Chapter 172: Allison had already yanked Nicholas by his collar, using him as a human shield. The bullet ripped through his skull; his eyes instantly dulled. That poor man never imagined he'd meet his end at the hands of his ally. Blood splattered across Allison's face, but she remained unnervingly calm as she raised her gun. Turning slightly, she said, "Now, it's my turn."
She had noticed earlier that their handguns jammed for three seconds—a fatal flaw. This presented the perfect opportunity. In a heartbeat, chaotic gunfire erupted around her. Allison shoved the lifeless body aside and slipped into the jungle, her movements swift and precise, taking her shots one by one. Her aim wasn't as sharp as it used to be; three years without handling a gun had left her rusty, but she compensated with strategy. Fortunately, there weren't many of them; otherwise, things could have gone south quickly. The men barely had time to react before they crumpled to the ground. They had no idea this woman was so skilled, her shooting so precise! Their last thought was the chilling image of that ghostly woman, serenely wiping blood from her face.
It dawned on them too late why their leader had fallen prey to this woman, left disfigured and humiliated. With the final bodies dropping, Allison glanced toward the yacht docked at the pier, success shimmering on the horizon. Stepping over the fallen men, she rifled through their gear, collecting what she needed: handguns, silver daggers, and even explosives. Just as she finished securing the supplies and was about to return to Kellan, footsteps sounded nearby. Instinctively, Allison's gun was in her hand, pointed at the approaching figure—a man with piercing blue eyes.
"Hello, gorgeous," he said. "Carlos Lopez, at your service. I have to say, I admire your work. Under better circumstances, I'd be chasing you like a dog after a bone." Carlos smiled, his blue eyes gleaming. He gave a slow clap, and his men shoved forward a bloodied figure—Kellan! Allison's gaze turned cold, deadly rage simmering beneath her calm facade.
Kellan's white shirt was soaked in blood, his face bruised and battered. He had clearly taken a beating to buy her time. "You don't… have to worry about me," Kellan rasped, but a rag was shoved into his mouth before he could continue. His eyes held a steady resolve, watching Allison without fear. He had already accepted his fate. He had agreed to be the bait, fully aware of the danger. He didn't want to drag her down with him. His expression was devoid of fear as he locked eyes with Allison. His message was clear: Leave. Now. The yacht was right there, the perfect escape. Once on board, she could sail away; reinforcements would arrive soon. It was the sensible move.
Carlos clicked his tongue, his voice casual, almost playful. "Ah, he's quite fond of you, isn't he? But, you see, Ms. Clarke, after the mess you've made killing my men, I can't exactly let it slide. Order must be maintained, after all. So, I'm afraid this is where your story ends." He adjusted his black trench coat, his fiery red curls giving him an almost theatrical air. Carlos pressed his gun lazily against Kellan's head. "Ms. Clarke, kindly drop your gun and take that pretty little dagger. I expect you to cut your tendons. Both of them!" He smirked, his tone darkening with menace. "Or, I'll make sure this guy doesn't make it out alive!" Allison's brow creased, her mind racing.