"Don't be afraid, Beauty.
The police will be here soon..." Dyson's voice grew weaker with each word.
Seizing the opportunity, the two injured men lunged for Beauty's arm.
She tightened her grip on the shovel in her hands and swung it at them with all her might.
No one noticed the sleek black Maybach gliding silently toward them until it screeched to a dramatic halt.
The door swung open, and Lucas stepped out, his impeccably tailored suit accentuating his commanding presence.
The pale moonlight cast long shadows behind his tall frame as his icy, razor-sharp gaze swept over each of the assailants.
Behind him, ten burly men followed, their imposing figures radiating intimidation.
The leader of the thugs—a man with bleached yellow hair—instantly recognized Lucas.
His face drained of color, and the metal pipe slipped from his trembling fingers, clattering loudly against the pavement.
