The morning sun filtered through the windows of the safehouse, casting long shadows along the floor. It was now around 10 a.m., and the tension from the previous night had finally eased, leaving behind an air of quiet reprieve. Ethan, after a night of intense preparation and watchfulness, had finally allowed himself to rest. He sat leaning against the wall, fast asleep, his head tilted slightly, arms crossed over his chest, the calm of his expression betraying the storm he had been navigating the past few days.
Isabella, on the other hand, was seated on the opposite side of the room. She watched him, a subtle sense of security beginning to form within her. For the first time in days, she felt safe, and for a fleeting moment, the walls didn't feel like they were closing in on her. She had woken up in this strange place, not fully understanding what had happened to her, but Ethan—this mysterious man who had saved her—seemed to be the only thread keeping her grounded.
But then, the stillness of the moment shattered.
Her phone, which had been left on the table beside her, buzzed. Isabella froze, staring at it as if the device itself were something dangerous. Slowly, cautiously, she picked it up. The message that flashed on the screen drained the warmth from the room.
A picture—clear as day—of her parents and her siblings, bound and gagged, with guns pressed against their heads. Her breath hitched. She could feel her heartbeat accelerate as she swiped to the next image. Another one of her family, now seated on their knees, the same captors standing behind them like executioners, waiting for the word.
The message that followed was short but direct:
"If you want to see them alive, bring the gringo here with you. "
Isabella's hand trembled as she read the message over and over. It felt like the walls had begun closing in once more, suffocating her with the weight of the impossible choice she was being forced to make. Her family…her parents and her siblings…they were in the capital. How had they been found? Why were they being dragged into this nightmare?
Her gaze flickered toward Ethan, still asleep, oblivious to the horror that had just landed in her lap. How could she betray him? After everything he had done for her, saving her from that awful mansion, taking care of her when she had nothing but fear left? But her family… they were her blood, her responsibility.
She stood frozen in place, her mind running in circles, searching for an answer that didn't exist. The phone buzzed again, this time with a short audio clip—a single voice, one she recognized as her younger brother's, crying out for help before the sound cut off. Tears welled up in her eyes. She had to act, but how?
Isabella glanced back at Ethan, his steady breathing the only sound in the room. She couldn't bring herself to wake him. The conflict in her heart was tearing her apart. There had to be another way—maybe she could hand herself over in exchange for her family's freedom. If she turned herself in, maybe they would leave Ethan alone. She wouldn't have to choose between them.
That sliver of hope became her lifeline. Quietly, she moved toward the table where Ethan had left the keys to the modified Range Rover. She hesitated, looking at the keys, her mind screaming at her to stop, but her feet moved on their own. She picked up the keys, slipped out of the house as silently as she could, and made her way to the vehicle.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she got in and started the engine. With a deep breath, she drove off, her eyes darting nervously to the rearview mirror as if she expected Ethan to wake and chase her down. The roads were eerily quiet, but her mind was anything but. The message replayed in her head over and over again, the images of her family bound and helpless, waiting for her decision.
The predetermined location wasn't far—it was an old industrial lot on the outskirts of the city. She had no plan, no real idea of what she was going to say or do when she arrived. But the fear of losing her family had overridden every rational thought.
As she pulled into the lot, a deep sense of dread settled in her gut. Vehicles began to close in from all sides, blocking off every possible escape route. Panic surged through her veins as she realized she had driven straight into a trap.
Several men stepped out of the vehicles, guns drawn, and leading them was a figure that sent a shiver down her spine. He moved like a predator, his presence dominating the space as he walked toward her. His sharp eyes locked onto her through the windshield, cold and calculating. His face was gaunt, marked by a jagged scar along his jawline, and his snake-like movements earned him the nickname Guillermo "El Serpiente."
Isabella's heart pounded as she reached for the door. But the door wouldn't budge—it was locked. She tried again, panic rising, but the vehicle had sealed itself.
"El Serpiente" raised his hand, and his men took aim. Isabella's pulse raced as she banged on the window, desperately trying to break free, but the reinforced glass held firm.
Suddenly, the Range Rover performed a violent 360° G-Turn, spinning in place, its compartments springing to life as hidden weapons emerged. Before she could process what was happening, the car's automated defenses opened fire on the men surrounding it, taking them by surprise.
Gunfire erupted all around her, the rapid bursts of bullets hitting the vehicle and ricocheting off the windows. Isabella screamed and ducked, raising her arms to shield her head as the chaos unfolded. The car's automated system was relentless, cutting down attackers with pinpoint accuracy.
But the men weren't going down easily. One of them, armed with a rocket launcher, stepped forward, aiming the weapon at the car. In a flash, the Range Rover reversed, ramming into the vehicles behind it at full speed. The impact sent metal flying as the car spun 180° and took off down the street, leaving the attackers scrambling in its wake.
The man with the rocket launcher, caught off guard, fired the missile wildly, missing the Range Rover entirely and hitting his own men instead. The explosion rocked the lot, sending several attackers flying and engulfing the vehicles in flames.
In the chaos, the assailants suddenly found themselves being systematically picked off by a sniper—Ethan. From his perch in a nearby building, he had tracked Isabella's escape and set up a nest, watching the scene unfold. Through the scope of his rifle, he began eliminating targets one by one with ruthless precision. The attackers frantically searched for the sniper, but Ethan was too well-hidden, his shots silent and deadly.
Suddenly, police sirens blared in the distance, drawing closer to the scene. The surviving attackers, realizing they were running out of time, scattered into the alleys, disappearing into the shadows.
The Range Rover finally came to a stop in an empty street, its engine humming as if it had just completed a casual drive. Isabella sat frozen in the driver's seat, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. The car had saved her life—but at what cost?
...
Back at his sniper's perch, Ethan lowered his rifle, his expression unreadable as he watched the scene play out through Iris's live feed. He had been monitoring every moment, aware of the kidnappers' plan from the start. Iris had informed him as soon as they reached out to Isabella, narrating how they made contact, revealing their threats, and tracking her movements. Ethan had made a calculated decision to let it all unfold, observing Isabella's reaction. This wasn't just about trust—it was strategy. He needed to see how she would navigate the impossible weight that had been thrust upon her.
After Isabella had left to face the kidnappers on her own, Ethan had summoned the Mercedes Benz G63 he had taken from Mendoza's mansion and followed her from a distance, just out of sight. He knew she felt trapped, cornered, but he had to let her reach her own conclusion. The chaos that erupted at the industrial lot had been anticipated, and when the moment arrived, Ethan was there, pulling the strings from afar.
Now, with the immediate danger neutralized and Isabella safe, it was time for Ethan to make his move.
He made his way towards Isabella's location before storing the G-Wagon back into his inventory without a single witness. Ethan then approached the modified Range Rover, which had just saved Isabella's life. She sat slumped over the steering wheel, her hands clenched tightly around it, as if holding on for dear life. The aftermath of everything—the terror, the relief—had left her drained, her body trembling with the emotional toll.
Ethan tapped softly on the window, startling her. Her head snapped up, eyes wide, panic still flickering behind them as she recognized him. The window automatically rolled down, letting the silence between them stretch out for a moment. Ethan's calm, commanding presence was like a lifeline, something steady amidst the chaos.
He opened the door and extended his hand. Isabella glanced at it for a long beat, her face pale and expression unreadable. Without acknowledging the gesture, she stepped out of the car, her movements robotic, as if moving on autopilot. The emotional and physical exhaustion was too much; she couldn't even summon the energy to react. Ethan, unfazed, quietly closed the door behind her and followed her as she walked to the passenger side.
Ethan opened the door for her, and she got in silently, her head bowed as if the weight of the world was pressing down on her. Ethan circled the vehicle, sliding into the driver's seat before starting the engine. They drove in silence, the quiet only interrupted by the hum of the road beneath them. Isabella stared out of the window, tears streaming down her face, her sobs barely audible.
After a while, Ethan broke the silence, his voice steady but firm. "I'm going to rescue your family, Isabella," he said, his eyes fixed ahead. "Once I drop you off at the safehouse, I'll handle it. But I need you to stay put. No more stunts like today. Not without consulting me first."
Isabella didn't respond. She just nodded, her gaze still focused outside, as if she couldn't bear to look at him. The gravity of her situation had weighed her down completely, and the distance between them, though unspoken, was palpable. She had tried to act on her own, and now, the consequences hung heavy in the air.
When they reached the temporary safehouse, Ethan parked the Range Rover. Checking that the area was secure, he helped Isabella out of the car. She moved slowly, her shoulders sagging under the strain of everything that had transpired. Without a word, she allowed Ethan to guide her inside, collapsing onto a couch once they were safe. She was too exhausted to fight, too tired to argue. All she could do was exist in that moment, waiting for the next move to be made.
Ethan, not one to waste time, headed back to the car. He needed to keep things moving. Once outside, he drove to a secluded clearing. The sound of the Range Rover's engine idled as he surveyed the quiet surroundings. After a moment, he stored the vehicle in his inventory. His expression remained composed, though his mind was already racing ahead, planning his next steps.
Summoning the camouflaged SkyHawk, Ethan took a deep breath. The time for observation had ended. Now it was time to act. He had a family to save.