The thin man spat sideways, malice glinting in his gaze.
“Enough nonsense. Surrender now, or my knife won’t show mercy!”
“Harm me,” Corrine replied, her voice carrying a glacial warning, “and you won’t live to regret it.”
The thin man’s laughter held no humor.
“You had your chance for the easy way. Don’t blame me for what comes next!”
With that, he launched himself at Corrine, blade flashing in the dim light.
The knife sliced through the air, streaking straight for Corrine.
“Move!” Donnelly’s expression hardened in an instant, his pupils shrinking with alarm
Corrine was ready. As the thin man lunged, she dodged with ease, snatching his wrist and wrenching it back with brutal force. He yelped as the knife slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground.
With a sharp kick, she sent the blade skidding toward Donnelly.
Then, pivoting smoothly, she slammed her elbow into the man’s ribs, yanked his arm behind his back, and flipped him over her shoulder.
The impact sent up a cloud of dust as he crashed onto the ground with a sickening thud, his body curling in agony.
If Donnelly weren’t busy sawing through his restraints, he might have applauded. Seeing his partner crumpled on the ground, the burly man’s face twisted with rage.
“You little-“
With a bellow, he spread his arms wide and charged at Corrine like an enraged bull.
Donnelly flung the knife toward her.
“Heads up!”
She caught it effortlessly, the blade glinting in her grip. As the brute barreled forward, she pressed the cold steel against his thick neck.
A slow, taunting smile curled her lips, the look of a cat toying with a trapped mouse.
“I wouldn’t take another step if I were you.”
From the ground, the thin man groaned, glaring up at her.
“Who the hell are you?”
Corrine didn’t answer. Instead, she drove her heel into his chest, shoving him back down.
Her eyes, sharp and unreadable, flicked over him.
“Take me to your handler.”
Brevard’s operation had a signature method-recruiting low-level thugs from across the country, rotating them constantly to sell products. No one ever dealt twice in the same place.
Each seller had a handler. But only the trusted few ever got close to Brevard himself.
To track down Brevard, Corrine and her team had to follow the trail leading through these two men’s handlers.
A flicker of calculation crossed the thin man’s face.
“If I take you to them, do I walk free?”
“That depends on how useful you are,” Corrine said coolly.
Five minutes later, both men were bound and marched out of the abandoned building.
The sharp command was followed by the thunder of approaching footsteps as a unit of armed officers surrounded them, weapons raised.
“Hands on your heads! Get down-now!”
Corrine’s brow twitched in irritation.
She flicked a glance at Donnelly, who was lazily running his fingers through his hair.
“Tell me you didn’t call them.”
Donnelly snorted.
“You think I’d do something that stupid?”
“Then who did?” Corrine muttered, exasperated.
Neither had an answer, but it didn’t matter-within minutes, they were all in custody.
Once they arrived at the station, Corrine and the others handed over their belongings before being escorted toward interrogation.
Meanwhile, at the far end of the corridor, a group of officers emerged.
At the front, a uniformed captain strode forward, occasionally glancing at the man beside him in a suit.
“Matias, thanks for the tip. We’ll conduct a full investigation and make sure these criminals are dealt with properly.”
Earlier that morning, the Brighton Group’s CEO had been ambushed. His car was wrecked, and a menacing letter had been left at the scene.
Though Brighton Group wasn’t as dominant as Ford Group, its influence in Lyhaton was undeniable.
But Matias wasn’t listening to the captain beside him. His attention was fixed on one of the interrogation rooms, his expression unreadable.
“Who’s in there? What charges?”
The captain, Wilbur Duffy, tracked Matias’ gaze, uncertainty flickering across his weathered features.
The interrogation room door swung open with a soft creak, revealing an interrogator who straightened his posture at the sight of his superior.
“Mr. Duffy,” he acknowledged with deference.
Wilbur inclined his head toward the interrogation room, his chin movement deliberate.
“What’s the situation in there?”
“We’ve apprehended a group following reports of illicit dealings,” the interrogator elaborated.
“The suspects are undergoing questioning as we speak.”
“Illicit dealings?” Matias echoed, his quiet words carrying layers of unspoken meaning.
The interrogator shifted his gaze toward Wilbur, seeking silent permission before continuing.
“There’s been an organization trafficking in forged antiques and artwork for several years. The evidence recovered from these individuals suggests connections to an unresolved case from three years ago.”
Wilbur studied Matias’ countenance with careful consideration.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.