Chapter 7

The deep hum of the Rolls-Royce engine idled in the shadows of the tree-lined driveway.

A few yards away, Jaison heard the heavy tires crunching on the gravel. He turned his head and immediately recognized the custom license plate of the Mendez Group.

A flash of genuine fear crossed Jaison's face. But when he squinted and saw no bodyguards stepping out of the passenger side, his shoulders relaxed.

Inside the car, Alana pulled her hand out of Corbin's grip. She reached for the door handle.

Corbin reacted instantly. His hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist like a steel vice. He squeezed hard enough to bruise the bone.

He leaned in close, his jaw feathering so hard it looked like it might snap. "If you walk toward that man," he hissed, his voice vibrating with lethal intent, "I will kill him right here."

Alana turned her head. She looked at Corbin's face, twisted into an ugly mask of pure jealousy and paranoia.

She wasn't angry. She reached out with her free hand and gently patted the back of the hand that was crushing her wrist.

She looked straight into his dark eyes. Her voice was completely flat and devoid of emotion. "I am going to take out the trash."

Corbin froze. The sheer, unfiltered disgust in her eyes stunned him. He subconsciously loosened his grip.

Alana didn't waste a second. She pushed the heavy car door open, gathered the fabric of her red dress, and stepped out into the cool night air.

The wind caught her black shawl. She walked toward Jaison, the sharp click of her heels sounding like a metronome counting down his seconds.

Jaison watched her approach. When he realized it was Alana, the fear on his face melted into a smug, mocking sneer.

He naturally assumed Corbin had kicked her out of the car, or that she had come crawling back to beg for his help.

Jaison shoved his hands into the pockets of his white tuxedo trousers. He stood his ground, adopting a posture of absolute superiority.

Alana stopped exactly three steps away from him. She looked at him as if she were inspecting a rotting corpse.

"What's wrong?" Jaison mocked, a nasty grin spreading across his face. "Finally couldn't handle that psycho? Come here to beg me to take you away?"

Hearing Corbin insulted, the temperature in Alana's eyes dropped to absolute zero.

Inside the car, Corbin had rolled down the window. He heard Jaison's words. The murderous intent inside him boiled over.

Corbin shoved his door open. He stepped out of the vehicle, his massive frame radiating a suffocating, terrifying pressure.

He raised a single hand. From the shadows of the trees, six armed bodyguards materialized instantly, fanning out and cutting off every possible escape route for Jaison.

Jaison saw Corbin step out. The blood drained from his face. He stumbled backward, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.

He tried to hide behind Alana, but she smoothly stepped aside, leaving him exposed.

Alana slowly unzipped her velvet clutch. She slid her hand inside, her fingers wrapping around the textured grip of the silenced handgun.

Jaison was still delusional. He threw his hands up and yelled at Corbin, "She came to me! She tracked me down, Mendez! Don't do anything crazy!"

Alana let out a very soft, very dry scoff. In the dead silence of the night, it was deafening.

Without a moment of hesitation, she pulled the matte-black gun from her bag.

The dark muzzle caught the faint light of the streetlamp, gleaming with a deadly promise.

Jaison's eyes bulged out of his skull. His smug expression shattered into pure, unadulterated terror.

Alana held the gun with one hand. Her arm was perfectly steady. Her eyes were dead.

She aimed the barrel directly at Jaison's right kneecap.