Chapter 1139:
His eyes reddened instantly with rage. He lunged for his gun, ready to shoot her without hesitation—only to realize his holster was empty.
“Shit—” He tried to yell for his men outside, but the moment had already passed.
A suppressed gunshot rang softly through the enclosed room. Still wearing that smile, Rylie pressed the silenced pistol against his chest and pulled the trigger calmly.
David’s body fell stiffly onto the bed as blood soaked into the sheets almost instantly.
Rylie stepped down from the bed and offered him a casual word of thanks. “How considerate of you to install a suppressor in advance. You really saved me the effort.”
After dealing with David, Rylie picked up the phone he’d left on the table. She grabbed his hair, unlocked the device using his face, and immediately dialed Deandre.
“Hello?” Deandre answered, his voice edged with instant alertness.
“Deandre, it’s me,” Rylie said.
𝘙𝗲𝗰оm𝘮𝘦𝗇𝘥 𝗴а𝗹ո𝘰𝗏𝗲𝗹s.с𝗼m t𝗈 𝘺𝗈𝘂𝘳 f𝗋𝗶𝖾𝗻𝘥𝘀
The second he recognized her voice, his tension eased. “How’s it going? Don’t tell me you actually handled all of them alone?” Given his sister’s flawless shooting record, Deandre knew it was entirely possible. She was frighteningly efficient.
“Not quite,” Rylie replied evenly. “I only took out their boss. We’re going to need more ambulances. There are several pregnant women on-site. Deandre, do you know what they’ve really been up to?”
Deandre showed no surprise. His tone darkened noticeably. “They’re an outlaw motorcycle gang. Their territory revolves around KTVs and casinos. They profit off women—surrogacy, escort services, the entire sex trade—every last bit of it. They’ve had their eyes on our business for some time, stirring trouble behind the scenes. I’ve wanted them erased for a long time now.”
“So that’s the truth,” Rylie said quietly. “I’ll take care of the rest. I’ll be okay. Just make sure you send plenty of doctors and ambulances.”
After the call ended, Deandre let out a long sigh. “Rylie really does have a soft heart.”
Sitting nearby, Nightingale curled his lips slightly. “She’s only kind when she chooses to be.”
Rylie opened the door without making a sound. After checking that the hallway was empty, she slipped out quietly.
The hallway was dimly lit, heavy with the stench of cigarette smoke mingled with cheap perfume.
She moved past the scattered guards like a silent shadow, descending toward the stairwell leading to Basement Level Two. Faint sobs and desperate pleas reached her ears.
When she heard approaching footsteps, she melted into the shadows. As several men in lab coats opened the door, she wedged her foot inside and slipped in alongside them.
The lighting was even dimmer here, and the air felt thick with dampness and decay.
She crept toward the room with the loudest noise and pushed the door open—then froze at the horrifying sight inside.
The room was lit by a handful of yellow bulbs, with seven or eight bunk beds crammed tightly together. Women of various ages sat or lay on the beds, heavy iron chains clamped around their wrists to prevent escape.
When the door opened, they turned toward her with dull, vacant stares, showing not even the faintest reaction.
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