Chapter 4 The Attack #3
Her mind flickered back to the morning—to the knock on her door, the hotel staff wheeling in a tray loaded with food. Too much food.
Did they deliver it to the wrong room?
Or…
Alexander?
No. Impossible.
He wasn’t even in the same city.
Mia shook her head slightly, forcing the thought away. She turned back to Sasha, masking her confusion.
“No,” she said softly. “I’m not hungry.”
Her stomach was so full that she wouldn’t be able to eat another bite even if she tried.
“I’m literally dying,” Sasha groaned again, clutching her stomach dramatically. She slipped her bag off her shoulder and, without warning, shoved it into Mia’s arms. Before Mia could react, the laptop bag followed—then a thick file slapped on top of it.
“Just take this,” Sasha said quickly. “Go to the location first and get everything set up. I’ll grab breakfast and meet you there.”
Mia’s hands shot out instinctively, fingers scrambling as the sudden weight tipped her off balance. Files slid against her wrist, the laptop bag knocked her hip, and her own bag dug into her shoulder.
“Sa—” she tried, but the word barely left her mouth.
Sasha was already jogging away, heels clicking as she disappeared down the street toward the nearest café, waving once over her shoulder without slowing.
Mia stood there alone, arms overloaded, sunlight pouring down on her. She let out a small, helpless sigh.
She tilted her head back and squinted at the sky. The sun was already harsh, heat pressing against her skin. Sweat gathered along her hairline as she awkwardly shifted the bags, tightening the strap cutting into her shoulder and readjusting the files slipping in her grip.
After a moment of struggle, she fished her phone out with her elbow and checked the map. The location wasn’t far.
She started walking, following the directions—one street, then another, then a third.
And slowly, the surroundings changed.
The tall glass buildings vanished. Clean sidewalks cracked and narrowed. Bright storefronts faded into dim streets lined with small, worn houses—peeling paint, broken windows, trash piled in corners. The air felt heavier. Quieter.
Too quiet.
A shiver slid down her spine.
Mia swallowed and picked up her pace, her heart beginning to thump harder. She kept her eyes forward, telling herself not to panic, not to imagine things—
Footsteps.
Behind her.
Not hers.
Her breath hitched. She slowed, then turned her head slightly.
Three men were walking toward her.
Their eyes were locked on her. Messy hair. Dirty clothes. Faces half-hidden in shadow, expressions unreadable—but the intent was clear.
For a split second, Mia couldn’t breathe.
A memory slammed into her—that night. Leaving James’s house. The fear. The hands. The helplessness. The same terrifying look in their eyes.
Her body went cold.
Her heart pounded so violently it made her dizzy, but instinct screamed louder.
Mia turned and walked faster.
Behind her, the footsteps sped up.
Her walk turned into a run.
The bags slammed against her sides as she ran, breath tearing out of her chest. The sound of pursuit grew louder—closer—too close.
Then—
A rough hand grabbed her shoulder and yanked hard.
Mia cried out as her body was thrown backward. She hit the ground with a brutal thud, pain exploding up her spine. The files flew from her hands, the laptop skidded across the road, her bag landing somewhere out of reach.
She gasped, choking on fear.
Before she could scramble away, the men surrounded her. Shadows fell over her trembling form. One of them grinned and reached down.
Mia tried to crawl back, palms scraping against the rough road—but hands clamped onto her shoulders, pinning her in place. Another man leaned in, reaching—
Crack.
The sound was sharp. Sickening.
The man was suddenly ripped backward, his head snapping to the side as a brutal blow landed. His body collapsed to the ground like dead weight.
Mia froze.
Alexander stood there.
His chest rose and fell violently, rage burning in his eyes so fiercely it was almost frightening. He didn’t even look at her.
The second man swung at him.
Alexander met him head-on—his fist slamming into the man’s face with bone-crushing force. The man staggered back with a broken cry.
The remaining two rushed him together.
Alexander bent, grabbed a loose brick from the ground, and without hesitation swung it upward. The impact echoed through the narrow street.
One man dropped instantly.
The other stumbled, then collapsed, groaning.
Silence followed, broken only by ragged breathing.
Alexander stood there for a second, shoulders tense, fists clenched.
Then he turned.
Mia was trying to push herself up, hands shaking, knees weak beneath her. As Alexander strode toward her, his steps were heavy, controlled, dangerous. He stopped in front of her and reached out, his hand steady despite the fury still burning in his eyes.
“Come here,” he said lowly, offering his hand.
Mia lifted her shaking hand toward him—fear still clinging to her chest—but before her fingers could touch his, her gaze slid past his shoulder.
Her blood turned cold.
One of the men was on his feet again.
He staggered toward them from behind, teeth clenched, eyes wild with fury and desperation. In his hands was a thick wooden stick, gripped so tightly his knuckles had gone white.
“Mr. Graves!” Mia screamed, her voice tearing out of her throat.
She lunged forward, reaching to pull Alexander away—
Too late.
The stick came down with brutal force.
The crack of the impact echoed through the empty street.