eyes and concentrated, carefully discerning the vibrations in the air. There were seven of them in total.
The muffled sound of a silenced gunshot rang out, and bullets rained down instantly on the large bed in the bedroom.
The footsteps drew closer and finally stopped at the foot of the bed.
One of the figures whispered, with a hint of surprise, "No one's here."
Then, the footsteps scattered as they began to search the room.
One set of footsteps moved steadily toward the bathroom.
Donovan gently pressed his finger against Iris' shoulder, signaling for her to stay still.
He braced himself against the wall with one hand and moved forward silently. Just as the intruder was about to step through the bathroom door, Donovan struck like lightning, clamping his hand around the man’s throat.
CRACK.
After the faint sound of breaking bones, Iris hadn't even seen what had happened when a heavy body suddenly landed beside her.
She instinctively reached out and brushed against a thick, sturdy combat boot.
It was a person, motionless and already lifeless.
In a split second, she jerked her hand back as if she’d been electrocuted.
Donovan weighed the assault rifle he’d seized in his hand.
A low call came from outside the door: “Hummingbird?”
No one answered—clearly, the voice was calling out to the person he’d just taken out.
Immediately, footsteps approached the bathroom rapidly.
Iris clutched her chest tightly; her heart was pounding so hard and fast that she could almost hear it.
The footsteps grew closer. She couldn’t tell exactly how many there were, but there were definitely at least four or five.
She didn’t know if Donovan could handle that many people on his own.
Tonight, she would likely die here with him.
Iris covered her mouth, afraid to make a sound.
The corpse at her feet seemed to freeze the blood in her veins.
Every second stretched into an eternity, and she could barely breathe.
Suddenly, a warm, large hand reached out through the darkness and gently ruffled her hair, as if to comfort her.
Only then did she remove her hand from her mouth, part her lips, and take a deep breath.
Suddenly, the cell phone under the bed rang.
Its sharp ringtone pierced the surrounding silence, echoing eerily through the empty room.
Donovan held his breath, straining to make out the sounds outside the door.
The footsteps heading toward the bathroom came to an abrupt halt.
Three of them turned and crouched down to fire a burst of rifle rounds into the space under the bed.
Donovan seized the opportunity, darting out from behind the door and raising his gun to aim.
A flash of fire erupted from the muzzle as he took out the three men with precision.
The other three, who had been firing at the space under the bed, sensed that something was wrong. Before they could stand or turn around, Donovan executed a series of headshots in a split second.
Silence fell over the room once more.
After confirming there were no survivors, Donovan tossed the rifle aside.
"Iris, it's clear. Come out.”
He strode out of the bathroom, flipped on the bedside lamp, bent down to retrieve his phone from under the bed, and called Corbin.
“Where are you?”
“Deserted Island. Stand by.”
“Tide Island Guest House in five minutes.”
"Copy that."
Donovan walked past the six gruesome corpses on the floor, giving them a cold stare. He pulled a pair of loose-fitting casual pants and a shirt from the wardrobe.
The air was thick with the increasingly pungent, acrid smell of blood.
Just smelling it made the blood in Donovan’s veins seem to boil.
It was a shame that Maxwell had underestimated him so much by sending only seven men to assassinate him. It just wasn’t satisfying enough.
As he buttoned his shirt, he noticed that Iris still hadn’t come out of the bathroom.
Donovan glanced at the bathroom door.
She had only poked half its head out and was staring with one wide, terrified eye at the blood-soaked corpse on the floor. It didn't blink for a long moment.
“Iris?”
At the sound of his voice, even that half-peeking head retracted.
Iris quickly hid behind the door, letting out broken sobs. Against the backdrop of the room's gruesome scene, it looked like a scene from a horror movie.
She was even more timid than a kitten.
Donovan found it increasingly baffling how Harrison, such a calm and resolute man, could have raised such a timid daughter.
He took a long stride and walked back into the bathroom. Looking down, he saw Iris curled up behind the door, hugging her knees.
“Iris, are you coming? If not, stay here and spend the night with these dead people.”
Iris wiped the corners of her eyes. "Donovan, my legs are weak. I can't stand up."
Donovan grabbed her by the arms, pulled her to her feet, and half-dragged, half-carried her out.
But the moment she reached the area littered with corpses, her body went limp, and she collapsed to the ground.
Her hands clung desperately to Donovan’s pant leg. She tilted her pale face up and looked at him helplessly, not daring to glance at the floor out of the corner of her eye.
“Donovan…”
Did she want to be carried again? Donovan narrowed his eyes slightly.
It was one thing to be timid, but treating him like a human carrier—wanting to be held when scared and sleepy—was another.
He didn't want to spoil her like this.
He bent down slightly and wrapped his arm around Iris' slender waist, intending to help her walk.
But the moment he bent down, she suddenly reached out with both hands and wrapped them around his neck, climbing up without hesitation and clamping her legs tightly around his waist.
"Donovan..."
Corbin landed the helicopter in an open field about thirty meters outside the guest lounge.
Through the windshield of the cockpit, he saw Donovan step out while talking on the phone, holding something in his right hand—a stuffed rabbit?
Corbin’s eyelid twitched. He narrowed his eyes to look more closely and realized it was actually a woman.
So this was the boss’ first woman.
Donovan carried Iris onto the helicopter and spoke into the phone, his voice laced with icy disdain.
“Mr. McKinley, you accepted the benefits I offered, yet you didn’t complete the job. If you run your business like this, you won’t live long.”
Hearing this, Corbin tore his gaze away from Iris, sat up straight, and saluted Donovan crisply. His voice boomed: "Boss!"
Donovan hadn’t hung up the phone yet.
After sitting down, he nodded to Corbin, signaling him to take off.
Iris, in his arms, was startled by Corbin’s sudden, loud greeting. She immediately buried her face against Donovan’s chest.
Donovan ran his right hand over her back and felt a damp, cool patch.
A large section of her clothes was soaked with cold sweat.
He furrowed his brow slightly, but Mr. McKinley on the other end of the line continued to explain. “It’s a misunderstanding! I swear, I really have no idea how these people got onto the island! It’s all my oversight. How about this? I’ll host a banquet tomorrow to make amends. Please, you must come.”
“A banquet to make amends?”
"Mr. Sharpe, you really have a sense of humor. Of course it's a banquet to make amends! I’m absolutely loyal to you! Regarding the market in Veronia at the time, I can..."
“Enough.”
Donovan cut him off, bringing the conversation to an abrupt end.
"Veronia is a peace-loving nation. Only a fool would meddle in its market. Don’t put on a show for me anymore. Our business dealings end here. I wish you all the best in your partnership with Maxwell!”