<b>Chapter </b><b>58 </b>
<b>93 </b>
Ian’s face split into an exaggerated look of surprise<b>, </b><b>his </b>scarred eyebrow lifting dramatically.
“It’s a misunderstanding.” He pressed a hand to his chest, feigning innocence. “This is quite embarrassing. My men just arrived here and already they’ve offended Mr. Haxton. Truly
unforgivable.”
I could practically smell the bullshit. His theatrical apology was clearly meant to mock rather than
cate. The way his men positioned themselves around the perimeter–hands resting not–so-
casually on their weapons–told the real story.
Ethan remained perfectly still, only the slight narrowing of his eyes betraying his irritation. “Return what you took exactly as you took it,” he said, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. <b>“</b>If anything is
missing, you’ll regret setting foot on Venezun soil.”
The tension in the air thickened. Connor shifted slightly behind Ethan, his stance widening into a
more defensive position.
Ian waved his hand dismissively. “These supplies,” he gestured toward the wooden crates, “consider
them my gift to Mr. Haxton. A token of goodwill as I establish my presence here.” His smile didn’t
reach his eyes. “Venezu offers many opportunities these days.”
“I’m not interested in your gifts,” Ethan interrupted coldly. “And this region isn’t weing to
neers. You have 72 hours to pack your bags and leave. Immediately.”
Ian’s fake smile faltered, a sh of genuine anger crossing his features before he rposed
himself. <b>“</b>Is it Mr. Haxton who doesn’t wee me, or the entire region?” He leaned forward,
challenge evident in his posture.
<b>“</b><b>Is </b>there a difference?” Ethan countered, not backing down an inch. “In this part of the world, I make
the rules.”
Ian’s jaw tightened. “Mr. Haxton, one shouldn’t be too arrogant. An overlyrge appetite can be…
fatal.”
“Are you volunteering to be eaten?” Ethan’s voice remained calm, but there was something lethal in his tone. “Because I assure you, I have quite the appetite for dealing with those who cross me<b>.</b><b>” </b>
The temperature <b>in </b><b>the </b>room seemed to drop several degrees.n’s men shifted uneasily, hands moving to grip their automatic rifles more firmly. Connor and the other security personnel
7:57 Fri<b>, </b><b>Sep </b>19
:
immediately formed a human wall around Ethan and me.
“You came to mypound with this pathetic security detail,” Ian hissed, his theatrical facade crumbling. “Your overconfidence will be your undoing, Mr. Haxton!”
Just as the first rifle safeties clicked off<b>, </b>my phone sted a notification sound that seemed obscenely loud in the tense silence. Everyone froze, heads swiveling toward me.
93
“Princeton admission results will be posted at midnight tonight. Remember to send me a screenshot when you check!” The cheerful voice message echoed in the suddenly quiet room.
I nced up to find everyone staring at me, expressions ranging from confusion to disbelief.
“Sorry,” I shrugged, casually checking my phone. “The signal here sucks.”
I continued scrolling through my notifications as if we weren’t all seconds away from a bloodbath. In my peripheral vision, <b>I </b>could see Connor looking at me like I’d grown a second head. How could anyone be checking their phone at a moment like this<b>? </b>
But the interruption had broken the deadly momentum, giving everyone a moment to reconsider the consequences of what they were about to do.
Ian studied me with renewed interest, his anger temporarily disced by curiosity.
“You,” he said, switching to heavily ented English, “remind me of someone I knew. American girl,
in Russia.”
I looked up, feigning mild interest while carefully observing the jagged scar running across his left eye. That scar had been Night’s work–punishment for when Ian had made unwee advances toward me in my previous life. Night had expelled him from Russia afterward, marking him as
permanently unwee in that territory.
“She was much prettier than you,” Ian added with a dismissive wave.
“Thanks,” I replied tly.
My response clearly caught him off guard, Connor looked equally confused by my reaction to what was clearly meant as an insult.
The standoff continued for several more tense moments before I decided to take advantage of the broken tension. “I need to use the restroom,” I announced.
<b>7:57 </b>Fri<b>, </b>Sep 19
:
Ethan looked like he wanted to object<b>, </b>but I was already standing.
<b>“</b>Connor can escort you,” he suggested, clearly concerned about letting me wander alone.
“No need,” I said firmly. “I’ll find it myself.”
Ethan held my gaze for a moment, then nodded. “All right–be careful, Miss Morgan.”
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<b>93 </b>
I walked toward the door, feeling dozens of eyes tracking my movement. “Continue your discussion,”
I said over my shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”
Once outside, I quickly oriented myself in thepound. The main building where we’d been
meeting was surrounded by several smaller wooden structures. Most had minimal security, but one
cabin on the far side had four armed guards posted outside–far more protection than seemed necessary for a simple storage shed.
I circled around casually, noting the patrol patterns and blind spots. Years of training made this second nature. When I reached the back of the heavily guarded cabin, I waited for the patrol to pass, then silently slipped to the window.
The lock was simple. Within seconds I was inside, moving silently through the shadows.
What I found confirmed my suspicions. The cabin was filled with advanced weaponry–far more sophisticated than what Ian had “gifted” to Ethan. Military–grade assault rifles, anti–tank missiles, and in the corner, a carefully arranged set of timing devices attached to what appeared to be explosivepounds.
I examined one of the timer bombs closely, my expression unreadable. This wasn’t standard mercenary equipment–these were specialized demolition charges designed for targeted structural copse.
<b>I </b>tilted my head slightly, a dangerous glint shing in my eyes as I considered the implications. My lips curved into a small, cunning smile.
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