"Ugh!"
"Cough, cough!"
Ignoring Slater's struggles, Steve, who showed no gallantry at all, finished his dinner,
pried Slater's mouth open, and forced a glass of water down her throat.
Steve couldn't care less whether the woman lived or died; even if Slater was a certified beauty,
his main concern now was the two safes that had been stolen—safes that held most of his wealth.
Without them he'd be flat broke in no time.
He wouldn't even be able to keep up his current lifestyle, let alone afford this villa.
Thus Steve loathed "Charlie" and his crew for daring to steal his gold.
The only reason he'd held back—starving Slater for two days but otherwise laying no hand on the beautiful captive—
was fear that, without "Slater" as leverage, "Charlie" might panic
and, just as Steve himself had once done, flee with most of his wealth and vanish.
If that happened Steve would lose more than he gained.
After all, U.S. property taxes are terrifying.
Slater glared at Steve; the past two days had been pure misery.
Most of the time her limbs were tied with rope and she was locked in a bedroom.
Evidently Steve feared her lock-picking skills;
even after searching her and confirming she had no metal or hard objects on her,
he still refused handcuffs and used rope instead.
He gave her no food and even denied her requests to use the bathroom.
It was easy to imagine how wretched she felt, how furious she was.
Steve also feared that, if Slater cursed him, he might lose control and beat her half to death.
After forcing a glass of water down her throat,
Before Slate could spit a curse, Steve stuffed her mouth again with a napkin.
"Quiet now—your misery will be over soon."
Steve wiped his hands, stepped away from Slate, and returned to his seat.
Even though Slate was stunning, the reek of urine was more than enough to kill his appetite.
He met her eyes, blazing as if they could scorch him alive.
Unhurried, Steve picked up a banana—his post-meal fruit.
Peeling it, he took a bite and chewed. "From what I know of Charlie and the others, I gave them a day, but..."
...odds are they'll try their luck tonight."
Slate's heart sank; she knew Charlie hadn't even had time to act.
So she also knew Steve's guess wasn't perfect, yet it wasn't wrong—
without the stolen gold bricks to return, Charlie would have no choice but to slip in after dark and free her.
That afternoon, maybe just to show off, Steve had even paraded her around the villa.
Thanks to that, Slate knew exactly what the place looked like now.
A theft had occurred at Steve's villa.
To keep it quiet and avoid the security company being fired by the estate's management,
the firm not only agreed to cooperate with Steve, sharing parts of the surveillance feed,
but also dispatched an eight-man Security Personnel squad to patrol the grounds.
All of them ex-military.
They were core combat assets of the company—no pushovers.
Inside the villa, Steve had laid countless traps,
brought in a dozen men and four armored, modified off-roaders,
upgraded the perimeter fence to a lethal high-voltage grid,
and installed denser, blind-spot-free cameras. Slate couldn't imagine how Charlie could break in and rescue her.
For a moment panic seized her.
"Heh."
Steve savored the shift in her expression, a twisted satisfaction welling up.
The reason he'd taken her on that afternoon tour
was to let her know—and despair.
"Now, Charlie..."
"...don't disappoint me."
"Come on—show me how you'll break through my traps again and save the woman you love."
It was already past eight; Steve could hardly wait to see Charlie walk straight into the snare he'd so carefully laid.
More than a hundred metres above Steve's villa, in the crown of a big tree,
Hunter, now dressed in black, drew the sniper laika crossbow from his storage space. He nocked a bolt, peered through a gap he'd trimmed in the foliage, and studied the grounds below.
His gaze locked on an inconspicuous spot inside the compound:
the main electrical panel that fed the high-voltage fence and every device in the house.
Knock that out and the villa would be plunged into darkness—
but only briefly.
Hunter had already pushed his electrician skill above Lv2.
When he'd infiltrated earlier, he'd glimpsed what looked like a backup generator in the underground garage,
but he'd been in a hurry to steal the bricks and escape.
He hadn't gotten a clear look.
Still, he always planned for the worst: if there really was a backup set,
within a few minutes
it would kick in and power would return.
Hunter would have only those minutes to break in and get Slate out.
Time was tight, and he might get only one shot.
So he waited.
As for whether he could hit a fuse-box a hundred metres away—
he had zero doubt.
That was the confidence Lv4 Shooting gave him.
"Charlie, what are you waiting for?"
His gaze drifted toward a spot on the lower slope—
the dead zone where he'd hidden before.
Right now, Charlie's vehicle was tucked away there.
Hunter muttered, his finger already on the trigger.
He would wait for the perfect moment and then press it without hesitation.
Near Steve's villa, everything was shrouded in darkness.
Two vehicles had crept in and lain in wait for some time.
With the help of elite hacker Lyle, Charlie and the others had slipped past the security company and Steve himself, reaching the main gate of the villa.
Charlie drove one car, Playboy Rob and Left Ear the other.
Lyle hadn't come along; he stayed in the modified Dodge Ram 3500 van at the foot of the mountain, providing tech support for Charlie's team.
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