"Are you an angel?"
The girl lying in Jack's arms wasn't Alexis or Kim, but her beauty was on par with theirs. And with her supermodel-like figure—legs for days—she was undeniably stunning.
Though still somewhat dazed, she seemed to recognize that Jack was her savior. Her voice was soft, almost delicate, quite unlike the usual tough-sounding Russian girls.
"I'm just a passerby."
Hearing her speak in Russian, Jack shifted his knee slightly against her toned backside, freeing a hand to reload his SR-2M Heather. Then, lifting her into a princess carry, he continued in Russian, "What's your name?"
"Anna… Anna Sergeyevna." She clung tightly to his suit jacket, her fingers gripping so hard that her knuckles turned white.
"Thank you for saving me."
"You're welcome. But I'm curious—what is an FSB agent doing in a place like this? Did someone betray you?"
A grin tugged at Jack's lips. Their entire operation had used Russian-made weapons to muddle the trail, and now, conveniently, an FSB female operative had fallen into their hands—perfect for taking the fall.
The spotlight earlier had been too blinding for him to confirm, but now, seeing her nearly silver-blonde hair, he suddenly recalled a spy movie from his past life—Anna.
The girl's soft body instantly tensed, but that was all. She didn't make any additional moves, likely because the drugs in her system were still strong.
"Who are you? CIA, MI6, or Mossad?" Her voice turned sharp and icy.
"I told you, I'm just a passerby, here to help. Recognizing you was just an accident."
Jack casually pulled the trigger, dropping two bodyguards rushing in from the stage entrance. As he did, he absentmindedly glanced down—
And was met with quite a view.
The only thing artificial on Anna's body was her pair of high heels. Everything else was completely exposed—nothing left to the imagination.
Did Russian intelligence agencies have some special training regimen? Her figure was unreal—slim yet perfectly proportioned. Even with so little body fat, she had… curves.
Especially now, with her laid out flat, certain assets trembled slightly with each breath. Definitely all-natural.
Heat flared in Jack's abdomen, and he quickly shifted his focus back to the conversation. "Care to explain your situation? Was this some kind of unconventional infiltration method, or did something go wrong?"
Anna's breathing hitched slightly—like he had touched on a memory she didn't want to recall. After a moment, she muttered, "I'm a model… just ran into a little trouble."
Jack didn't remember this storyline in the original Taken movie. Clearly, the world was rewriting itself again.
The movie Anna had been a rare, decently-rated female spy film—a standard R-rated action flick. It had plenty of twists, though the logic was questionable at best.
Perhaps because it was directed by Frenchman Luc Besson, it didn't just take shots at the former Soviet KGB—he even mocked the CIA.
If the film deserved a rating of 10, 9 of those points would go to the lead actress's breathtaking looks and figure. The last point? For the unexpected—but often nonsensical—plot twists.
In the movie, the protagonist had zero loyalty to the FSB. She just wanted to finish her one-year mission and retire in Hawaii.
But both the FSB and the CIA repeatedly manipulated and blackmailed her—not for her beauty, but for her skills as an assassin and intelligence asset.
That's why Jack had no qualms about exposing her identity upfront. There wasn't time for a slow trust-building session, so he opted for a little psychological pressure instead.
Who knew? Maybe this would pay off down the line.
"So, modeling was just your cover, and because of it, some unsavory people took an interest in you? And you ended up getting caught?"
Jack grinned. His hands remained busy—sidestepping an incoming bullet while smoothly unloading a burst that exploded another bodyguard's head.
"My agent sold me out. They drugged my favorite tea," Anna admitted, biting her lip in frustration and shame.
"Figures."
Jack leaned against the stage entrance, listening to the sounds of gunfire and screams in the hallway. Frank and Bryan were close—clearing their way through the complex.
"You can put me down," Anna suddenly said, her voice soft again. "I think I can walk on my own now."
Jack didn't argue and set her down. As enticing as the view was, carrying her like this risked looking like he was using her as a human shield.
"Jack?"
With the gunfire outside dying down, Frank's bald head peeked into the doorway.
He quickly scanned the room, then half-stepped inside, still keeping an eye on the exit. "Area's secure."
"Give me a minute."
Jack retrieved a syringe from the small pouch on his belt. Anna flinched, her eyes flashing with fear.
"It's just adrenaline," he reassured her, injecting half the dose before stripping off his jacket.
——
Now dressed in Jack's button-up shirt and bulletproof vest, holding the Viper pistol he had handed her, Anna followed behind him with a complicated expression.
She wasn't sure if this was some kind of next-level hero-rescue act, but Jack's immediate recognition of her identity had thrown her off. She couldn't quite figure out his angle.
Screams still echoed from the back halls, and Bryan, driven by his desperation to find his daughter, had charged ahead.
By the time Frank arrived with Jack and Anna, Bryan had already carved his way through the backstage corridors—cornering Patrice Saint-Clair in a dead end.
"We can work this out. I understand your feelings, sir. We need to talk, alright? I'm sure we can find a solution—"
Bang!
Bryan shot him in the shoulder. "Where is my daughter?"
"AAAHH!"
The once-dignified Patrice Saint-Clair crumpled, clutching his wound as he screamed, "Next door! All the girls are locked up in there!"
"Sir, I don't know which one is your daughter, but I swear, we didn't harm them. Please, understand—"
Jack didn't wait for the rest. He turned and kicked open the door to the adjacent room—
And immediately fired a shot.
A knife-wielding old woman, who had been hiding behind two drugged girls, collapsed to the ground without a sound. Her fall knocked the two dazed girls over as well—one of them was Kim.
"Help me out!" Jack called to Anna.
He grabbed a large decorative curtain from the wall, tore it in half, and draped the fabric over the two girls.
Behind them, the exposed wall revealed two large iron cages, a makeup table, and more trembling girls.
One cage had a sign labeled Sold, while the other read Unsold. The girls in the unsold cage still had some clothing; the ones in the sold cage… barely had anything.
"Jack!"
A voice, both relieved and desperate, called out.
Through the bars of the cage, Alexis's wide eyes locked onto him.
Just in time. Barely, Jack thought, exhaling deeply.
She was the only girl still in the Unsold cage. He glanced at the makeup table, piecing together the horrific process.
The girls were sorted by age, beauty, and purity. The youngest, most attractive ones were auctioned last.
They were given a drug injection, then stripped and dressed up by the old woman before being sent onto the stage.
After the auction, they were brought back here, given different-colored sheer robes to indicate their selling price, and left to wait for pickup.
Including Alexis, Kim, and Anna, there were eight girls in total.
Jack shot the lock off, helping Alexis out and murmuring reassurances. She was surprisingly composed—only a brief moment of emotion before regaining her composure.
Anna rummaged through a crate and found a stash of clothing. At least thirty outfits—far more than enough for the eight girls.
Leaving the room so Alexis and Anna could help the others get dressed, Jack nodded at Frank and Bryan. "They're safe."
Meanwhile, Patrice Saint-Clair, still clutching his shoulder, kept mumbling, "This is just business. No personal grudges. Please, understand—"
Bryan and Frank both raised their guns and emptied their remaining rounds into him.
______
(≧◡≦) ♡ Support me and read 20 chapters ahead – patreon.com/Mutter
For every 50 Power Stones, one extra chapter will be released on Saturday.