Hundred Million Bounty on the Billionaire’s Wife Chapter 07

Hundred Million Bounty on the Billionaire’s Wife Chapter 07

Grace’s POV 

Cold night air hits me. 

I stick to the wall, scanning every shadow. 

“There! She’s there!” 

The shout cuts through the silence. My gun’s already out before my brain catches up. The guy drops hard, blood spreading across the concrete. 

Bullets whip past. I roll behind a dumpster. Three shooters appear at the mouth of the alley. 

“That’s my hundred million!” 

I lean out from cover and fire back. The second guy staggers, clutching his shoulder. The third tries to flank me, but I hit his leg. He goes down hard. 

The wounded one limps away, gripping his radio. I grab the radio off the first body, then steal another unlucky bastard’s motorcycle from the curb. 

I weave through narrow alleys, using every shortcut I still remember, The radio crackles: “She’s heading for the industrial district! Cut her off!” 

Exactly where I want to go. I gun it toward the old textile area. The abandoned factories make perfect hunting grounds if you know how to use them. 

The bike skids to a stop. I ditch it and climb through a broken window. Inside, rusted machinery stands like broken bones. I move through shadows, my footsteps silent. 

Every shadow could hide an enemy, but this is my territory. 

“She’s in Building Three! Spread out and surround her! Take her alive!” 

Voices carry through the broken windows. I count footsteps. At least eight, maybe ten. They’re trying to stay quiet, but their boots scraping on debris give them away. 

I grab a chunk of broken concrete and throw it toward the far end. It hits a pipe, echoing like a gunshot. 

“Over there! She’s at the loading dock!” 

While they rush toward the noise, I circle back. Raven always said the best weapon is making enemies think they’re hunting you when really, you’re hunting them. 

The knife slides between ribs. The first one drops silently. The second turns just in time to see my muzzle flash. 

“One, two, three…” I count bodies in my head. 

“Fuck! This bitch has been retired for two years!” 

I put two rounds in the talker’s chest. 

By the time I fight my way out, my left arm’s bleeding and my jacket has three new bullet holes. But I’m alive and they’re dead. That’s enough. 

I swing back onto the bike. Time to end this. 

Our old apartment building stands quiet against the night sky. I kill the engine and sit for a moment. 

Two years. Finally back here. 

The building looks the same. I walk along the wall toward the back. 

“Her bike’s here!” Voices carry from the street. “Don’t let her get away!” 

“Careful! She’s killed a dozen people already!” 

I run toward the small courtyard behind the building. The little tree Raven and I planted together is still there, grown quite a bit now. 

My knees hit the dirt hard. No shovel, so I’ll use my hands. 

Raven, help me. Let me find what we buried here. 

My nails split on rocks and roots. Blood mixes with dirt, but I keep digging. 

Footsteps close in. “She’s in the courtyard! Surround her!” 

“Easy! She’s dangerous!” 

Suddenly my fingers hit solid wood. 

Found it. 

At least fifteen people form a semicircle behind me, guns aimed at my back. I’m still on my knees in the dirt, blood running from my hands, but I don’t care. The wooden box sits between my knees. 

open it slowly. A gun and a pile of coins lie inside. 

I ignore all of it. My fingers find what I’m looking for, Buried at the bottom. A piece of parchment, yellowed and old, marked with a bloody fingerprint. 

Olivia Morgan’s blood marker. 

I bite down hard on my lip, tasting copper and salt. Blood wells up. I press my thumb to the wound, then press it to the parchment. 

Then I rise slowly to my feet. One hand holds the bloodstained parchment high. The other grips Arthur‘ s guarantee. 

“By the guarantee of Arthur Bennett and the Morgan family,” my voice carries through the silent 

courtyard, “Swans formally challenges Damien Cross to trial by combat!” 

The night goes dead silent. Even the whole city seems to hold its breath. 

Suddenly every phone in the courtyard goes off at once. The gunmen lower their weapons to check their screens, confused. 

A woman’s voice echoes through the empty night: Challenge approved. Trial by combat at the Damien Cross family estate within twenty–four hours. Bounty suspended until combat concludes.” 

“Fuck! We were this close!” one guy roars. 

“A hundred million, just gone!” 

“Goddammit!” 

Exhausted, I collapse to the ground. 

Most of them leave. A few linger at the courtyard’s edge, looking at me with disappointment, then they disappear into the night too. 

I look down at the parchment in my hand, then up at our old apartment building. “Twenty–four hours. Time to say goodbye,” 

I stand slowly, brush the dirt off my knees and the blood off my palms, and walk toward the building.