Erin Lowell froze for a few seconds before speaking. Her tone was polite yet distant, her voice clearly laced with displeasure. "Sir, would you mind letting go?"
"S-Sorry." Zane Jennings abruptly released her. His heart was still pounding, his breathing a bit erratic. With his smoky voice, the words sounded exceptionally alluring. "Watch your hand."
Nash Quinn waved over a server, a look of bewilderment on his face. 'Since when did the ever-aloof Zane Jennings become so tender?'
Erin Lowell stood up and apologized again with a slight bow. Her politeness only created more distance. "I'm sorry."
Zane stood just a step away from her, the warmth of her wrist still lingering on his hand. It felt hot. His mind raced, desperately trying to think of something to say to keep the conversation going.
His brain suddenly stalled, and his mouth made the decision for him. "No need to apologize."
Seeing that he didn't intend to blame her, Erin Lowell nodded and turned to leave.
Zane Jennings: "..."
Nash Quinn leaned back on the sofa, a knowing, playful smile on his lips. He teased, "What's this? Is the old iron tree finally about to blossom?"
The lights were too flashy; he hadn't gotten a clear look at her face, so he didn't know if Zane Jennings was just acting on lust at first sight.
Zane Jennings didn't answer him. He stared at her departing figure, unable to look away. After a moment, he started to move.
Erin Lowell wasn't in a hurry to leave. She walked to the bar and ordered a drink—the same kind she had broken. She spoke in English, "Please have this sent over there. Thank you."
The server followed her gaze. "Of course."
After midnight, the evening wind at the mouth of the small alley was a bit chilly. Erin Lowell had had a little to drink, and her steps were slightly unsteady. It was different outside—not as noisy. The alley was quiet, and fallen leaves rustled softly across the ground.
Rounding the corner of the alley, Erin Lowell put on her coat, fastened the belt, and fidgeted with something in her pocket.
She crossed the main road and turned into a dead-end alley. The footsteps behind her followed her all the way in.
When she reached the end, Erin Lowell turned around. There was no panic in her eyes. She stared at the leader of the men in black and said in Chinese, "Did Henry Sullivan send you, or was it Caleb Sullivan?"
The men in black who had followed her were not Chinese, and they were covered in tattoos. The one standing in the middle, however, was. He had only one ear. She had looked into him before. His name was Ken Shaw.
A year ago, Erin Lowell had been in a car crash—an attempted murder. The driver responsible was this same Ken Shaw.
Six months ago, Erin Lowell was kidnapped. The leader of the kidnappers was also Ken Shaw. She held a grudge, so before she escaped, she took one of his ears.
Ken Shaw spat on the ground, not bothering to hide his intentions. "Too late for you, even if you know." He glanced around. "You're not leaving here alive today."
He waved his hand, and two men stepped forward, reaching directly for her shoulders.
Erin Lowell took a step back, pulled a scalpel from her pocket, and slashed at them.
She had been forced to practice Sanda for three years but had never put her heart into it, only learning the basics. If it came to a real fight, she would definitely be the one to lose.
The two men were trained fighters and easily dodged her slashing blade.
Erin Lowell calculated the time. She wasn't planning on escaping. To pry the name of the mastermind from Ken Shaw's lips, she had to wait for Ian Sheffield's men to arrive.
Standing a short distance away, Ken Shaw spoke again, a sneer on his face. "No more time to play games with the young lady." He waved his hand, gesturing to the remaining men. "Finish her."
"We'll see if they have what it takes."
Erin Lowell tightened her grip on the scalpel, blade facing out. The phone in her pocket was still silent. Her lashes fluttered, and she clenched her jaw, deciding to strike first.
Six burly men in black, each about six-foot-three. Without bone-deep hatred, no one would go to such lengths.
Erin Lowell's skills were amateurish at best. After landing a few successful surprise attacks, she began to steadily lose ground.
Two men grabbed her arms, and with a sharp twist, the scalpel clattered to the ground.
"Young Lady, let's settle the score for that ear." Ken Shaw, who had been watching from the side, walked over, grabbed Erin Lowell's hair, and yanked it back hard.
He was just a man paid to do a job at first, but after the incident with the ear, they became enemies. This was a grudge he had to avenge.
He picked up the scalpel from the ground and lunged toward Erin Lowell's ear—
"Hey."
A voice came from behind, its owner deliberately keeping it low.
Erin Lowell lowered the foot she had been about to raise.
Ken Shaw's hand froze in mid-air. He turned around impatiently, looking Zane Jennings up and down with a brazen tone. "If you want to live, walk away."
"Of course I'm walking." Zane Jennings smirked, his disdain palpable. The black clothes he wore seemed to amplify his hostile aura. He lifted his chin. "But I'm taking her with me."
Ken Shaw chuckled, gesturing to his remaining men. "You think I'm going to let you take her?"
"Well, can't be helped then." Zane Jennings smiled nonchalantly. "A man can't just stand by and watch someone die."
"You're asking for it!" Ken Shaw turned back and yanked Erin Lowell's hair again. "Another one with a death wish."
There were no lights in the alley; it was dim and shadowy. Erin Lowell looked over and met his eyes. Her heart skipped a beat.
Zane Jennings flexed his hands, then picked up a rock and a wooden stick from the ground. He yelled out. The moment Ken Shaw turned back, the rock hit him square in the forehead, instantly drawing blood.
The impact knocked him to the ground. He reached up and touched his head, his hand coming away covered in blood.
"Fuck! Playing the hero saving the damsel, are you?" He wiped the blood on his shirt and charged at Zane Jennings along with several of his men.
"Not saving a damsel." Zane Jennings shook his head, taking off his jacket. A roguish smile still played in his eyes. He hefted the wooden stick and strode forward. "Just want to be a hero."
Zane Jennings was ruthless and agile. He dodged the fists of two men, and with one swing of his stick, brought them both straight to their knees.
Ken Shaw wasn't stupid. He picked up an iron pipe and swung it. Zane Jennings sidestepped, then whipped his own stick around, striking his opponent's wrist. The iron pipe fell to the ground.
Zane Jennings clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, his eyes scanning Ken Shaw's body. He picked out a few of the most painful spots, and his stick came down. "Beating up another man—now that takes real skill."
Ken Shaw lay on the ground, clutching his arm and crying out in pain.
More men charged forward from behind.
Stunned for a moment, Erin Lowell snapped back to reality. She wrenched her arm free, simultaneously raising her right leg and kicking the man in black behind her in the knee. The man, caught off guard, felt his leg give way and knelt on the ground.
Erin Lowell knew she couldn't afford a prolonged fight. She scooped up the scalpel from the ground. Just as she was about to run, she looked up to see a wooden stick swinging down at her. She dodged backward, lost her footing, and stumbled, her head careening toward the wall.
In her panic and confusion, a hand reached out, pressing against her forehead. The momentum was too great; she slammed into the wall with that hand cushioning her head. The expected pain never came.
She had crashed into his hand, and the back of his hand had crashed into the wall.
The stick missed its mark. Shielding Erin Lowell's head, Zane Jennings kicked out, booting the man in black in the torso. The man cried out and collapsed to the ground, clutching his stomach.
Zane Jennings had put his full force into that kick. The man tried to get up twice but failed.
"Are you okay?"
The voice came from above her, carrying his scent, ever so faintly. Erin Lowell's eyelashes fluttered, brushing gently against his fingers.
Zane Jennings froze, the sound of the wind masking his now-unsteady heartbeat.