Forbidden Captivity: Too Late to Escape

Chapter 187

Chapter 187

Clara shoved open the bent car door beside her. "Shut up. You're not going to die. If you've got something to say,

say it yourself."

Ryan was too weak to reply and just passed out.

The cemetery nearby always had visitors, so it wouldn't be long before someone showed up. Her priority was to

lead these troublemakers away.

She bolted down the slope, only breathing a sigh of relief when she saw the men chasing after her. She hoped

that someone would find Ryan soon and get him to a hospital.

The wound on his shoulder wasn't life-threatening, so he should be alright.

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At the bottom of the slope was a forest, and as Clara raced down, sharp branches scratched her face, leaving

several bloody marks. But there was no tto worry about that. She could only run faster and faster.

When adrenaline kicked in, people could do amazing things. Her hands were scratched up, but she kept pushing

forward.

She had no idea who sent these guys, but they clearly meant business.

As soon as she reached a stream, she jumped right in without a second thought. The current carried her

downstream. At first, she was conscious, but soon everything beca blur.

The men chasing her couldn't find her and assumed she must have been swept away. They searched

downstream for two hours without any luck.

One of them spat on the ground. "Let's just say she's dead. We can get the two million and be done with it."

"Yeah, she has crash injuries. This river flows out of city limits where there aren't many houses. No way she'll get

rescued if she's still in the water."

They quickly agreed and called Quinn.

Quinn was in disbelief at how smoothly things had gone. Her lips trembled with excitement, her eyes sparkling

with triumph. "Alright, I'll send you the rest of the money right away. Get out of the town immediately."

The men exchanged satisfied grins, took the payment, and left without bothering to chase Clara any further.

Clara felt an intense heat washing over her, so hot it made her want to throw up like she was lying on a bed of

coals. She struggled to open her eyes but couldn't.

A gentle hand pried her mouth open and fed her something. She frowned and instinctively tried to spit it out, but

the hand firmly pinched her tongue, stopping her from doing so.

The burning sensation kept climbing, and the hand moved to her earlobe, gently squeezing it like it was

caressing a delicate doll.

Her breath quickened with anger, but the hand didn't relent, playfully poking her cheek as if it was enjoying the

game.

Just as Clara was about to curse, a rush of memories about Dylan surged into her mind. Caught in this fiery haze,

she couldn't tell if it was reality or a dream.

The memory was about that business partner mentioning the tshe slapped Dylan.

Back then, Dylan's leg was fine. When she slapped him, he just touched his cheek and didn't say a word.

She hadn't said anything either, her hand retracting slightly from the slap.

The two of them were like statues locked in a silent standoff. Surprisingly, in this memory, she held her own

against Dylan.

As the memory was about to end, Dylan suddenly asked, "Did your hand hurt?"