The thugs cleared a path, though the corridor itself was narrow.
"Get back into the side stairwell! Now!" Ethan yelled.
"Do as he says," Zhao gasped, sucking in air. He genuinely felt he was on the verge of collapse. The adrenaline from the fight had worn off, and now every part of him screamed in protest. He could feel the blood steadily flowing from the wound in his lower back.
Led by Serena, the three of them reached the entrance to the third basement level.
"Take the stairs," Zhao suggested weakly. "If someone messes with the elevator, I'm a dead man for sure."
Ethan thought for a moment, then smirked derisively. Choosing the stairs—Zhao was also afraid his own men might get him killed!
The third basement level had a concealed door. Behind it were two SUVs, parked ready for a quick escape into the adjacent underground parking garage.
"Keys are on the tires," Zhao said, his voice faint, clearly running out of steam.
Serena felt around and found the keys.
"You drive," Ethan instructed. Once Serena had the engine running, he dragged Zhao towards the vehicle.
"Getting in the car is a no-go," Zhao dug his heels in, a last surge of defiance. "We're at this point, you drag me in there, I might as well trade lives with you right now! Once I'm in that car, I'm just meat on the chopping block!"
Ethan got into the passenger seat, keeping the knife pressed to Zhao's throat.
"Serena, go."
As the vehicle began to move, Ethan shoved Zhao away hard.
As for killing Zhao? Ethan wouldn't do it. Once you kill someone, the stakes become monumental.
Ethan knew he was here for the money, not to carry a murder charge.
The engine roared as the SUV sped through the parking garage.
At the same time, the screech of tires echoed through the garage.
"They're coming!" Serena glanced in the rearview mirror, her face tense.
Two more cars sped towards them from the front.
"Ram through!" Ethan fastened his seatbelt.
The next moment, the vehicle shuddered violently as Serena swerved. Ethan could only grip the handhold tightly.
One side of the SUV lifted, then slammed back down, narrowly squeezing between the two oncoming cars.
"The exit's right ahead, hurry!"
Serena floored the accelerator, smashed through the parking gate arm, and burst out onto the street.
It was the dead of night, with very few cars on the road.
But soon, blinding headlights flared behind them. Multiple vehicles were in pursuit.
"Where to now?" Serena asked, foot still hard on the accelerator.
"How the hell should I know?" Ethan ripped a piece of his shirt and tied it tightly around his bleeding head. A savage anger burned in him. He'd been completely set up!
Michael Langford didn't send him to 'retrieve a shipment'—he sent him to his death!
Serena jerked the wheel. "You're Michael's son. He sent you. No backup plan?"
Ethan spat out the word: "Bastard."
Serena shot him a look.
Ethan asked, "Mr. Kun sent you. Didn't he have an extraction plan? A way out after you got the... item?"
Serena didn't answer, focusing on driving.
"Head for South Mountain," Ethan directed. "Further ahead is downtown, all bars, lots of traffic at night. If they hit traffic, they lose a few cars. If we hit traffic, we're dead."
Serena drove straight to the foot of South Mountain, a scenic area usually deserted at night. But recently, a trend had emerged—crowds of people hiking up in the middle of the night to watch the sunrise from the summit, so the trails were surprisingly busy.
Fortunately, the road wasn't crowded. When they parked at the base, Ethan and Serena got out and started up the mountain path.
"Driving, we'll get caught for sure. Let's blend into the crowd."
The mountain was crowded, cold, dotted with tents.
The adrenaline that had kept him going was fading, and a wave of weakness washed over Ethan. He could barely walk straight, needing Serena's support. He felt like he'd bled out from the back of his head.
"Don't worry," Serena said, noticing Ethan kept his hand in his pocket. "We've come this far. I have no reason to ditch you now. Even if the finger wasn't with you, I wouldn't leave you behind."
The mountaintop was packed, especially one particular lookout point, a sea of people sitting shoulder to shoulder.
Some chatted in groups, others drank, couples cuddled.
Ethan and Serena squeezed into the mass of people and sat down, completely spent.
The November night was bitterly cold. Neither was dressed for it. They shivered, huddling together for warmth.
With little artificial light, the star-filled sky was clearly visible overhead.
Serena sighed. "Back there, I really thought you were sent by Michael to warn Zhao. How did you come up with that line on the spot?"
"What choice did I have?" Ethan pulled his collar tighter. "I thought you'd have a backup plan, but I saw no sign you were going to make a move. If I didn't say something, Zhao would have started skinning me alive."
Serena looked at him. "I thought you had a plan. You were the one sent for the job."
"I was tied to a fucking chair! What plan could I have?" Ethan cursed. "Just got lucky Zhao dropped the knife when he grabbed you."
Serena felt a shiver of retrospective fear. "Weren't you afraid of what would happen if it failed?"
"Afraid? So what? Death, obviously. We came here risking our lives. Failure meant death."
Serena fell silent.
They sat huddled together.
Serena looked up. "So many stars. I can't remember the last time I saw the Milky Way so clearly. You?"
"Never really thought about it," Ethan shook his head. "Can't be bothered to look."
Serena rolled her eyes beautifully. "You really are devoid of romance, aren't you?"
"Romance is a luxury for those whose lives aren't hanging by a thread."
Ethan felt colder and colder, shivering violently. A crushing fatigue washed over him, making it hard to keep his eyes open.
"Careful," Serena whispered urgently. "Zhao's men are here."
Ahead, a dozen or so figures moved through the crowd, flashlights sweeping. People who had the lights shone on them started to complain, but shut up quickly when they saw the men's menacing expressions.
Ethan forced himself to alertness, pulling the sharp scalpel from his pocket.
A large hand suddenly clamped down on his shoulder.
Without even looking, Ethan twisted, driving the scalpel backward.
"It's me."
A voice spoke, and a hand caught his wrist before the blade connected.
Ethan looked. It was the middle-aged man from the casino, the one who had wanted to bet his life.
The man glanced toward the approaching flashlights. "They're almost here. You two, come with me."
Ethan looked at him. He hated entrusting his fate to others, but he had no choice now.
They got up and followed the man, moving away through the crowd.
A beam of light swept over them. Three burly men with flashlights, who had been searching the crowd, quickened their pace when the light caught Ethan.
As they reached the trio, one thug thrust out a hand to block them. "You there—"
Before he could finish, the middle-aged man seized his wrist and delivered a sharp chop to the side of his neck. The thug crumpled to the ground instantly.
The other two rushed forward, but were silently and efficiently dispatched by the man before they could make a sound.
The three thugs fell without causing much of a stir.
The middle-aged man's movements were economical, powerful, and precise—no flashy techniques, just brutal efficiency.
It reminded Ethan of a movie he'd seen, The Master. The fighting style was very similar.