Chapter 779
Chapter 779:
The silence in the canyon was suffocating. The dust settling on the windshield drifted like sand in an hourglass, and the rhythmic tick, tick, tick of the cooling engine marked time.
Ethan stared down at Alistair from the ridge, his eyes wide with sudden, dawning terror. The malice that had fueled him evaporated under the sheer weight of Alistair’s rage and the precision of his aim.
“I… I missed,” Ethan stammered to himself, shrinking back behind a boulder. He realized with a jolt that he had underestimated the modifications on the vehicle. Julian hadn’t just built a luxury SUV; he had built a tank.
“Liam,” Alistair said. He didn’t look away from the ridge. “Get this vehicle moving. And this time, ensure we have a clear path. If I see his face again today, I’m buying the Vance family debt and foreclosing on his life p>
Liam stepped forward into the driver’s seat as Victoria shifted to navigation, his expression grim. He didn’t use the polite chauffeur grip this time. He grabbed the gear stick, hauling the battered SUV out of the debris like an unruly beast.
“Let go! The axle is bent!” Victoria screeched, checking the diagnostics.
“Skye saved your life in that warehouse,” Alistair said to the air, his voice ice-cold, referring to the past. “Consider this your repayment. We get to drive out. Next time, you get carried out p>
They dragged the car back onto the dirt path. The door slammed shut, cutting off the wind.
I lowered the blanket, my heart rate slowly returning to normal. I looked down at my dress. Not a spot of blood—just dust.
“Are you okay?” Alistair was in the passenger seat instantly, his hands hovering over my arms as if checking for invisible wounds.
“I’m fine,” I said, tossing the ruined blanket onto the floor. “He’s pathetic, Alistair. Don’t let him ruin the mission p>
Alistair looked at the blanket, then at me. The murderous glint in his eyes softened, replaced by that intense, consuming heat.
“You have excellent reflexes,” he murmured.
𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗰 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗯𝗲.𝗰𝗼𝗺
“I had a good teacher,” I replied, smoothing the skirt of my ruined gown.
He stepped back, taking me in fully for the first time since the crash. His gaze traveled from the hem of the dress, up the torn bodice, to the bruise resting at my throat. His eyes paused there for a fraction of a second—he recognized the fatigue, he had to—but he didn’t say a word about fear. He simply looked into my eyes.
“You are…” He shook his head, searching for a word. “Breathtaking doesn’t cover it. You look like a victory p>
“Then let’s go claim it,” I said.
“Wait,” Victoria interrupted, checking the time. “We are five minutes late. The Summer Home security grid cycles at noon p>
Alistair nodded. He reached out to take my hand, then paused. He looked at the long train of my dress, then at the floor where a few shards of glass lay near the door.
“We’re not risking mobility,” he decided.
Before I could protest, he reached into the glove box and pulled out a tactical knife. He bent down.
“Alistair!” I gasped, clutching his shoulders. “The dress! What are you doing p>
“I’ve carried the weight of a dying empire, Skye,” he said, slicing the heavy train off the dress to free my legs. “You need to be light p>