?Chapter 851:


    “Hey, where are you headed sote?”


    “To kill those who asked for trouble,” Christina replied, her eyes locked ahead.


    It was only then that Robin paused, sobering up slightly. There was something chilling in her aura—cold, focused, lethal. She wasn’t just leaving. She was going hunting.


    Robin abruptly sobered up. A rush of unknown dread gripped his chest, crawling down his spine like ice. Gripped by panic, his legs shifted him backward without thought. What had made Christina suddenly appear so terrifying? An eerie force surrounded her, so intense that it paralyzed his nerves.


    “What are you talking about? Killing someone? Are you kidding me?” Robin staggered, desperate to catch up with her. Something deep within warned him she was stepping into danger.


    Christina had no intention of wasting breath on him. With swift precision, she struck the side of his neck, rendering him unconscious instantly.<fn9c01> Th? link to the orig?n of this information r?sts ?n FindN0vel</fn9c01>


    Robin copsed, his body crumpling mid-fall. Christina quickly caught him and gently lowered him to the tiles.


    She reached into his pocket for the sports car key and strode out the front door. Momentster, a red car tore through the Miller familypound, slicing through the darkness like a ming arrow, exuding a deadly presence.


    Christina tapped her Bluetooth earpiece and ced a call.


    “Boss!” The voice that answered was hoarse, reverent, and edged with eagerness.


    Christina’s tone was t. “Scarface, have you prepared the sniper rifle and silenced pistol as I instructed?”


    “Yes, everything’s ready and ced at the marked site.”


    “Good.”


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    “Boss, when will you return? You’ve been away for years… Everyone’s missed your presence.”


    “I can’t say yet. Monitor the rest and don’t let anyone get reckless.”


    “Understood!”


    She ended the call and narrowed her eyes, pressing down on the gas with sudden force.


    The red vehicle hurtled ahead, leaving behind a zing scar across the darkened road.


    Outside the abandoned warehouse, three hulking men wrapped up their rounds and stood smoking near the gate.


    “We just going to wait out here? That chick Balfour talked about still hasn’t shown up. Maybe she chickened out.” One of them, tall and broad-shouldered, flicked his burnt cigarette and stepped on it.


    “Anyway, if she turns up, she’s finished. There are twelve of us here—no way she can get out of here in one piece,” the whiskered man sneered.


    “Hmph!” muttered the bald one, just as unimpressed. “Balfour’s paranoia is ridiculous. She’s just a woman, not a monster. What’s so terrifying about her that requires so many of us to deal with her alone? Waste of good muscle.”


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