Chapter 96
The city streets buzzed with life as Isabella Sinclair maneuvered her sleek black car through the afternoon traffic. Her sharp eyes caught sight of two suspicious vehicles tailing her from a distance. They maintained a careful gap—close enough to keep her in sight, but never enough to draw immediate suspicion.
Again and again, they tried to box her in.
Trying to corner me? A cold smirk curled her lips. Amateurs.
Without hesitation, she jerked the wheel, veering off the main road and into the older, labyrinthine streets of the city. The narrow alleys twisted like a maze, but she knew exactly where she was leading them.
A dead end.
Perfect.
Just how she liked it.
After ensuring no prying eyes were around, Isabella stepped out of her car with eerie calm. The two pursuing cars screeched to a halt, disgorging a group of rough-looking men, their arms adorned with tattoos and thick gold chains. At their head stood a striking blond man, his smirk dripping with arrogance.
“Sweetheart,” he drawled, tilting his head. “We all know why we’re here. Hand over that medicine, or we’ll take it from you—by force.”
Isabella flexed her wrists, unimpressed. These weren’t professionals—just street thugs with inflated egos.
“Losers,” she said, her voice glacial. “Come at me together. Save me the time.”
The blond’s face twisted with rage. “You’re asking for it, bitch!”
One of his men tugged at his sleeve nervously. “Boss, the big guy said no violence unless absolutely necessary.”
The blond scoffed, shoving him off. “I don’t give a damn what he said!” He turned back to Isabella, his gaze flickering greedily toward the bag in her passenger seat. “Boys, grab the meds and let’s get out of here.”
He took a step forward, leering. “A pretty thing like you shouldn’t—”
A scream—sharp, guttural—cut through the air.
But it wasn’t hers.
One of his men collapsed, clutching his stomach, blood seeping between his fingers. Before the blond could react, Isabella was already moving.
“There are lines you don’t cross,” she said, her voice low and lethal. “And you just crossed one.”
A sickening crack echoed as she wrenched his arm, dislocating his shoulder with effortless precision. He barely had time to gasp before her knee slammed into his ribs, sending him crashing to the ground.
“Damn it!” he howled, scrambling backward. “What are you all standing around for? Take her down!”
But his men hesitated, fear flickering in their eyes.
“Boss…” one stammered. “This woman—she’s trained.”
Isabella advanced, each step measured, each movement deliberate. The thugs stumbled back, their bravado crumbling.
The blond snarled in frustration. “She’s just one woman! Use your damn weapons!”
Snapping out of their stupor, the men raised their bats and charged.
Isabella vanished from sight.
A brutal kick sent one man sprawling. Another crumpled under a precise strike to his pressure points. Within seconds, the alley was littered with groaning bodies.
The blond writhed on the ground, his spine screaming in protest. Isabella crouched beside him, her smile serene but her eyes like ice.
She traced a finger along his jaw. “Ethan Blackwood sent you.” It wasn’t a question.
The blond gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead. “N-No!”
The sudden shing of a blade embedding itself inches from his fingers made him flinch.
“Last chance,” Isabella murmured. “Who sent you?”
His resolve shattered. “Fine! Yes—it was Mr. Blackwood!”
Her expression didn’t waver. Now that she had her answer, there was no need for further bloodshed.
“Run back to him,” she said, standing. “And tell Ethan he’d better watch his back.”
The thugs didn’t need to be told twice. They scrambled to their feet, fleeing like rats from a sinking ship.
With the confrontation over, Isabella didn’t waste another second. She slid back into her car, the engine roaring to life as she sped toward the Kingsley mansion.
