7: Peril at Every Turn
Summary: Jack successfully rescues Isabella, but in doing so, they expose their position. Richard's men launch a relentless manhunt. Jack and Isabella must find shelter quickly before it's too late.
Chapter 1: Escape from Hell
The biting wind cut through Jack's exposed skin like a whip laced with ice, freezing his body to the bone. But this cold was nothing compared to the fire burning inside him. Isabella had been kidnapped! That audacious bastard, Richard, had dared to take what was his—Jack's woman. His mind was consumed by a single thought: save her, no matter the cost.
The dim, abandoned warehouse loomed like a monstrous beast with its jaws wide open, swallowing the last remnants of hope. The air reeked of decay, mixed with the stench of oil and rodent droppings, almost unbearable. A few flickering light bulbs buzzed ominously, their unstable glow like whispers from Death himself. Jack crouched behind a wobbly pile of rusted metal frames, his heart pounding like war drums in his chest.
Richard's gang of thugs—burly, scarred, and armed with gleaming weapons—prowled the floor like hyenas on high alert. Their eyes darted everywhere, suspicious and merciless. Jack peered through the gaps in the metal frames, spotting Isabella bound tightly to a broken chair in the far corner. Her face was pale as paper, her lips bruised, her eyes swollen and filled with terror and despair. She bit down hard on her lip, trying desperately not to cry.
"Damn it!" Jack cursed under his breath. He had planned to sneak in unnoticed, take them out one by one, and get Isabella out safely. But now he realized how naïve that plan had been. Richard had prepared well—his defenses were nearly impenetrable.
A direct assault would be suicide. He needed another way in.
Jack took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down despite the rising tension. Like a trained predator, he studied the surroundings carefully, searching for any opening. The warehouse was cluttered with rusted machinery parts, old wooden crates, and several barrels filled with unknown liquids, emitting a sharp, pungent odor. While the mess limited movement, it also provided natural cover.
Suddenly, his gaze locked onto a frayed electrical wire dangling precariously from the ceiling. Its insulation was cracked, revealing corroded copper wires beneath, looking ready to snap at any moment. An audacious and dangerous idea began to form in his mind.
Holding his breath, Jack crept closer, avoiding the patrols. From his pocket, he pulled out a shiny silver coin—a habit he'd developed during his Wall Street days, collecting coins absentmindedly. Little did he know it would come in handy now.
Using the edge of the coin, he carefully scraped at the wire. Each movement carried immense risk. One wrong move could draw attention. The wire emitted a faint, high-pitched sizzle, and the smell of burning plastic filled the air. He had to be precise—cutting the wire without making noise loud enough to alert the guards.
Time dragged on, each second feeling like an eternity. Sweat dripped from his forehead, running down his cheeks. His muscles trembled from the strain of staying still for so long. Finally, after countless attempts, the wire gave way with a soft snap, releasing a tiny spark as it fell from the ceiling.
"Who's there?!" One of the guards immediately stopped, raising his gun toward Jack's hiding spot, his voice full of suspicion.
Jack froze, motionless as stone. He felt the guard's eyes sweeping over his hiding place like floodlights. His heart pounded against his ribs, threatening to leap from his chest.
"It's probably just some rats messing around," another guard called from a distance, sounding irritated.
At his comrade's words, the first guard relaxed slightly, grumbling under his breath before turning away.
Jack exhaled silently, feeling as if he had just cheated death. He knew he only had one shot—he had to act fast.
He sprinted toward a stack of oil drums, pulled out a lighter, tore off a piece of cloth, lit it, and hurled it into one of the barrels.
BOOM!
The barrel exploded instantly, erupting into a towering inferno. The deafening blast shook the entire warehouse, sending sparks flying in all directions. A thick cloud of smoke and the acrid scent of burning paint filled the air.
"Fire! Fire! Run for your lives!"
Panic erupted among the gangsters. They scattered in every direction, screaming like startled rabbits.
Seizing the chaos, Jack burst from the shadows like a panther, sprinting toward Isabella. He had no time to waste—if the gangsters regrouped, escape would become impossible.
Within seconds, he reached her side, drew his knife, and swiftly sliced through the coarse ropes binding her wrists.
"Jack!" When Isabella saw him, her expression shifted from despair to shock and joy. Tears spilled from her eyes.
"Don't speak. We have to leave—now!" Jack's voice was low but firm. He grabbed her hand and bolted toward the exit.
But they hadn't gone far when a group of recovering gangsters blocked their path. Guns raised, smiles twisted with malice, their eyes promised death.
"You think you can run? Not so fast! Heaven has a door—but you chose hell!" One thug laughed, aiming his gun straight at Jack's chest.
Without hesitation, Jack shoved Isabella behind him, shielding her with his own body. His eyes turned icy, piercing like drawn blades, radiating a chilling aura.
"Step aside," he growled, his tone brimming with menace.
"Die!" The thug ignored him completely, pulling the trigger.
BANG!
The gunshot shattered the night's silence. Jack felt a searing pain in his chest, as though a red-hot iron rod had pierced him. He groaned softly, staggering back, yet he refused to fall, keeping his stance firm to protect Isabella at all costs.
"Jack! No!" Isabella screamed, her voice trembling with fear and sorrow.
Just then, a dark figure descended like a phantom, landing a powerful kick that sent the gunman's weapon flying across the floor.
It was Old Jack!
Despite his age, Old Jack moved with astonishing agility. He charged into the gangsters like a whirlwind, fists and feet striking with precision and force. Within moments, several thugs lay unconscious, bodies crumpling like ragdolls.
"Go! I'll cover you!" Old Jack shouted urgently.
Gritting his teeth, Jack supported the injured Isabella and stumbled out of the warehouse. Gunfire and explosions echoed behind them. He couldn't afford to slow down—Old Jack was buying them time, and he wouldn't let it go to waste.
When they finally reached safety, Jack collapsed to the ground, his strength drained. Blood soaked his shirt, pouring steadily from the wound in his chest.
"Jack! You're hurt! Hang on—I'll call an ambulance right away!" Isabella frantically checked his wound, tears streaming down her face.
"I'm fine... cough... we need to keep moving..." Jack gasped weakly. "Richard won't stop hunting us..."
Old Jack approached, his face grim with concern.
"Richard is more dangerous than we thought. There's someone bigger backing him. This was just the beginning," he said gravely.
Jack nodded slowly, knowing his mentor was right. Richard was merely a pawn—an expendable front for the true powers lurking in the shadows.
"We have to find them," Jack said firmly, his voice filled with anger and determination. "We have to bring them to justice, or this nightmare will never end."
They both understood that a greater danger awaited them. And they would have to prepare themselves for it—not just to survive, but to protect those they loved, and to drag the darkness into the light.