The Underworld Boss's Notorious Lackey Is Actually A Hidden Beauty?!

Night settled over the woods outside Wruosas in early June, and a Rolls Royce waited along a forgotten stretch of road as the trees swayed with the breeze.

Light from the cabin leaked through the windows and washed over a middle aged man whose face was tight with hunger. His breathing came in rough, uneven pulls.

Below him, a woman lay with her eyes shut and her mouth slightly open, and soft, suggestive sounds slipped from her lips.

She whispered under her breath, and the tone carried a lazy sense of pleasure.

Without warning, someone charged out of the darkness.

Glass exploded as the window was smashed in a single strike, and the sudden crash jolted both bodies inside the car. The man did not even bother to look up as he snapped, "Fuck off!"

Knife in hand, the intruder leaned against the door with an easy posture, and his gaze cut sharp as lightning while he toyed with the blade. "Mr. Harding, having a good time? That ends tonight. You will not be enjoying anything once I am finished with you."

Panic seized the woman, and she screamed as she slid down to the floor mat, curling in on herself. The man straightened at a measured pace, looked at the stranger, and forced a thin smile even as his heart lurched. "You think you can threaten me, you motherfucker? You should be glued to that bastard, not sticking your nose into my business."

The intruder's mouth curved with open contempt as he said, "Oh, please. You are just acting all tough."

The voice belonged to Avery Brown, a woman disguised as a man, around twenty-five years old, dressed in fitted black leather with neatly trimmed short hair and a silver diamond-shaped badge fastened to her chest. Her tone sounded smooth at first, yet the cold edge beneath it carried a quiet threat.

The middle-aged man, Conor Harding, sneered as he spoke, his voice thick with contempt. "Just because you crawl around Kellan like a loyal mutt, you think you scare me? I have never been afraid of anyone. Do you really believe he can swallow Wruosas by himself? What a joke."

Without hesitation, Avery drove the knife into Conor's thigh, deliberately angling the blade away from anything vital. Blood spilled across the seat as pain tore from his throat.

A sharp, lethal glint flashed through her eyes, and the pressure of her presence alone was enough to freeze the air inside the car. In the low glow of the cabin light, she pulled the blade free and said evenly, "Mr. Wright is not someone you get to insult."

The knife spun lazily between her fingers while she studied him, her gaze mapping out where she might strike next. "Tell me, how do you want to die? I am feeling generous tonight. I might even grant a final request."

A faint smile rested on her lips, as though Conor were nothing more than a broken toy she could discard whenever