"The moment I saw Henry in that lift, I knew he was trouble," the bald man growled, his voice like grinding gravel. He paused, watching the monitors. "Fortunately, it seems he's the kind of trouble we need. He's here to get her out."
"Sir, they've doubled back," an operative muttered, sliding a tablet across the desk. The grainy CCTV footage showed Henry gripping the woman's hand, pivoting away from the elevators and disappearing into the stairwell.
The bald man's eyes narrowed. "Follow them. Now."
"On it."
Inside the concrete stairwell, the air was thick with the sound of their frantic breathing.
"I'm wearing heels," the woman gasped, leaning against the railing. "I can't go any further."
Henry didn't waste a second. He led her back through the heavy fire doors and directly toward the service elevator. The hallway was hauntingly silent. As the doors slid shut, the woman let out a jagged sigh of relief.
"Madam," Henry said, his voice calm, "snap the heels off your shoes. They'll function better as flats."
While she struggled with her footwear, the bald man's team watched the ground-floor feed. The doors opened, and they saw Henry and the woman sprinting toward the hotel exit.
"Let them go," the bald man commanded, a thin smile touching his lips.
"Sir? What about the mission?"
"Do as I say. This won't affect the mission—it'll simplify it."
Outside, the cool night air hit them. They were running hard, but the woman kept glancing over her shoulder. "They're gone," she panted. "I don't see them."
"They're still there," Henry replied, his eyes scanning the perimeter.
"I don't see anyone!"
"These are Jacob's men," Henry said grimly. "They're pros. They know how to haunt a shadow without being seen."
He led her to a non-descript sedan, unlocked it with a click, and shoved her into the passenger seat. He had barely cleared the curb when the roar of engines filled the air. Three motorcycles swerved into view, weaving through traffic to hem them in.
The woman began to tremble. "Why are they doing this? Why me?"
Henry didn't answer. He drove with surgical precision.
One biker pulled alongside, leveling a sawn-off shotgun at Henry's head. In one fluid motion, Henry shattered his own side window, reached out, and gripped the hot barrel of the gun. With a roar, he twisted the weapon, jerking the biker toward the car. Before the man could react, Henry's free hand connected with his jaw in a devastating strike. The biker tumbled; his machine skidded and erupted into a fireball against a streetlamp.
Henry floored the accelerator, the engine screaming as they hit the highway. But the nightmare wasn't over. A fleet of black G-Wagons surged from the darkness, one ramming their rear bumper with a bone-jarring thud.
"Madam, undo your seatbelt," Henry commanded.
"What? Are you crazy?" She said.
"Trust me." He said.
She looked into his eyes, saw the absolute certainty there, and clicked the belt open. Ahead of them, a car carrier truck was moving slowly in the middle lane, its loading ramp lowered.
"Hold on!" Henry yelled.
The sedan hit the ramp at eighty miles per hour, launching into the air. As the car began its terminal arc, Henry grabbed the woman, shielding her with his body, and leaped from the open door. They tumbled through the air, landing hard on the roof of a passing cars, then rolled onto a stone perimeter wall before finally crashing through the window of a darkened townhouse.
Henry hit the floor, cradling her like a porcelain doll. He stood up, shaking off the glass, while she stared at him in stunned silence.
"Are you alright, Madam?"
She nodded slowly, unable to find her voice.
I successfully destroyed Beast's car. Henry thought.
"Let's move." He led her deeper into the house. "You'll be safe here for a moment."
He settled her onto a sofa in the living room and brought her a glass of water. "Rest," he said, his hand resting on the hilt of his sidearm. "I need to sweep the perimeter."
"No," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I'm scared. Stay."
Henry hesitated, then nodded, standing over her like a silent sentinel. Exhaustion eventually won, and the woman drifted into a fitful sleep. Henry remained motionless, but his ears were ringing with a sudden intuition. Something was wrong.
He stepped toward the hallway to investigate when a sharp trill cut through the silence. The woman's phone. She bolted upright, answering it before she was even fully awake.
"Hello?"
"You escaped," a voice hissed through the line—cold, distorted, and dripping with malice. "But don't get comfortable. We know exactly where you are."
"Who is this?" she cried, her hand shaking. "What do you want?"
"If you want to live, accept the offer."
"Never," she spat. "You're a monster."
"Very well," the voice replied. "Then die."
In that exact heartbeat, every window in the house detonated inward. Glass rained down as dark figures swung in on ropes, knives gleaming in the moonlight. They didn't hesitate. They lunged.