Chapter 164
The moment the words left his lips, Vincent Blackwell—the scarred assassin—let out a dark chuckle.
“Lucas, why bother reasoning with her? If she resists, we’ll paint the walls with the girl’s blood first.”
Vincent’s finger tightened on the trigger as he leveled his gun at Alexander and Amelia.
Amelia clung to Alexander’s sleeve, her body wracked with uncontrollable sobs, her terror palpable.
Alexander met the killer’s gaze with unflinching resolve.
He understood the veiled threat—they were using Amelia to pressure Isabella.
Vincent’s grin stretched wider, slow and predatory.
“Relax, Ms. Sinclair. Play nice, and no one gets hurt. But if you cross us…” He let the unspoken promise of violence hang in the air.
They had been warned about Isabella’s cunning. Even unarmed, she was dangerous. Direct confrontation was too risky—better to lure her in quietly. Once they reached the Burned Islands, they could deal with her as they pleased.
To their surprise, Isabella complied far more easily than expected.
“Fine. I won’t fight you. Take me.” She raised her hands in surrender, her posture deceptively submissive.
Rebellion in the cramped confines of the plane was too dangerous. But out in the open? The game would change.
“Ha! See? Nothing to worry about!” Vincent kicked open the cockpit door, pressing his gun to the pilot’s temple and forcing an emergency landing.
As Isabella kept her hands raised, she shot Alexander a fleeting glance—a silent message.
“Don’t even think about it!” Lucas Mendoza, his neck tattooed and his movements sharp, caught the exchange. He swiftly blindfolded her and bound her wrists before she could act.
Within moments, they dragged her away the second the plane touched down.
Meanwhile, police swarmed the scene, launching an immediate investigation and deploying additional aircraft to secure the passengers.
Back in Ontdale, Alexander rushed to Amelia’s side. She was drenched in sweat, her small frame trembling even in sleep.
“Amelia, it’s over. You’re safe now,” he murmured, though his expression remained grim as the private doctor arrived.
The doctor hesitated under Alexander’s icy glare—he had never seen the composed CEO radiate such raw fury.
“Mr. Kingsley, you need to take care of yourself. Stress-induced migraines don’t heal overnight.”
Alexander’s voice was steel. “I won’t rest until this is finished. Tend to Amelia first.”
Beyond Amelia, his greatest fear was Isabella’s fate. The moment they landed, he had mobilized every resource to track her—but so far, nothing.
James Pembroke, his voice laced with concern, urged, “Sir, you haven’t slept since we returned. At least rest for an hour.”
“No. Stay with Amelia. I have work to do.”
Alexander knew they had taken her to the Burned Islands. Every second wasted increased the danger she was in.
After the doctor sedated Amelia, her trembling eased slightly—but she remained curled at the edge of the bed, her fingers twitching. Her eyes were hollow, her body flinching at every touch, lashing out with fists, kicks, even teeth if anyone came too close.
James’s heart ached. “Sir, the gunfire traumatized her. Let me handle this. You focus on finding Ms. Sinclair.”
He knew Isabella’s bravery had saved them all.
Alexander steadied himself, then knelt beside Amelia’s bed, gripping her trembling hand. His voice was low, fierce with promise.
“Amelia, I will bring her back to you.”
At his words, though she couldn’t speak, two silent tears slipped down Amelia’s cheeks.
