CHAPTER 116: EVA IS DEAD

"What were you saying?" she questioned, her eyes bloodshot now.

It was obvious the hooligan had realized he had underestimated her.

He wanted to yell in pain, but the gun was already pointed at his head.

"Untie me," she ordered.

Eva had undergone military training when she was fifteen. Back then, Mr. Montclair was still serving the country, and she had been curious to learn how to fight. She had gone through intensive training, so shooting with her hands tied behind her back was a piece of cake.

The hooligan hesitated.

The others were only about fifty feet away. All he needed to do was yell, and they would come running to catch her. But if he did, he would likely lose his life.

He had a pregnant wife waiting for him at home with two daughters.

He glanced down at her hands. She was gripping the gun so tightly, still pointing it directly at his head.

Any mistake, and he was dead.

"Well..." she drawled. She did not have much time left. They had already been gone for two minutes, and in another, Mr. De Rossi would surely send someone to check on them.

Without stalling any longer, the hooligan reached for the ropes and untied her. The restraints fell to the ground, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

She looked at her wrists, where the rope had dug into her skin, leaving angry red scars.

She hissed in pain when she touched them, and the hooligan seized the chance to pounce on her. The gun flew out of her hands.

"You think you can get away from here? Impossible. I will never let you."

He reached for a tree branch, aiming to strike her across the head and knock her unconscious. But she would not allow that. Not now. She silently cursed herself for being distracted.

She kicked him hard in the waist, and he yelled in pain—loud enough for the other men to hear.

Mr. De Rossi wore a confused expression when he heard the shout from the forest.

"Go check it out," he ordered.

By this time, Eva had managed to shove the man off her and stand. She searched frantically for the gun, found it, and ran.

Two bullets whizzed behind her, forcing her to dive for cover behind a thick tree.

She had no idea where she was going. She did not know if she was only heading deeper into the forest, where there would be no escape. But she had to move, anywhere but back toward them.

More bullets flew past as orders rang through the woods, calling for more backup.

"She has escaped!" The voice was so loud that birds burst from the trees in fright.

Eva pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to silence her own ragged breathing.

"Where did she go?" Mr. De Rossi roared. She stifled a whimper, knowing even the smallest sound could give her away.

"She went that way," someone shouted.

There were too many of them, and she could not risk stepping out of hiding.

She prayed that if she kept quiet, they would pass her by.

But footsteps grew closer. Her heart hammered against her ribs as one of the men came near, carefully scanning the area.

She tightened her grip on the gun.

The moment their eyes locked, he shouted, "She’s over here!"

Those were the last words he ever spoke. Eva fired, the bullet striking his head. His body dropped limply to the ground.

The others charged after her. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, but the forest was thick, and escape seemed impossible.

Another man was close behind her. She whirled and shot, blowing his brains out.

’Three bullets left,’ she counted grimly.

Two more men emerged, and both went down under her gunfire, collapsing lifelessly into the underbrush.

Mr. De Rossi was livid. His men were dropping one after the other, killed by a single woman.

He gritted his teeth. Eva would not get far. She was tired, and once she ran out of breath, he would kill her himself.

Eva was already weakening. Her lungs burned, and her body begged her to stop.

A man lunged, gripping her arm tightly and yanking her toward him. She twisted at an odd angle and slammed her knee into his groin.

Another came at her, then another. In seconds, the gun was kicked out of her hands.

She fought with everything she had, but they showed no mercy. They kicked her, punched her, and beat her until she spat blood.

She was weak, exhausted, and mentally drained. Her body still ached from the accident, and now she could barely move.

"Bring her here," Mr. De Rossi commanded.

They dragged her like a corpse, thorns scratching and tearing her skin as she grimaced in pain.

They dumped her at Mr. De Rossi’s feet, his grin stretching wide across his face.

"Why do you always make things difficult for yourself? Now look at you. So pitiful," he mocked.

Eva spat bloody saliva into his face.

He wiped it with the back of his hand, veins bulging in his forehead.

He drew the gun from his waist, cocked it, and aimed it at her.

"It has been good having you around, Eva, but you have overstayed your welcome."

Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed through the forest, startling birds from their nests.

Eva gasped, blood spilling from her mouth as her gaze fell to the bullet hole in her chest.

This was it. She was going to die. But not without leaving a scar on her killer.

Summoning the last of her strength, she snatched a gun from one of the men beside her, who had not expected it.

Without aiming, she fired.

The bullet struck Mr. De Rossi, blood trickling down his cheek.

Her body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

"Get her in the barrel, fill it with cement, and bury her," Mr. De Rossi ordered coldly.