Chapter 4 Friend or foe

CHAPTER FOUR

FRIEND OR FOE

A bodyguard walked into the lavishly adorned meeting room, placing two crystal glasses filled with amber-colored liquid in front of the two men seated at the table. The dim lighting of the room reflected off the glasses, casting a faint golden hue on the polished oak surface.

"Let's get down to the deal," Mr. Martinez said, his tone sharp and impatient as he ignored the drink before him.

"Of course," Mr. Torres replied smoothly, his fingers drumming on the table, "but let's not forget to enjoy some refreshments first." His voice was laced with mock hospitality, a thin veil over the underlying tension.

"I do not drink during a business proposal," Mr. Martinez retorted, his voice colder now. His piercing gaze remained fixed on Mr. Torres, who responded with a sly smirk.

"Are you trying to reject my offer?" Mr. Torres countered, his eyes narrowing as he pushed the drink slightly closer to Mr. Martinez.

With a barely suppressed sigh of irritation, Mr. Martinez grabbed the glass, his hand tightening around its delicate stem. In one swift motion, he downed the contents, the liquid burning its way down his throat. "Can I sign the contract now?" he asked, his patience clearly fraying.

"Of course," Mr. Torres replied, sliding a folder across the table with an exaggerated air of politeness.

Mr. Martinez snatched up the folder, flipping through the crisp pages with growing frustration. His fingers moved roughly, the sound of shuffling paper filling the tense silence. His expression darkened as he reached the section outlining the terms.

"Is this a joke?" he growled, his voice rising. "The document states I'm transferring my company to you!" His words were sharp, slicing through the room's charged atmosphere.

"No," Mr. Torres replied, his smirk now completely gone, replaced by a cold, calculating expression. "It's reality. Transfer the company ownership to my name."

Mr. Martinez leaned forward, his face a mask of defiance. "And what if I don't?"

A low chuckle escaped Mr. Torres's lips, his laughter dripping with menace. "You're left with no other choice," he said, his voice hardening. "There's no one to help you out here."

For a moment, Mr. Martinez's mind raced, grasping at the possibility of his bodyguards barging in to save him. Then he remembered-they were far away, stationed at the hotel bar per Mr. Torres's instructions. A wave of dread washed over him.

He instinctively reached for his phone, his hands fumbling through his pockets. Empty. A cold chill ran down his spine.

"Looking for this?" Mr. Torres taunted, pulling the phone from his pocket with a mocking flourish.

"Shit!" Mr. Martinez cursed under his breath.

"Sign the documents, and this unpleasantness will end," Mr. Torres said smoothly, though the gun he suddenly produced from beneath the table told a different story. The sleek black weapon gleamed ominously under the faint light, its presence turning the atmosphere icy.

Mr. Martinez froze, his breath catching in his throat. His sharp mind churned desperately for a way out of the trap he had walked into.

**

In another part of the same hotel, Eleanor was locked in her own nightmare.

She was abruptly pushed backward, the force knocking the air from her lungs. Before she could react, the man lunged, pinning her beneath him. His weight was oppressive, and the malicious glint in his eyes sent a wave of terror coursing through her veins.

"Fuck off!" she screamed, summoning every ounce of strength she had left. With a surge of determination, she managed to shove him off her, the effort leaving her panting and dizzy.

Scrambling to her feet, Eleanor's hand darted toward the wine bottle on the table. In a desperate move, she swung it with all her might, the heavy glass connecting with a sickening thud against the man's skull. He staggered back, clutching his head, blood trickling down his face.

Her eyes widened as she realized the bottle hadn't shattered. It meant he was injured but not incapacitated. She stepped back, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. "Come any closer, and I swear I'll kill you," she warned, her voice trembling but resolute.

Ignoring the pounding in her head and the dizziness threatening to overwhelm her, Eleanor turned and bolted from the room. Her bare feet slapped against the cold tile floor as she ran, the corridors of the hotel blurring around her.

**

Back in the meeting room, Mr. Martinez's fingers brushed against the pen on the table. His mind whirred, calculating his next move. He couldn't afford to lose his company, but neither could he risk his life.

With deliberate slowness, he picked up the pen and poised it over the document. Mr. Torres watched him intently, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk. Mr. Martinez's hand moved deliberately, but instead of signing, he acted. In one swift motion, he drove the pen into Mr. Torres's neck, the makeshift weapon sinking in with horrifying precision.

Mr. Torres let out a guttural scream, clutching at his bleeding neck. Mr. Martinez wasted no time, grabbing the man's head and slamming it against the table. The force of the impact echoed through the room.

The door rattled behind him. Mr. Martinez glanced over his shoulder, hearing the hinges creak. His bodyguards were coming, and not a moment too soon.

But there was no time to wait. He lunged for the door, planting himself behind it. When the first bodyguard burst in, rushing toward Mr. Torres, Mr. Martinez moved with calculated precision. He took down the last guard with a swift blow before bolting into the hallway.

"After him!" Mr. Torres bellowed, his voice hoarse with pain.

The remaining guards gave chase, their heavy boots pounding against the floor as they pursued their target.

**

Eleanor's vision blurred as she stumbled through the winding halls of the hotel. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, and her legs felt like lead. The pain in her head was unbearable, and the room seemed to spin around her.

She turned her head briefly, her eyes locking onto the bloodied man pursuing her. Panic gripped her chest like a vice. She pushed her body harder, her mind screaming for her to keep moving.

**

Mr. Martinez's footsteps echoed through the corridor as he sprinted away from his pursuers. His stomach churned violently, the sensation growing worse with every step. He grimaced, a sudden realization dawning on him.

"The drink..." he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with disbelief and fury. His enemies had drugged him.

"Catch him!" the voice behind him roared, spurring him into action. He made a sharp turn, his shoes skidding slightly on the polished floor. His hand reached out, grasping the handle of a nearby door.

The door swung open, and he staggered inside, slamming it shut behind him. His heart pounded in his chest as he leaned against the wooden surface, his head spinning uncontrollably now.

**

Eleanor rounded another corner, her breaths shallow and uneven. Her body screamed in protest, but she refused to stop. Desperation fueled her every step.

Her trembling hand found the handle of a door. She twisted it open and stumbled inside, collapsing against the door as it clicked shut. Her chest heaved as she fought to catch her breath.

The hallway outside grew quiet. She heard the faint sound of footsteps receding, and for a moment, she thought she was safe.

But before relief could settle in, a hand clamped tightly over her mouth, silencing her. The grip was strong and unyielding, pulling her away from the door.

With a sudden and brutal force, she was flung across the room. The world spun around her, and her body hit the ground hard.

The impact jarred Eleanor, momentarily robbing her of air. Pain radiated through her limbs as she tried to push herself up. Her vision was still blurry, and her mind struggled to process what had just happened.

She looked up, her eyes widening in fear as she saw the figure standing before her, towering and unrelenting. Her instincts screamed at her to fight, to survive, but her body felt as if it were betraying her. Her breaths were shallow, her muscles weak. Her mind raced with desperate thoughts of escape, yet the looming threat in front of her anchored her in place.