"Be careful!" Christian Edis shouted as the sound of motorcycles grew louder. He glanced around—their escape was nearly complete. Ahead lay a river and a highway; crossing either would place them in New York territory. Once there, they could breathe easier, at least without constant interference from Massachusetts police. But this was the most dangerous moment.
The faces of his companions hardened at his warning. Nodding grimly, they drew their guns and scanned the area, ready for the attack. Above them, dark clouds broke, and raindrops as large as beans began to pour, drenching the men and the surrounding land.
Suddenly, the sound of a motorcycle intensified, and a figure flashed through the rain-soaked darkness. Without giving the men time to react, the figure drew two pistols and fired four precise shots.
Two of the men fell instantly, pooling blood on the ground. The others fired back, but the motorcycle's speed was overwhelming. Within seconds, it vanished into the distance. Their bullets struck only the earth.
Christian's eyes dimmed. This was no ordinary attacker—it had to be Jiang Hai's doing. If they didn't kill this person, they would all die.
"Form a circle!" Christian commanded. "This isn't a police operation. Crossing the river won't save us." He knew Jiang Hai's men would not hesitate to kill, whether in Massachusetts or New York. Justice or jurisdiction was meaningless here—they had only one option: fight to the death.
The remaining four men tightened their formation, scanning the surroundings with deadly vigilance.
Then, another motorcycle roared. The rider was too fast, too precise. Holding a gun in one hand, she fired three or four more shots, taking down three of the four remaining men. The last man frantically emptied his pistol. Two clicks confirmed he was out of bullets.
The motorcycle stopped. A woman in a black leather jacket leaned against it, helmet removed. Under the fading sunlight, her strikingly beautiful face stunned the survivors. They could scarcely believe that such a woman could be so lethal.
She had dispatched all five men without hesitation. One survivor attempted to attack, seizing a fallen companion's pistol, but she responded instantly, firing a single shot that pierced his forehead. Every enemy was neutralized; the woman remained the only one standing.
Christian Edis, along with his son Izo in a wheelchair, stared in disbelief. He had never imagined one person could defeat so many skilled men so effortlessly.
"It looks like we're doomed again," Christian muttered with a wry smile, clutching his son's head. Father and son leaned close, sharing a brief moment of intimacy despite the chaos.
"Remember," Christian whispered, "wherever leaves flutter, fire will burn. Shadows from the fire bring hope, and new leaves will grow. I'm sorry I can't see you married, raising children… but you must survive. Live on, Izo!" His large hand caressed his son's face. There was no time for hesitation—only survival.
"Dad…" Izo's voice trembled, sensing what his father intended. Christian chuckled and, in a swift motion, pushed his son's wheelchair toward the river and charged the approaching woman.
She fired several shots, but the rain and his speed caused the bullets to graze only Izo's leg. Before she could aim again, Christian tackled her. She reacted instantly, withdrawing a finger blade from her boot. With precision, it pierced the back of Christian's head, and he collapsed, powerless.
As she moved toward Izo, the boy had already disappeared into the river. Only his wheelchair remained. The woman's eyes narrowed in frustration.
"Jiang Hai… the mission failed. Izo Edis escaped," she muttered, activating her Bluetooth headset.
Back in Winthrop, Jiang Hai's phone rang. It was Valentina, frustrated on her first mission for him.
"Oh? What about the others?" Jiang Hai asked calmly.
"They've been dealt with," she replied.
"Good. The important thing is that you're unharmed. We'll handle that guy later. Return now—it's getting late," Jiang Hai instructed.
Valentina nodded, then efficiently destroyed evidence: removing bullets from the victims' skulls, burying them, and dumping the bodies and weapons into the water. Donning her helmet, she roared off on her motorcycle, disappearing into the storm.
The heavy rain masked all traces—a lesson well known to professionals like her.
Not long after, a faint figure drifted down the river, eventually coming to rest on a shallow beach, battered but alive.
Elsewhere, a small, heavily armed group emerged from the distant forest. Their leader's face was blotched as though burned, and beside him stood a man in a mountaineering suit.
Meanwhile, Valentina returned to a small Boston villa. With a horn, the garage shutters slowly lifted. She entered alongside her motorcycle, followed by three cars: a Porsche BSR, a Lotus S, and a Volvo 70. Though sports cars, their prices were moderate compared to luxury models in China.
The owners of the cars were Ale'el Sara, Belyak Trotsky, and Lelis Carter. Valentina's motorcycle, a BMW 4, was not to be underestimated, costing nearly as much as the cars.
(To be continued.)