I set down my wine glass and handed him my hand with a smile. He'd had a plan all along—no wonder he'd seemed reluctant about the dancing.
"Let's go, then."
By the time we stepped out of the restaurant, it was nearly eight. The crowd was thick, nothing like two hours earlier.
Worried I might get separated, he kept me pinned to his side the moment we left.
I laughed softly—my bodyguard was quite dedicated today.
I slipped free of his grip, threaded my fingers through his, and squeezed tight.
"This way, we won't lose each other."
He raised our clasped hands and laughed low. This mutual grip seemed to satisfy him.
A boy carrying a wooden tray approached me.
"Ma'am, buy some cigarettes!" The child shoved a pack in my direction without hesitation.
Victor caught the boy's hand: "Little brat, where are your hands going!"
He never smoked in front of me, let alone bought from street children.
His grip might not have been at full strength, but his glare was enough to scare off any reckless child.
But this boy was persistent. He repeated: "Ma'am, buy cigarettes!"
The boy looked familiar—the newspaper boy.
I pressed my lips together, fished out a silver dollar:
"Let it go, Victor."
I handed over the coin, not intending to take the cigarettes. I waved him off.
But he shoved the pack into my hand.
In a hushed, rapid voice: "Don't get in the car. Someone's going to kill you!"
The words were quiet, but Victor and I both heard them clearly.
In a split second, I grabbed the boy's hand.
"Go call the police, go notify the General's Estate—"
But his small hand slipped free like an eel, and before I could finish, he'd shaken loose and run far away.
It wasn't until much later that I learned the Paramount was Green Gang territory.
Victor had brought me dancing with just himself for company—under normal circumstances, perhaps no issue.
But recently, Oliver had led a crackdown on the Green Gang alongside the police, making enemies.
After we'd entered the restaurant, dark alleys outside had filled with countless hidden men. A bomb had been planted under Victor's car.
Getting in the car would mean death. Staying out of the car would also mean death.
Standing outside the Paramount, we processed the boy's warning and decided not to take the car—we'd find another way.
But from every surrounding alley, men poured out. My steps faltered. Victor kept his composure, shielding me, trying to lead us in a different direction—only to be blocked by an outrageously flashy cream-white convertible.
"Don't be afraid." He adjusted his stance, his hand tightening around mine, lending warmth to my ice-cold fingers. "I'll handle everything."
"Where is the acting General heading?"
A man in a black suit leaped from the car, emphasizing "acting."
Victor sneered: "Well, if it isn't Young Master Huang. Bailed out of the police station and already looking to get thrown into the military government's prison?"
They had numbers and eyes everywhere. Seeing Victor alone, they wanted to start trouble.
If it had been a senior Green Gang leader, there might have been some caution, some consideration of consequences.
But this Green Gang heir was reckless and impulsive.
If he went mad, Victor and I were at a clear disadvantage.
He swaggered closer: "So this is your little tramp? Doesn't look like much..."
Before he could finish, his overconfidence had brought him too close. Victor's hand shot out, seized him, and slammed him onto the hood of the car with a resounding thud.
A gun pressed against his skull.
7.
A street thug versus a man raised in military camps—once again, the disadvantage was obvious.
I relaxed slightly, but we were still surrounded.
I stepped out from behind Victor, putting on a brave face while terrified inside.
I eyed the cream-white convertible.
I opened the door—dark red interior, gleaming chrome windshield trim.
Victor watched me enter the car. Without a word, he hauled Harrison Huang up and created an opening.
"You—you... Victor Vane! If you touch me, my father won't let you off..."
The key was still in the ignition. The engine hadn't even been turned off—one shift of the handbrake and it would move.
I wasn't sure how fast this car could go.
I fumbled for a moment, got a sense of things, and called out: "Victor, this car's not bad."
I leaned over and opened the passenger door.
Victor understood immediately.
He shoved Harrison into the passenger seat, the two men crammed together.
Harrison cursed but had no ability to fight back.
I honked the horn—loud and clear.
The Green Gang members showed no intention of moving.
Victor nudged his gun against Harrison's temple: "Tell your men to back off."
Harrison shouted: "You've got the guts, kill me!"
Victor didn't hesitate. He shot him in the left shoulder.
The wounded man howled—every trace of his former arrogance vanished.
A gunshot at point-blank range is deafening. But having been through it before, I only trembled. I didn't lose my wits.
Harrison let out a string of: "Make way! Make way!"
The thugs parted with agonizing slowness.
God only knew what they were plotting.
I gritted my teeth and hit the gas. Three or five people fell.
The car wasn't fast, but metal against flesh still had impact.
"Move, or I'll run you over!"
I revved the engine in neutral, the sound roaring. That finally gave them second thoughts, and a path opened.
I seized the moment, shifted, and floored it. The engine roared as we distanced ourselves from the Green Gang's encirclement.
I could only roughly remember one direction. Victor had to navigate.
Harrison, losing blood, grew quieter.
Victor dumped him on the rear trunk and focused on directing me, telling me to drive straight to the military government building.
"Didn't expect you to be so ruthless in a crisis."
He wiped blood from his hands, glancing at me with an irrepressible smile.
Though I'd reacted without dropping the ball, I was still essentially useless.
My greatest talent was bluffing. My most comfortable position was leaning on Victor.
Now my taut nerves loosened, and I could barely grip the heavy steering wheel.
"I don't actually know how to drive well. The engine sounds wrong, and it's not fast enough. You'll have to take over soon..."
I talked to myself, completely unaware of the danger.
The bustling streets of the west district were lined with tall buildings on both sides.
A glint from above caught Victor's attention.
He pushed my head down, ordered me to accelerate, and simultaneously used Harrison as a shield, firing upward.
The side mirror and windshield were riddled with bullets.
The gunfire came from multiple directions—at least three or four sniper positions.
I ducked and stomped on the gas, not knowing how long before it finally went quiet, leaving only the engine's roar and the wind whipping past.