Chapter 702

Andrew Morgan huddled in the shadows of a crumbling brick wall, his body trembling from blood loss. Crimson stains spread across his gray hoodie, the fabric clinging to his clammy skin that had taken on an eerie pallor in the moonlight.

He'd barely escaped the police raid at the abandoned warehouse, only to find his safehouse compromised. The flashing blue lights reflected in puddles told him all he needed to know - someone in his inner circle had turned traitor.

Every movement sent fresh waves of agony through his body. The gunshot wound from Daniel Foster burned like fire, while the concussion from the earlier blow made his vision swim. The world tilted dangerously as he pressed a shaking hand to his throbbing temple.

With no safe place left, Andrew had no choice but to wait out the night in this filthy alley. He curled tighter into himself, trying to conserve body heat as fever began to cloud his thoughts. The growing pool of blood beneath him told a grim story he couldn't afford to consider.

The sudden crunch of footsteps on gravel made his head snap up. His hand flew to the gun hidden beneath his jacket before he recognized the silhouette. Victoria Clarke stood frozen at the alley's entrance, her shadow stretching toward him like an accusation.

For one charged moment, their eyes locked. Andrew saw the exact second recognition flashed in her gaze - and the carefully constructed mask of innocence that followed.

"You're hurt," Victoria said with convincing concern, stepping closer. The streetlight haloed her blonde hair as she pulled out her phone. "Let me call an ambulance."

Andrew moved faster than she anticipated. One moment her phone was in her hand, the next it sailed through the air to shatter against the pavement. The sound of breaking glass echoed through the narrow space.

"Are you insane?" Victoria stormed toward the wreckage, scooping up the destroyed device. "That was brand new!" She turned on him with impressive fury for someone facing a clearly dangerous man.

Andrew studied her through narrowed eyes. He remembered this woman - the convenience store cashier who always gave him exact change. Too exact. Like she'd been waiting for him.

The fever made it hard to concentrate, but one thought cut through the haze: She knows who I am.

Victoria's performance was flawless - the indignant citizen, the concerned bystander. But Andrew had spent years reading people, and the calculation behind her eyes betrayed her.

"You owe me for this," she declared, waving the broken phone. "Four hundred dollars. Cash."

A laugh tore from Andrew's raw throat despite himself. The audacity. "You're shaking down a bleeding man in an alley?"

Her chin lifted stubbornly. "Justice doesn't take sick days."

The absurdity of the situation struck him. Here he was, possibly dying, being extorted by some petite blonde with more courage than sense. The fever must be worse than he thought, because he found himself oddly charmed by her bravado.

When she reached to steady him, the contact sent an electric jolt through them both. Her fingers brushed his burning skin and recoiled. "Christ, you're on fire!" Her gaze dropped to his blood-soaked sleeve. "My car's nearby. Let me help you."

Every instinct screamed this was a trap. But with the police closing in and his strength fading, Andrew made a calculated decision. He'd play along - for now.

The ride to her apartment passed in a haze of pain. Victoria kept up a steady stream of chatter that he mostly tuned out, focusing instead on memorizing their route and noting potential escape routes.

The apartment surprised him - small but meticulously clean, with personal touches that didn't match the persona she presented at the convenience store. Interesting.

"Take these," she ordered, dumping an assortment of pills on the coffee table. Andrew scanned the labels before dry-swallowing the antibiotics, his paranoia not quite outweighing his need for medication.

When she moved to examine his wound, Andrew reacted on instinct. The gun appeared in his hand before he'd fully decided to draw it, the barrel steady despite his trembling limbs.

"Why work at that store, Victoria?" His voice came out rough as gravel. "Why linger near me?"

Through the reflection in a nearby mirror, he watched her pulse jump in her throat. But to her credit, she didn't panic. Instead, she slowly turned to face him, her expression carefully schooled into confusion.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I just work there."

Andrew cocked the hammer. The click echoed through the silent apartment. "Try again."

The game had begun. And only one of them would walk away alive.