Half-Million Dollar Bait： Campus Belle’s Hell - Chapter 8: Chapter 8
You are reading Half-Million Dollar Bait： Campus Belle’s Hell, Chapter 8: Chapter 8. Read more chapters of Half-Million Dollar Bait： Campus Belle’s Hell.
My blood ran cold as I locked eyes with Ethan Lowell. If I hadn't been frozen in shock from the carnage I'd just seen, I would've grabbed him by the collar and screamed for answers.
Was he really just some corporate intern in Mandalay—or was he a monster?
Who was pulling his strings?
And why the hell was there half a million dollars on my head in the darkest corners of the web?
The bodies of Margaret Lowell and her crew sprawled in slick, crimson puddles, their blood still steaming in the humid air. My hands shook so badly I couldn't even think straight. Any thought of confronting Ethan evaporated. I barely remembered how we'd escaped that hellhole.
By the time my brain kicked back online, our SUV was rattling down a pothole-riddled highway.
Ethan rode shotgun, his rifle resting casually across his lap. His eyes—sharp, calculating—never stopped scanning the road.
A blaring horn jerked Sophia Evans and me awake.
The beefy driver in camo muttered a curse. "Fucking extremists. Always stirring shit. Nearly took out one of our boys last month."
Through the dust-streaked window, I spotted a ramshackle checkpoint ahead. A handful of scrawny locals waved frantically, trying to stop us.
Before I could even wonder how Ethan would play this, he snatched the radio and snapped, "Roadblock. Run it. Shoot anyone stupid enough to stand their ground."
Static crackled in response. "Copy that."
Gunfire erupted from the lead Jeeps—warning shots tearing through the air.
The so-called "extremists" folded like cheap lawn chairs. At the first sign of real firepower, they bolted into the jungle like cockroaches scattering from light.
I clenched my jaw. Pathetic.
For half a second, I'd hoped these idiots might call the cops. No such luck.
The SUV jolted and bounced for another two hours before veering onto a narrow gravel path, plunging us deeper into the wilderness.
Then, like something out of a nightmare, a fortress emerged from the trees.
High walls, razor wire, cameras tracking every move. Three armed guards and a pair of snarling Rottweilers stood sentry at the gate.
My stomach twisted.
Once we crossed that threshold, I was done.
I might never see daylight again.
Armed patrols roamed the grounds with dogs straining at their leashes. This wasn't just a hideout—it was a goddamn warlord's compound.
Ethan shoved Sophia and me into a villa dripping with gaudy, empty luxury. His goons followed, weapons at the ready.
One of them—a hulking brute in sunglasses—grunted, "You know the drill, Ethan. Boss gets first dibs. By the time we get our turn with these two, they'll be broken in and worthless."
You son of a bitch. The words burned in my throat. Your whole bloodline is worthless.
So Ethan wasn't just involved—he was running the show. And from the sound of it, he'd been neck-deep in this filth the whole time.
The realization hit me like a gut punch. I'd been an idiot.
I'd actually imagined a life with him—white picket fence and all.
What a sick joke.
Was he really just some corporate intern in Mandalay—or was he a monster?
Who was pulling his strings?
And why the hell was there half a million dollars on my head in the darkest corners of the web?
The bodies of Margaret Lowell and her crew sprawled in slick, crimson puddles, their blood still steaming in the humid air. My hands shook so badly I couldn't even think straight. Any thought of confronting Ethan evaporated. I barely remembered how we'd escaped that hellhole.
By the time my brain kicked back online, our SUV was rattling down a pothole-riddled highway.
Ethan rode shotgun, his rifle resting casually across his lap. His eyes—sharp, calculating—never stopped scanning the road.
A blaring horn jerked Sophia Evans and me awake.
The beefy driver in camo muttered a curse. "Fucking extremists. Always stirring shit. Nearly took out one of our boys last month."
Through the dust-streaked window, I spotted a ramshackle checkpoint ahead. A handful of scrawny locals waved frantically, trying to stop us.
Before I could even wonder how Ethan would play this, he snatched the radio and snapped, "Roadblock. Run it. Shoot anyone stupid enough to stand their ground."
Static crackled in response. "Copy that."
Gunfire erupted from the lead Jeeps—warning shots tearing through the air.
The so-called "extremists" folded like cheap lawn chairs. At the first sign of real firepower, they bolted into the jungle like cockroaches scattering from light.
I clenched my jaw. Pathetic.
For half a second, I'd hoped these idiots might call the cops. No such luck.
The SUV jolted and bounced for another two hours before veering onto a narrow gravel path, plunging us deeper into the wilderness.
Then, like something out of a nightmare, a fortress emerged from the trees.
High walls, razor wire, cameras tracking every move. Three armed guards and a pair of snarling Rottweilers stood sentry at the gate.
My stomach twisted.
Once we crossed that threshold, I was done.
I might never see daylight again.
Armed patrols roamed the grounds with dogs straining at their leashes. This wasn't just a hideout—it was a goddamn warlord's compound.
Ethan shoved Sophia and me into a villa dripping with gaudy, empty luxury. His goons followed, weapons at the ready.
One of them—a hulking brute in sunglasses—grunted, "You know the drill, Ethan. Boss gets first dibs. By the time we get our turn with these two, they'll be broken in and worthless."
You son of a bitch. The words burned in my throat. Your whole bloodline is worthless.
So Ethan wasn't just involved—he was running the show. And from the sound of it, he'd been neck-deep in this filth the whole time.
The realization hit me like a gut punch. I'd been an idiot.
I'd actually imagined a life with him—white picket fence and all.
What a sick joke.
End of Half-Million Dollar Bait： Campus Belle’s Hell Chapter 8. Continue reading Chapter 9 or return to Half-Million Dollar Bait： Campus Belle’s Hell book page.