Chapter 691

The gunshot shattered the silence.

Daniel Foster never missed his mark.

Andrew Morgan twisted mid-air, his body slamming against the concrete as the bullet whizzed past his ear. Years of living in the shadows had sharpened his instincts to razor precision.

"Damn it!" Daniel snarled, reloading with practiced efficiency.

He raised the gun again, but before he could pull the trigger, the warehouse doors burst open. Andrew’s men stormed in, guns blazing.

The abandoned factory erupted into chaos. Fists flew, metal clashed, and gunfire echoed off the rusted walls. Blood splattered across the cracked floor as both sides fought with brutal desperation.

Andrew seized the moment. He lunged toward Isabella Morgan, dropping to his knees beside her motionless form.

"Isabella! Open your eyes!" His voice cracked with raw panic.

Her skin was deathly pale, her breathing shallow. The deep gash on her side bled freely, staining his hands crimson.

"You’re going to be okay," he choked out. "I’ll get you out of here—just hold on!"

His hands trembled. For the first time in years, fear consumed him. He’d stayed away to protect her, and now she was paying the price.

A shadow loomed behind him.

Daniel swung a steel pipe with vicious force.

The impact sent Andrew sprawling. White-hot pain exploded through his skull as he hit the ground, his vision swimming.

Isabella slipped from his grasp, collapsing back onto the cold concrete.

Daniel smirked. "Did you really think you could save her?" He pressed the barrel of his gun against Andrew’s temple. "Today’s the day you both die."

A sudden commotion erupted outside—frantic barking, shouting.

"Police!" Eric Simmons bellowed, bursting through the door. "They’ve got the place surrounded!"

The fighting ceased instantly. Criminals on both sides froze, their faces paling.

Daniel’s jaw clenched. "Fall back! Use the tunnels!"

But he wasn’t leaving without finishing this.

He fired.

Andrew barely dodged in time. The bullet grazed his shoulder, searing through flesh. He gritted his teeth, blood soaking his sleeve.

The police were closing in. Boots pounded against concrete.

Andrew’s gaze flickered to Isabella. If he took her with him, she’d be dragged into his world.

"I’ll come back for you," he whispered.

Then he bolted toward the nearest window, vaulting through just as officers stormed the room.

Outside, flames erupted—dry hay stacks set ablaze, smoke billowing into the night sky.

Alexander Whitmore led the charge inside, scanning the carnage. His sharp eyes caught the silhouette of a man disappearing into the inferno.

"Did we get them all?" he demanded.

Alvin Chambers shook his head. "Daniel slipped through the back. Had a bike waiting."

Alexander’s gaze lingered on the burning hay.

Someone else had escaped.

And they’d set the fire as a distraction.

Clever.

Too clever.