Chapter 42 Antonio Never Came Back

Antonio charged into the building, triggering a barrage of gunfire from the mercenaries. Bullets ricocheted off walls, railings, and glass showcases, their shattering noise sending chills down the spine. I clamped my hand over my mouth, stifling my screams and sobs, terrified of being heard.

Soon, I heard the sound of glass being smashed under heavy weight. The mercenaries cursed loudly, shouting that Antonio had escaped as they fired and chased after him. The gunfire receded quickly, leaving behind a pungent mix of gunpowder and blood in the air. I dared not relax, holding my breath, listening intently to the noises below. I feared it was a ruse by the mercenaries, pretending to chase Antonio to lure me out.

Minutes turned into tens of minutes. Even the sound of police sirens faded into the distance. I quietly checked my phone; an hour had passed with no sign of the mercenaries or Antonio downstairs. Then, I heard screeching brakes. Someone had arrived! My heart pounded with fleeting joy, shattered the next second by the sound of gunfire. It wasn’t Antonio; the mercenaries had returned, enraged upon finding a fallen comrade on the first floor. They began a frantic search, shooting into every room on the ground floor as the gunfire spread upstairs.

My lips quivered, and my body shook with the proximity of death. Antonio had indeed left, discarding me like a burden. Huddled on the floor of a toy store, I wanted to cry out loud but feared attracting the roaming mercenaries. Antonio didn’t return. Overwhelmed by despair, I couldn’t wait any longer; Antonio wouldn’t be coming to my rescue.

Panic weakened my limbs as I pushed aside stuffed toys and crawled over boxes. I didn’t dare rush outside; their footsteps were drawing nearer. I reached the toy store’s glass window, grateful it wasn’t locked, and pushed it open. The height from the second floor made me nearly lose my balance. I was scared, hesitant to climb or jump.

But I forced myself to stand and climb onto the sill, eyeing the artificially planted shrubs below, swallowing hard. Jumping from this height wouldn’t kill me; at worst, I’d sustain injuries or a serious fracture, but it was better than capture. No doubt, being captured by the mercenaries would lead to torture before they used me to threaten Antonio. He wouldn’t surrender to their threats over a mistress, he had already abandoned me.

My feet dangled, my soul screamed in terror! Just as I was about to jump, the toy store’s glass door was kicked open. A rugged man wielding a submachine gun, his gray eyes glinting maliciously, noticed me. “Look what I found, a beautiful girl,” he whistled crudely, nauseating me.

“Don’t move, girl,” he smirked lewdly, barring the exit with his accomplice, submachine gun aimed at me. I heard police voices behind the building. Shaking my head at the gunman, I jumped!

“Damn!” They cursed, rushing to the window.

I crashed into the bushes, feeling a dull pain all over as twigs and thorns scratched my back, arms, and legs. I didn’t have time to cry out in pain, my instincts made me roll towards a wall corner as I landed. Then, a sharp pain shot through my body as I was hit by a bullet, the pain searing with every breath.

They started shooting at me; I clutched the gunshot wound on my arm as the mercenaries leaped from the window, their hurried footsteps echoing behind. They rudely called out to each other to chase me, “Catch her, the bitch!”

I leaned against a wall, blood smearing a bright handprint as I limped in the opposite direction. I didn’t know where was safe, their footsteps getting closer as I tumbled down the stairs.

Police sirens blared nearby, likely alerted by the gunfire. I saw a police car turning into the street. “Help! Save me!” I cried.

Shielded by an officer with a protective shield, they pulled me behind them as gunfire continued. Everything was chaotic.

Disoriented, I didn’t know which street I had reached; everywhere were signs of destruction from bombs and bullets, the ground covered in blood. The police brought me to an ambulance where a doctor treated my arm wound, remarking on my luck that the bullet had grazed me deeply but hadn’t lodged inside, sparing me surgery.

Due to nearby hospitals being overwhelmed with injured tourists, I, along with other lightly wounded individuals, was sent to a more distant hospital. My wound was stitched under local anesthesia, painless even during the procedure.

“Rest well, and take care to prevent infection,” the doctor advised as I powered on my unresponsive phone, realizing it was either dead or broken.