London, 11 PM. The gala finally ended. Guests drifted out in twos and threes.
Dixie trailed behind Rex, head down. The collar of her gown was still damp. Her kid-leather heels scraped the pavement as she limped. Lashes lowered, she looked like she'd survived an ordeal.
Talking to people felt deadlier than knife fights with Burman enforcers.
Not that she'd actually fought them with knives. But she could imagine.
Champagne mixed with water dripped from her hair and gown. The night wind bit. Her expression remained blank, but a faint shiver ran through her shoulders.
Rex stopped abruptly. Dixie nearly collided with his broad back.
She looked up.
Rex shot her a cold glance, tilting his head towards the Range Rover. "Get in the car, kid."
The Rover chirped. Locks disengaged.
"…"
Dixie glanced at the car, then back at Rex. She didn't move. Silent protest.
Afraid he'd lock her in and leave.
Rex's brow furrowed impatiently.
"…"
Before he could physically deposit her, Dixie turned smartly and limped to the Rover. She opened the passenger door and scrambled in with obedient speed.
Door shut, seatbelt clicked. She leaned forward slightly, dark eyes fixed on the windshield, trying to see what Rex was doing.
Rex simply shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned back against the Rover's hood.
His broad back and lean waist in the tailored shirt blocked her view.
"…"
Dixie pressed her lips together.
Sherry, in her shimmering gold mermaid gown, exchanged final smiles with a few tycoons and walked over. Seeing Rex perched on the hood, she raised a surprised eyebrow.
"Waiting for me?"
Her beautiful features curved in amusement as she crossed her arms, resting her chin thoughtfully on a hand.
Rex gave a slight nod.
Sherry smirked and hopped up onto the hood beside him. She pulled out a slim cigarette, lit it, and exhaled smoke slowly through red lips.
"What's up?"
"What did Andrew say?"
"Nothing earth-shattering."
Sherry's light green eyes narrowed with satisfaction as she blew out another plume. She relayed Andrew's message concisely.
"Andrew's no simpleton," Rex's expression was uncharacteristically serious. "Our contacts don't speak well of him."
Cruel. Cold-blooded. Fake addict.
"Addict?" Sherry's eyebrow arched higher. "He uses?" She mimed lighting a glass pipe.
"Haven't heard specifics," Rex shifted, one boot resting on the front bumper. He cleared his throat. "But working for Louis? It's possible."
Sherry chuckled wryly, shaking her head. "Well, the Little Bossis neck-deep in that trade."
She nodded subtly towards a Bentley parked nearby.
Following her gaze, Dixie finally got a look at the legendary "Little Boss."
A fair-skinned blond man stood by the car, conversing with a tycoon. A cane lent an air of staid formality. The cunning glint and false warmth in his blue eyes mirrored every crooked old British merchant.
Andrew leaned against the Bentley's door behind him, posture utterly lax, eyelids drooping as if bored stiff.
Sherry whistled softly, looking away. "Same as ever."
Rex snorted, noncommittal.
"...Relax," Sherry patted Rex's shoulder, seeing his grim expression. She flashed a confident smile. "I know how to handle Andrew."
"…"
Rex said nothing, but the shadows deepened in his ice-blue eyes, turning them several degrees colder.
Inside the car, Dixie couldn't hear clearly, but she guessed they were discussing the Little Boss.
Their identical expressions – especially Rex's – confirmed it.
Bits and pieces gathered over the past days painted a clear picture: if the Little Boss took complete control of Burman, she wouldn't survive. At least, not intact.
She looked down at the bandages on her leg. With her good hand, she pressed her kneecap. A dull ache radiated up through the bone and muscle beneath the skin.
She stared fixedly at her knee, lips pressed tight, face paling slightly.
Sherry waved goodbye to Rex with a smile and headed towards her flashy Ferrari.
Rex opened the driver's door. Dixie sat frozen, staring at her injured leg, lips bloodless.
"…"
Rex slid in. His gaze flicked to the bandaged leg. He reached out, fingers probing towards the kneecap.
"…!"
Dixie flinched violently. Spine snapped straight, she instinctively tried to yank her leg back. Rex's hand clamped down, stopping her.
"Stay still."
His voice cold, Rex hauled the girl – who was practically trying to melt into the seatback – forward. His large hand settled firmly over the bandaged kneecap and pressed.
"Hss…!"
Dixie's pupils contracted. A sharp gasp escaped her. Her whole leg jerked. Her fist clenched white-knuckled, but she bit down hard, not making another sound.
Rex snorted derisively. One hand rested on the steering wheel, the other still pressing her knee.
"Think you can handle the trial like this? What'll you fight with?"
"…"
Dixie looked away, lips compressed, holding her breath.
Ignoring the stubborn pup, Rex lowered his gaze. His fingers moved a few inches up her thigh, pressing again. "Hurt here?"
The leg beneath his hand trembled violently. The kid still didn't cry out, just stared fixedly at her leg, face white, fist clenched.
"I asked," Rex frowned, "does it hurt?"
"...No."
The kid wasn't cooperating. A shadow of irritation crossed Rex's ice-blue eyes. He clicked his tongue against his cheek and nodded. "Fine."
His hand left the trembling knee. Dixie's fist loosened slightly, muscles relaxing minutely. A sharp snick of metal made her look up.
Cold steel gleamed faintly in the car's interior light. A tactical knife. Rex always carried it at his back.
"If it doesn't hurt, the bandages come off."
Rex's voice was glacial. One hand clamped on Dixie's shoulder. The wickedly sharp blade touched the bandages wrapping her kneecap.
It looked less like removing bandages, more like preparing to extract the bone.
"Uh…!"
Dixie's eyes flew wide. She struggled fiercely, her injured leg kicking hard against Rex's forearm. His grip on her shoulder was iron.
Rex pinned her against the seat, effortlessly closing the distance despite her leg braced against him.
The blade pressed against her leg. Dixie stared at it, lips a tight line, struggling. Her wide, dark eyes were pure wariness and defiance.
Then she glanced out the window.
"Sherry! Sher…!"
Her eyes lit up. She thrashed and yelled desperately.
Rex clicked his tongue in annoyance, releasing her shoulder slightly. He half-turned, glancing out the window behind him.
No one.
"F**k!"
Cold air rushed in as the door handle clicked. Rex whipped back around. Dixie was already halfway out, tangled in the seatbelt.
"Sh*t! D*mn it!"
Her fingers scrabbled for the seatbelt release. Rex's long arm shot out, snagging the back of her gown and hauling her back inside. His knife hand slammed the door shut with a thunk.
"Hss…!"
Trapped, Dixie wrenched at the door handle, struggling wildly. Fabric strained, threatening to tear.
Rex shifted his grip to her shoulders, pinning her flat against the seatback with one hand.
"Stop it, kid!" Rex was clearly at the end of his patience. "Stop moving!"
Furious but controlled, he stowed the tactical knife – no point risking her kicking it and getting sliced.
Dixie gripped Rex's wrist where it held her, lips pressed tight, chest heaving. But she stopped struggling.
Head tilted back, dark eyes stared up at him through disheveled black hair.
"Listen, kid," Rex took a breath, forcing calm. He pressed his tongue against his cheek, then released her shoulders slightly. "Answer what I ask. Properly. Or tomorrow, you go straight to Watanabe. Got it?"
Silence.
Finally, Dixie licked her lips. "...Mm." Another beat of silence under his icy gaze. "...Okay."
Rex placed his hand back on her knee, probing professionally this time.
"Hurt here?"
Silence.
"...Yes."
Rex looked up. Dixie was staring down at her leg, the crown of her head visible through her messy hair where she'd struggled.
"...Here?"
His hand moved a few inches higher.
"...That too."
"…"
Rex's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. He lifted the hem of her skirt slightly, probing higher.
"Here?"
"...Not as much."
The iron pipe had likely struck dead center on the kneecap. The muscles above and below seemed okay. Only the joint hurt sharply.
Rex moved his hand from the steering wheel. One hand gripped her calf firmly. The other cupped her kneecap. Slowly, he began to bend her leg at the knee.
"How about this?"
"…"
Her calf held in Rex's grip, Dixie instinctively tried to pull away. Rex increased the pressure.
"...Okay."
Rex felt the movement of the joint beneath his hand. He was silent for a moment, pressing his tongue against his cheek again. He released her leg and sat back.
One hand on the wheel, Rex started the Range Rover. They pulled out of the parking lot, merging into traffic.
"Training. Tomorrow morning."
The cold voice came from beside her. Dixie looked up.
The dazzling glare of passing headlights flashed across Rex's ice-blue eyes.
"…"
"Objections?"
Rex spun the wheel with one hand, overtaking a sports car.
Dixie shook her head quickly.
Realizing he couldn't see it, she added immediately, "No."
"Then be there."
"Okay."
No hesitation.
Rex couldn't help raising an eyebrow. He glanced sideways at Dixie while driving, meeting her distinctly bright, eager dark eyes, then looked back at the road.