Sophia moved like lightning.
She grabbed the freckled man by his collar and yanked him forward. A bullet whizzed through the air, piercing his skull with deadly precision. Blood sprayed across Sophia’s face.
Nick’s eyes widened in shock as he watched his comrade collapse.
Sophia raised her gun, movements sharp and efficient. She tilted her head slightly, voice icy. "Who’s next?"
She had already calculated it—their pistols jammed every three seconds.
Now was the perfect moment.
Gunfire shattered the silence of the jungle.
Sophia shoved the corpse aside, using the trees for cover as she moved. She fired with practiced ease. Three years without touching a gun had dulled her accuracy, but luckily, there weren’t many enemies left.
The thugs barely had time to react before they fell, one by one. Until their last breath, they couldn’t comprehend how this woman’s aim was so lethal.
The final image burned into their fading vision was Sophia wiping blood from her cheek with cold indifference.
Only then did they understand why their boss had fallen to her.
With the last enemy down, Sophia turned toward the dock. The yacht was within reach—freedom so close she could almost taste it. She crouched, quickly searching the bodies for supplies.
A crude pistol. A gleaming dagger. Even explosives.
Just as she finished gathering her spoils, footsteps crunched through the underbrush.
Sophia immediately raised her weapon. A blue-eyed man stepped out from behind a tree.
"Beautiful lady," he said with a wolfish grin. "I’m Chris. Your skills are impressive. If we’d met under different circumstances, I’d have pursued you."
He clapped his hands. His men shoved forward a bloodied figure.
Ethan.
Sophia’s gaze turned glacial. Ethan’s white shirt was soaked crimson, his face bruised and battered. He had clearly taken the brunt of the attack to draw the enemies away.
"Don’t worry about me—" Ethan’s words were cut off as a hand clamped over his mouth.
His eyes burned with determination. He had never expected to walk away unscathed when he lured them in. Now, he refused to drag Sophia down with him.
Their gazes locked. Ethan’s silent message was clear: Go. The yacht is right there. Reinforcements are coming.
This was their only chance.
Chris clicked his tongue lazily. "Seems he cares about you. But Miss Sophia, you’ve killed so many of my men. You owe me compensation."
Dressed in a black trench coat, his red curls wild in the wind, he pressed the barrel of his gun against Ethan’s temple.
"Drop your weapon," Chris ordered, lips curling into a dangerous smile. "Cut your own tendons with that dagger. Otherwise, I’ll put a bullet through your partner’s skull."
Sophia tightened her grip on the gun.