Chapter 9 Assassination

The Lewis family, a name synonymous with prestige in Enceridge, boasted a reputation that preceded them.

Even as the specter of bankruptcy loomed over the Lewis empire, their financial standing still outshone the average household.

In a bold move, a mere delivery guy had the audacity to insinuate that the Lewis coffers were not as robust as one might think.

Brennen, catching Emilee's subtle reaction, flashed a mischievous grin and remarked, "Just flexing, you know? Take it with a pinch of salt."

Emilee, no stranger to Brennen's penchant for exaggeration, chose not to delve deeper into the matter.

With a nonchalant swipe of her lips, she declared, "Let's roll."

Descending the stairs, Brennen took charge of the electric bicycle, gesturing theatrically to the back seat.

He slapped the cushioned surface, inviting Emilee to take a seat, drawing more than a few curious glances their way.

At the residential area's entrance, a sleek black Mercedes, a beacon of business sophistication, stood stationary.

Within its confines, Cary wore a somber expression, his discontent palpable.

Observing Brennen and Emilee's departure through the car window, Cary's frustration erupted, culminating in a forceful fist slamming onto the seat.

"Curses! This infuriating woman! Spending a night with a delivery guy, as if she's running some kind of charitable escapade!"

Cary's anger drained color from his face.

A scar-faced individual adorned in a gold chain turned to Cary and asked, "Mr. Patel, what's our move now?"

A storm brewing in his eyes, Cary snapped, "What move? How should I know? Take care of that delivery guy-make him disappear! And figure out a way to relocate Emilee to a hotel!" I have to bed that woman tonight! She lays with a delivery guy and denies me? Intolerable!" Cary bellowed in frustration.

Curt Truman, the scar-faced confidant, nodded in understanding. "Rest assured, Mr. Patel. We've got this covered."

With a decisive command, Cary exclaimed, "What's the holdup, then? Get to it!" A swift kick landed on Curt's thigh, propelling him out of the car and into a waiting van.

The van discreetly tailed Brennen's electric bike, shadows converging in the pursuit.

At the same time.

In a dimly lit basement...

A foreigner produced a photograph of a woman, brandishing a dagger to affix it determinedly on the wall. Casting a quick glance at his two comrades, he declared, "Let's roll!"

As multiple hands extended, a clandestine hexagram tattoo surfaced beneath the sleeves of each of the individuals.

Surprisingly, the woman captured in the photo was none other than Clare.

Meanwhile, Brennen zipped through the streets on his electric bike, deftly avoiding the scrutiny of surveillance cameras.

Initially, Emilee playfully tugged at Brennen's clothing with her fingers, but his speed proved challenging.

If the electric bike had wings, they might have taken flight already.

Adapting to the pace, Emilee firmly gripped the sides of Brennen's waist, and he reciprocated by reaching back to secure her small hands around him.

Close together, Emilee rested against Brennen's back, attuned to the rhythmic beat of his heart.

The sensation was peculiar, and it left Emilee in contemplation.

Brennen stole a glance at the rearview mirror as they left the residential area, noting a persistent Mercedes and a trailing van.

Despite Brennen's deliberate detours, the unwelcome entourage doggedly pursued them, seemingly unfazed by the diversion.

Emilee, on the other hand, remained blissfully unaware of the shadowy pursuit.

Upon reaching their destination, Brennen discerned that the pursuers persisted in their trail.

It became apparent that these individuals harbored an interest in him.

Realizing the need for a strategic move, Brennen turned to Emilee, stating, "You go ahead and fetch the items. I've got some pressing matters to attend to."

Emilee's response was biting. "Are you feeling a tad apprehensive, perhaps?"

"I fear nothing. You, my dear, just head home and twiddle your thumbs," Brennen retorted dismissively.

Without lingering, he maneuvered his electric bike toward District A of Wyvern Villas, the persistent group tailing him closely.

Navigating familiar pathways, Brennen reached the pinnacle of Enceridge's opulence-the most coveted villa.

Brennen deftly retrieved a box concealed beneath the sofa, revealing its contents: a meticulously packed sniper rifle.

Swiftly assembling the weapon, he affixed the silencer with practiced ease.

Carrying the sniper rifle with purpose, Brennen ascended the stairs.

Yet, as he approached, an unexpected melody reached his ears-an echoing cadence of a woman's song.

Instinctively, Brennen readied himself, pulling the bolt and pressing against the wall.

The bedroom door on the second floor creaked open.

Inside, the remnants of intimate moments adorned the room-a black lace bra on the bed, women's panties strewn about, and black stockings carelessly tossed over a chair.

The melodic notes persisted, emanating from the bathroom.

The sound of water abruptly ceased, and the door swung open.

Clare, in her undraped vulnerability, emerged, towel-drying her hair.

Startled, her gaze locked onto Brennen, stationed outside, armed with a gun.

"Ah!!!"

A reverberating scream pierced the air within the room, prompting Clare to hastily wrap herself in a towel.

In response, Brennen swiftly shut the door, indifferent to Clare's enraged threats, "You insolent delivery guy! I'm going to kill you!"

Disregarding the commotion, Brennen approached the window with purpose.

Creating a gap, he aimed in the direction of one certain villa.

Pulling out his phone, he dialed a number and coolly stated, "Hello, property management? I reside in A6. We've got a plumbing emergency; dispatch someone promptly."

With that, he ended the call.

Setting the phone down, Brennen initiated a countdown.

Meanwhile, he noticed the van tailing him persistently, accompanied by unexpected accomplices.

Grinning mischievously, he muttered, "Let's stir up some chaos today."

Promptly responding to the faux plumbing issue, the high-end residential property management arrived swiftly.

Their staff knocked on the door, but no one emerged from the villa in response to the property management's persistent attempts.

Frustrated, the management personnel resorted to the intercom, their voices echoing in vain.

Finally, they left in frustration.

Their departure marked the cue for Brennen's decisive action.

Without hesitation, he squeezed the trigger.

A muffled gunshot resonated, piercing the door directly.

A gaping hole materialized, revealing a lifeless figure lying in a pool of blood.

Viper, ranked fourth on the List of Hitmen, met his end accomplishing little.

Swiftly, Brennen contacted Archie. "Dispatch a team to Wyvern Villas to clean up A6."

"Yes, sir," responded Archie promptly.

Just as the call concluded, the bedroom door swung open, and Clare, fueled by anger, stormed out, exuding an aura ready for retaliation.

"You impudent delivery guy! Who granted you the audacity to set foot in my abode?"

Casually leaning against the window, Brennen couldn't help but appreciate Clare's elegant form as she changed into an alluring, see-through purple nightgown.

While such attire might overwhelm most, it bestowed a distinct allure upon Clare.

With a firm grip on the neckline, Clare waved her phone declared, "Vacate my premises immediately! Or I'll have the police on speed dial!"

Indulgently puffing on a cigarette, Brennen questioned, "This is your place?"

"Of course, it's my residence! Surely not yours!" retorted Clare, her anger undeterred.

Unmoved, Brennen retorted, "What if this place is genuinely mine?"

Clare responded with a disdainful sneer, "Before you boast, take a good look at yourself. Do you comprehend the value of this house? 170 million! Even if you're raking in ten thousand a month from delivering takeout, it would take you... an eternity to afford it."

Brennen interjected dryly, "Approximately 14, 667 years of non-stop work."

Clare, in a pout, retorted, "Who asked you to do the math? I can crunch numbers too! You're nothing but a stinky delivery guy! Do you grasp the chasm between us? I'm warning you, steer clear of Emilee in the future! Don't think your motives escape my notice! If you're seeking a free ride, ensure you're even worthy of it!"

"I don't need lectures from you! What's this talk of a 'free ride'? Am I the type to leech off women?" Brennen retorted, frustration evident in his tone.

Arms crossed defiantly, Clare questioned, "Then what exactly are you? I'm warning you-"

Her words halted abruptly as Brennen swiftly advanced.

In an instant, he tackled Clare to the ground, his presence overwhelming.

Pinning her down, Brennen's touch pressed onto Clare's lithe form, the warmth and allure of her body undeniable.

"Ah!"

Clare's scream echoed once more.

"You scoundrel! Release me! You-"

Her protestations were abruptly silenced by a resounding bang.

A framed picture crashed from the wall, splintering into fragments upon impact.

A bullet hole marred the once pristine surface.

Fear etched across Clare's pale face, she stammered, "What... what's happening?"

Brennen, seizing Clare, rolled with her on the floor, the pair tumbling into the sanctuary of the bedroom.