Chapter 787:
Rylie walked up to the group. “Have you chosen where to go next?”
Her arrival lifted the mood. Alyssa grinned. “We tossed around ideas, but no one agreed. We decided to leave the choice to you, Miss Owen.”
“Alright,” Rylie said with a nod. “Where’s Mr. Buckley?”
“He left not long after arriving,” Alyssa answered. “A place like this doesn’t seem to suit him. He gives off a strange vibe.”
Melany added, “He’s polite, but there’s something dangerous about him.”
“We’ve had enough for the night,” another staff member said. “Some people are drunk. I’ll call chauffeurs to get them home.”
Since Melany and Alyssa hadn’t been drinking, they planned to head back to the office to review the documents for the new factory partnership.
After Sweetberry’s rise in the Meridian Future contest, offers poured in from factories and fabric suppliers. They had no shortage of good choices now, only the task of selecting the best.
“I still have other things to take care of,” Rylie said.
One by one, the others left. Rylie stayed until the end, settling the bill before stepping out of the bar. Since she had driven, she called for a chauffeur.
The driver arrived earlier than expected, and Rylie paid it little attention as she entered the car. Only when the route seemed unfamiliar did she sense that something was amiss.
Rylie looked at him. “This is not the right road for my destination,” she said.
The driver chuckled. “That road’s too choked. I’m taking a shortcut.”
Just then, Rylie’s phone buzzed.
“Ma’am, where are you? I didn’t see your car,” a male voice asked, and then the line went silent for a moment.
Obviously, the caller was the real driver, and the man behind the wheel now was an impostor.
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From the rearview mirror, Rylie watched his eyes flash with something like malice and greed.
She kept her face calm, checked her phone, and found no signal. “Was it Mylo who sent you?” she asked.
The impostor’s grin cut across his face. “Whoever pays gets the job done,” he said, and the car swung hard onto a dark, empty mountain road. He leaned in close to the wheel. “Miss Owen, cooperate if you want to suffer less,” he warned.
They stopped in front of a crumbling warehouse. The driver killed the engine, stripped the keys from the ignition, and popped the locks with smooth hands. He climbed out with a short baton already in his palm, then yanked the rear door open and glared at Rylie.
“Get out, or I will get rough,” he said.
As Rylie stepped out, about a dozen men in black emerged from the shadows.
Rylie scanned the lot and clicked her tongue once.
“Quit stalling and get moving!” the driver barked, leveling the baton toward the warehouse door.
She tilted her head. “You picked a place with no cameras, didn’t you?” she asked.
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