Chapter 85
Emily Windsor's POV
I met Lawrence's probing gaze and forced out a cold smile, saturated with pure hatred.
The next second, I spat every bit of saliva that had pooled in my mouth—mixed with the metallic taste of blood—directly into his handsome face.
The warm, sticky liquid slid down his flawless cheek. Lawrence's smile froze.
"You're asking for it!" A bodyguard behind me erupted in fury, shoving me to the ground. The cold barrel of a gun pressed hard against my spine, right over my heart.
I lay sprawled in the congealed blood, that freezing gun barrel feeling as though it might pierce straight through my chest. Yet I felt no fear—only a savage satisfaction at having fought back.
"Don't touch her." Lawrence's voice cut through the tension. He wiped his face with a handkerchief in slow, deliberate strokes, his movements elegant even as his eyes glinted with a darkness that could swallow light. "Killing her would be too easy. I want her to watch everything she believes in crumble to dust."
Two bodyguards hauled me up roughly, dragging me like a lifeless object toward the lounge area.
My heart leapt into my throat.
Luke was in there—burning with fever, completely defenseless.
I had to think of something. I had to buy time.
"I... my stomach hurts..." About thirty feet from the lounge, I suddenly clutched my abdomen, letting my body go slack as I slid downward, contorting my face in mock agony. "I need... the restroom..."
My acting was terrible, but survival instinct made every micro-expression genuinely spasm with desperation.
Lawrence stopped walking.
He turned back, those smiling peach-blossom eyes now holding nothing but contempt for my transparent ploy. "Miss Windsor, do I look stupid to you?"
He'd seen through me instantly.
He gave me no further chances. With a curt jerk of his chin toward the bodyguards, his voice turned icy. "Kick the door down. Whatever's inside—clean it up."
"No!" I screamed, my eyes nearly bursting from their sockets as I thrashed with every ounce of strength I possessed. But those bodyguards' arms were like iron vises, pinning me completely immobile.
I could only watch helplessly as they approached that door.
The heavy wooden door splintered open under a savage kick, the tremendous crash making my eardrums ring.
Then came several muffled sounds—suppressed gunshots.
The shots weren't rapid-fire, but measured. Precise. Each one a death sentence being methodically delivered, hammering into my heart one after another.
I was held so tightly I couldn't even turn my head, forced to stare at Lawrence's face as he watched with an expression of aesthetic appreciation.
Soon, the gunshots ceased.
The world plunged into deathly silence.
I felt as though those few shots had completely hollowed out my soul. Everything before my eyes lost color, fading into a palette of defeated gray.
Heart like dead ashes—so this was what it meant.
Lawrence savored my expression with evident satisfaction.
He waved a hand, signaling the bodyguards to release me.
My legs gave out. I collapsed to the floor.
He approached and slowly crouched before me, meeting my eyes at level, his voice carrying the nauseating tenderness of a victor. "Now that Luke is dead, don't you think you should consider... finding a new master?"
I slowly lifted my head. In those hollow eyes, two towering flames of hatred reignited.
"In your dreams," I forced the words through clenched teeth, each syllable drenched in blood.
"Such spirit." Lawrence chuckled, unbothered, reaching out to touch my face with a flippant tone. "I love thorny roses like you. Breaking you will be so much more satisfying."
I jerked my head away in revulsion.
Just as his fingertips were about to graze my cheek, from the far end of the corridor came a sudden, heavy gunshot—no suppressor this time.
Lawrence's body jolted violently. The playful smile on his face froze instantly, replaced by disbelieving shock.
A bloom of crimson rapidly seeped through his white dress shirt at the right shoulder, spreading into a vivid flower of blood.
"Protect Mr. Lowe!"
His bodyguards reacted with lightning speed, immediately surrounding both him and me in a protective circle. Multiple handguns rose simultaneously, trained warily on the direction from which the shot had come.
My heart, silent in its ruins, suddenly began pounding violently again.
It's him!
Wild joy exploded from the depths of my chest. I snapped my head up, staring desperately toward that bottomless darkness.
But there was no one there.
The corridor was terrifyingly quiet. Aside from our ragged breathing, there wasn't a single sound—as though that gunshot had been nothing but my hallucination.
"Luke!" Lawrence clutched his wounded shoulder, fine beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead. He growled toward the darkness through gritted teeth. "What kind of coward hides in shadows? If you've got any guts, get out here!"
Only dead silence answered him.
"Too scared to show yourself?" A twisted, infuriated excitement crept across Lawrence's face. "You think with just yourself and one gun, you can do anything to me? Stop being such a damn coward!"
Again, only silence replied.
That deep darkness was like a silent beast, swallowing every sound into its maw.
I exhaled in relief, my taut nerves loosening slightly—but immediately, an even deeper worry seized my heart.
If that shot really had come from Luke, then his silence now meant he was either searching for another opening, or he'd already collapsed from fever and injuries, unable to hold on any longer.
Either possibility filled me with dread.
My reaction clearly pleased Lawrence, though his excitement quickly morphed into fury at being ignored.
He thrived on toying with prey in the palm of his hand—and now, that prey had slipped his control.
"Interesting." Lawrence laughed quietly, though the sound held no warmth whatsoever.
He suddenly yanked me up from the floor, the cold gun barrel pressing viciously against my temple once more.
"Luke, I know you can hear me." He spoke slowly toward the darkness, each word dripping with undisguised malice. "I'm counting to ten. If you don't crawl out here, I'll blow your beloved woman's brains out right in front of you."
My heart contracted sharply.
"Ten."
The cold number tolled like death's bell against my eardrums.
"Nine."
I could feel every cell in my body trembling with fear, yet my mind remained strangely, abnormally calm. I stared at Lawrence's face, slightly contorted with rage, and suddenly smiled.
"Don't waste your breath," I said, meeting his icy gaze. My voice wasn't loud, but it rang clearly through this corridor of death. "He won't come out."
"Eight."