The rain was falling harder now, tapping steadily against the awning of a small, stylish fashion boutique nestled on the corner of a quiet street. Linda stood beneath it, arms crossed tightly, her helmet dangling from one hand. Her clothes clung to her from the dampness, but it wasn't the rain that chilled her—it was the rage still burning in her chest. She had just stormed out of Sophia's husband's home, a confrontation that left her boiling inside. The man had been dismissive, cruel, and condescending. Worse, he had slapped her across the face in front of his scantily dressed mistress, who had laughed mockingly. Linda's cheek still stung, but her pride had taken the real hit.
Now she stood here, outside a boutique decorated with soft floral displays and tiny fairy lights that blinked in the gloom, trying to calm the fire within her. Her hair clung to her wet cheeks, and the drizzle danced in the light breeze. She stared blankly at the passing traffic, letting her fury simmer quietly beneath her skin.
That was when a sleek, obsidian Genesis G90 rolled to a quiet stop just a few meters away. The kind of car that commanded attention. It gleamed even through the mist, exuding elegance, power, and wealth. Linda raised an eyebrow. Genesis G90s were luxury sedans, favored by elite executives and high-powered businessmen in Korea.
Her curiosity piqued.
The driver, a tall, lean man in a silver suit, stepped out briskly and popped the hood. He leaned in and began fiddling with the engine, muttering to himself. The entire scene felt too deliberate. Too rehearsed. Linda's senses tingled.
Moments later, the back door opened, and a bulky figure in a black suit and dark glasses exited the car. His posture was rigid, his movements sharp. Not a driver. A bodyguard.
Linda's eyes narrowed. Her gaze flicked to the rear seat. A man in his forties, dressed in a sharply tailored designer suit, stood beside the door, deep in a phone conversation. He looked oblivious to the drizzle. With his groomed haircut, polished shoes, and commanding aura, Linda pegged him instantly: a high-ranking businessman. Possibly a CEO.
She observed the scene carefully. The driver pretending to inspect the engine. The bodyguard walking over to assist. The boss lost in conversation. It looked normal, but something was off. Her instincts—sharpened by years of learning how to read people—flared.
Then it happened.
The driver reached under his jacket. Linda's heart skipped. A click echoed.
A shot rang out.
The bodyguard's body jerked and folded, collapsing to the wet pavement in a lifeless heap.
Linda's pulse surged. Her breath caught.
The businessman dropped his phone. Frozen in shock. The driver—no, the attacker—was heading toward the backseat.
Linda didn't think. She reacted.
She hurled her helmet like a discus. It spun through the air and struck the gunman square on the temple. He stumbled, cried out, and crashed hard to the ground. The gun skittered from his grasp.
Adrenaline pumping, Linda dashed forward, slid on the wet ground, and scooped up the pistol. She barely had time to aim when she heard the squeal of tires.
Two black sedans raced down the road, engines growling like beasts, bearing down on the scene with lethal intent. Headlights cut through the fog and rain like blades.
Linda's breath came fast. This was no coincidence. It was a planned hit.
Without a word, she yanked open the passenger side door, leapt into the driver's seat, and slammed it shut. The man in the backseat stared at her, eyes wide with terror.
"Buckle up," she barked.
She slammed her foot on the accelerator. The luxury sedan jolted forward, its tires skidding before finding traction. Bullets rained on the car. The rear windshield burst into fragments.
Linda drove like her life—and his—depended on it. Which it did.
She swerved left, then right, narrowly dodging incoming cars. The businessman clung to his seatbelt, shrieking as another round of bullets struck the trunk. Linda returned fire through the shattered rear window, managing to hit one of the cars—but it didn't stop. These weren't amateurs. They were trained killers.
"Who are they?! Why would they be trying to kill me instead of robbing me?." the man screamed.
"You tell me!" she shot back.
The sedan skidded through an intersection, horns blaring, pedestrians scattering. Linda was focused, hands tight on the wheel, eyes darting between the rearview mirror and the road.
Click.
She was out of bullets.
"Damn it, Stupid guns." she hissed, tossing the empty gun into the backseat.
Rain slammed against the windshield. Visibility dropped. Her wipers worked furiously, but the road glistened like black ice.
Ahead, one of the pursuing cars took a side street and emerged again—cutting her off from the front.
Behind, the second sedan surged closer.
"We're trapped! Infact, we are so doomed. " the man cried.
"Not yet."
Linda exhaled, clenched the wheel, and spun it hard. The Genesis fishtailed, drifting into a tight gap between a car and a pole. The paint scraped. Sparks flew.
They slipped through.
One of the black cars tried to follow—too fast. Linda raised the pistol and aimed carefully. With one last shot, she blew out its front tire.
The car lost control, veered, and crashed into a streetlight.
But the second vehicle was still on her tail.
"They won't stop!" the businessman yelled.
"Neither will I."
She swerved again, tires screaming. The city blurred past them—shops, lights, signs. Linda zigzagged down a steep incline, flying through puddles. The car behind closed in.
Bullets struck the bumper. She jerked the wheel, sliding onto a narrow overpass.
"I hope you're ready to fly," she muttered.
The road ahead ended in a steep ramp—under construction.
The man saw it. "Wait, what are you—?"
"Hold on."
The car surged up the ramp. Tires barely touching the ground. Then they lifted.
For a breathless second, they were airborne.
They crashed onto the opposite side. Metal groaned. The chassis shuddered. But they landed.
The chasing car wasn't as lucky. It hit the ramp too late and at the wrong angle. The front lifted—but the rear clipped the barrier. It spun and flipped mid-air, crashing in a violent heap.
Linda didn't slow down. The road opened in front of her. The rain softened. The city lights glittered ahead.
She glanced in the mirror—only smoke and distance behind her.
The man exhaled, trembling. "You saved my life."
Linda's face was grim. "You'd better be worth it."
They sped into the night.