Chapter 6
Chapter 6:
“Don’t be afraid, sweetheart,” one of the men sneered, his tone mocking as his gaze lingered on her. “Once we deal with this guy, we’ll take real good care of you. Whatever your pretty little heart desires—it’ll all be yours p>
Yelena didn’t flinch. Her eyes, cold and unyielding, met his with an intensity that froze the air between them. She uttered a single word, her voice low and commanding, cutting through the tension like a blade. “Leave p>
The men exchanged amused glances, still jeering, but their laughter faltered when they caught a glint of silver in the dim light.
In her hand, a set of long, sleek needles shimmered, their tips sharp and unyielding.
Yelena’s lips curled into a mocking smile, her gaze sharpening into something lethal. Before any of them could process the shift in her stance, she moved. With fluid precision, her arm arced through the air, the needles slicing through the darkness like streaks of light. Each one found its mark with unerring accuracy—throats, shoulders, legs—their targets incapacitated before a single cry could escape their lips.
One by one, the men crumpled to the ground, their weapons slipping from their hands. Their jeering confidence dissolved into stunned silence as realization dawned far too late.
Austin, still struggling to stay upright, stared at the scene in wide-eyed disbelief.
Who was this woman?
Her movements had been precise, calculated—far beyond anything he had ever witnessed. She wasn’t just skilled. She was extraordinary!
Yelena cast a cursory glance at the men sprawled on the ground before shifting her gaze to the injured man. His sharp features were striking—eyes dark and cold, his expression distant and stoic, as if carved from stone. Despite his pallor and obvious pain, he exuded a quiet resilience.
She had every intention of walking away, leaving this chaotic scene behind her. Yet something in her hesitated. One of her weaknesses—her soft-heartedness—held her back.
𝗔𝗿𝗰𝗵𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲 @ g⍶𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀⧽𝖼𝗈𝗆
With a resigned sigh, she knelt beside the man and examined his wounds.
“Thank you,” Austin said, his voice low but carrying a sincere note of gratitude.
“It’s nothing,” she replied, her tone detached, though her actions suggested otherwise.
As she checked his pulse, her brows knitted together.
The bleeding, while severe, wasn’t the most pressing concern. His pulse was weak and erratic—a telltale sign of poison coursing through his veins.
Yelena opened her bag and retrieved a small porcelain bottle. Uncorking it, she sprinkled a fine medicinal powder over his bleeding wounds. Almost instantly, the bleeding slowed, and a soothing coolness replaced the sting of pain. She then produced a small pill and handed it to him, her voice steady.
“Take this. It will counteract the poison. Without timely treatment, you won’t make it much longer,” Yelena said, her tone cool and matter-of-fact.
Austin hesitated, his sharp eyes studying her as if trying to gauge her intentions.
Yelena continued her work, efficiently bandaging his wounds. Just as she finished, the sound of footsteps reached them. She turned her head to see another group of people approaching.
“Mr. Barton p>
“They’re with me,” Austin said, exhaling in relief. His shoulders relaxed slightly, his posture easing.