Chapter 82 "There's a Sniper"

Chapter 82 "There's a Sniper"
Samuel Arammola is located at the crossroads of Europe and Asia. The summer days there are exceptionally long.
It gets light as early as five in the morning, and the sun doesn’t set until after eight at night.
It wasn't even eight o'clock when Iris finished her meal and stepped outside. The last traces of the evening glow had just faded from the horizon, and twilight enveloped the entire farm.
Taking advantage of the lingering light, she slung her easel over her shoulder, grabbed a small folding chair, and walked to the center of the flower field to sit down.
Harrison followed behind her, stopping about five paces away.
Iris was sketching an elegant dress design adorned with embellishments in pink and white.
Wearing a light-colored floral dress herself, she looked like a princess out of a fairy tale as she sat among the flowers.
Iris had only finished half of her drawing when the transport helicopter carrying Donovan landed.
It roared to a stop less than ten meters away, and the wind whipped up by the rotors sent the surrounding daisies flying in all directions.
Iris raised one hand to shield herself from the wind and pressed the easel down with the other. The hem of her skirt billowed in the air.
She watched seven mercenaries leap out of the cabin.
They were fully equipped and wore black helmets with goggles that concealed their faces.
They wore black combat uniforms with bulletproof vests stuffed with gear, black tactical gloves and had elbow and knee pads to secure their joints.
Leading the way, Donovan held his belt in one hand. His sturdy black combat boots covered his feet, and his legs, clad in camouflage pants, moved with strides. He exuded a calm yet oppressive aura.
With his back to the last rays of daylight, he walked straight toward Iris, step by step. Before she could turn to run, he reached out and pulled her into his arms.
A deep voice came from above her head.
"Did you miss me?"
Before she could answer, the mercenaries behind Donovan began shouting loudly. A few of the bold ones even whistled.
Iris' face flushed at once. She buried her face in Donovan’s chest, clutching the fabric at his waist tightly with her hands.
The whistling around them grew louder.
Donovan gave Harrison a slight nod. Harrison understood the signal and stepped forward a few paces. He ordered in a low voice,
"Twenty-one minutes, five kilometers. Start running now.”
"You've got to be kidding, boss..."
The mercenary who had started the commotion looked at Donovan. Before he could finish, Harrison clenched his fist, cracking his knuckles. Before he even had a chance to act, all six mercenaries had run off.
Harrison shrugged. “What a bunch of wimps.”
He turned his head and saw Donovan holding Iris tightly in his arms, his chin resting gently against the top of her head.
The girl’s skirt fluttered lightly in the night breeze. Behind them lay an endless field of pale pink daisies.
A huge moon hung on the distant horizon, its silvery light spilling over the two of them as if enveloping them in a faint halo.
The scene was as beautiful as a dream.
Harrison looked away, smoothed out his clothes, and ran off after the group of mercenaries.
“Donovan,” Iris whispered. “I saved some food for you. Do you want to go inside and eat first?”
"I'm going in. What about you?"
The man's tone was stiff, so Iris instinctively softened her voice. "I—I haven't finished my painting yet. I want to stay here.”
Donovan glanced at the easel lying on the ground, knocked over by the wind. The lines and colors on it were clearly inspired by the scenery before them.
He looked at Iris' slightly flushed cheeks. The scars had faded considerably. She was truly beautiful.
Donovan gave a soft chuckle.
"Want to finish it?"
Iris nodded. "Mm-hmm."
He let go of her and bent down to set the easel upright.
"I'll give you an hour. Is that enough?”
"Yes.”
Iris sat back down on the small chair. She quietly breathed a sigh of relief before picking up her brush and continuing to sketch.
She had barely made a few strokes when the man behind her moved closer, wrapped his arm around her waist, lifted her up, and sat down on the small stool while still holding her.
“Keep drawing,” he said.
Donovan rested his chin lightly on Iris' shoulder and turned his face to inhale her scent. The visor of his helmet had long since been tossed aside at his feet.
Startled, Iris froze, holding the brush motionless for a long moment.
Donovan tightened his grip around her waist.
"Start drawing. Why are you spacing out?”
Iris shifted her head awkwardly to the side. "Could you please not breathe on my neck?"
"I can't."
Donovan chuckled softly and buried his face in the crook of her neck. The tip of his nose barely brushed her fair, delicate skin, and his lips trailed down her neck, kissing her inch by inch.
"I have to breathe, Iris." His voice grew even lower, and his breathing became heavier.
His habit of kissing her the moment they met made it impossible for Iris to concentrate on her drawing.
She put away her sketchpad in a huff and patted the arm he had wrapped around her waist.
"I'm not drawing anymore. I’m not feeling it.”
“Then let’s do something else.” Donovan's lips trailed up her neck and gently kissed her chin.
Iris' sense of shame surged to its peak.
She flinched away in panic.
"No. I'll paint. I’ll just keep painting.”
“It’s too late.”
Donovan cupped her left cheek, turning her face up to meet his.
His lips moved from her chin to the corner of her mouth. He licked her soft lower lip. His hot breath carried the warmth of obsession.
This soft, fluffy little kitten—he was growing fonder of her by the minute.
His long, calloused fingers traced her fair cheek and moved to the base of her ear. There, he gently pinched her soft earlobe.
When he felt her tremble slightly and try to pull away, the interest in his eyes deepened.
As if to punish her, he bit her lower lip.
A muffled moan escaped Iris' lips, and Donovan was about to take the opportunity to go further.
But, as if she’d learned from experience, Iris let out a faint moan and immediately clamped her lips shut, denying Donovan his pleasure.
Donovan looked at Iris' stubborn face, the corners of his mouth curving slightly. His tone was flat yet carried an air of inevitability. “Iris, open your mouth.”
Iris remained silent.
Suddenly, a sharp sound rang in their ears as a bullet sliced through the air.
Donovan immediately broke off the kiss he’d been forcing, wrapped his arms around Iris' waist, and rolled swiftly across the grass.
But he was still a split second too slow. The bullet pierced the muscle in his calf.
The man groaned softly as searing pain erupted from the wound and blood gushed out.
"Donovan..."
Iris looked up at his pained expression and spoke in panic. But Donovan shielded her head and pressed her to the ground.
"There's a sniper. Don’t look up. Don’t move.”
Iris' heart sank. "Okay."