Chapter 267
Chapter 267:
In less than thirty seconds, the alley was a field of broken bodies. The rain was drowned out by the agonized moaning of men clutching shattered limbs.
Mick was the last one standing. His face had gone the color of dirty snow, his legs trembling so badly he could barely hold his weight. The steel pipe slipped from his fingers and rang against the concrete.
Cole walked toward him. His white shirt was soaked in rain and splattered with blood, the wet fabric clinging to his chest and revealing the terrifying architecture of his physique. He stopped inches from Mick’s face, reached down, picked up the steel pipe, and pressed the cold, dirty metal against the underside of Mick’s chin, forcing the man’s head up.
Cole’s voice dropped to a low, demonic murmur.
“Which hand touched her p>
Mick’s eyes went wide with absolute horror. He shook his head frantically, tears streaming down his face and mixing with the rain, too paralyzed to form words.
Cole smiled. It was a cruel, entirely soulless expression.
He pulled the pipe back and swung it downward with merciless force. The steel connected squarely with Mick’s right forearm. The bone snapped in half. Mick let out a high-pitched, animal cry of agony and collapsed into the mud, clutching his mangled arm.
𝘠𝗼𝘶𝘳 𝖽𝘢і𝘭у 𝘥o𝗌e о𝖿 𝗇ovе𝗹𝘀 o𝘯
Cole dropped the pipe and turned his back on the carnage without a second glance, as though he had simply taken out the trash. He walked toward June.
June was still pressed against the blue container, her heart slamming against her ribs. She watched him approach, her stomach churning violently as she took in the full sight of him — skin smeared with blood, the heavy metallic stench of violence mixing with the cold rain, the sheer, overwhelming brutality of what she had just witnessed shattering everything she thought she knew about who this man was.
Cole stopped in front of her. His black eyes moved across her face, taking in the swollen red mark on her cheek and the torn fabric of her coat.
Without a word, he reached down and pulled his wet, blood-splattered shirt over his head, exposing his heavily muscled torso to the freezing rain. He stepped into her space and wrapped the warm, damp fabric around her shoulders, drawing it closed across her chest to cover her torn blouse. His massive hands gripped her shoulders — his touch impossibly gentle, a devastating contrast to the violence of seconds ago.
He looked down into her eyes.
“Do not be afraid,” Cole whispered, his voice thick and raw with emotion. “I am here p>
Before June could form a response, heavy, rapid footsteps echoed from the entrance of the alley.
Crawford sprinted around the corner with his tactical team right behind him. He had caught the muffled screaming through the ambient noise on his radio.
He stopped dead.
His dark eyes swept the scene — the ground covered in bleeding, groaning bodies, and at the center of it all, Cole Compton, completely shirtless, his massive frame forming a physical shield around June. Wrapping her in his own clothing. Claiming absolute ownership of her survival.