Alpha's Regret Too Late to Love Me novel Chapter 175

In that split second, my left hand flicked outward.

With practiced reflexes, Scar Face dodged to the side, easily avoiding my seeming attack. A smug look crossed

his face–until he caught the sweet scent in the air.

He looked down at my tear–streaked face, noticing the cold, calculated look in my eyes.

“You bitch!” he snarled, realizing too late he’d been tricked again. He lunged for my throat.

I kicked out hard, catching him squarely in the chest. With a heavy thud, he crashed to the floor.

“You-“Whatever curse he’d planned died on his lips as the sedative I’d sprayed took effect. His eyes rolled

back, and he joined his partner in unconsciousness.

I quickly jumped off the bed and searched their pockets for phones, finding two–both password protected with

no fingerprint unlock option.

Worse, there was no signal. Grabbing their car keys, I ran to the corner where Pudding lay.

“Pudding! Pudding!” I patted her feverish cheeks. “Pudding, wake up!”

She remained unconscious, tugging unconsciously at her shirt collar, her breathing labored and her lips taking

on a bluish tinge.

My heart dropped–she looked utterly helpless and so very small.

Oh my goddess, she’s sick! I pressed my palm to her forehead and felt alarming heat radiating from her skin.

Panic surged through me as I scooped her up onto my back and bolted from the cabin.

The salty sea breeze hit me as I emerged outside. Waves crashed against the shore in the distance, with

moonlight providing just enough illumination to see by.

I quickly unlocked their SUV, secured Pudding in the passenger seat with the seatbelt, and sped away.

The vehicle bounced over sandy terrain, making navigation difficult.

With no signal for GPS, I had no idea where we were–only that it was remote and likely difficult to escape from.

The car’s interior was filthy, dust flying with every bump, smelling of mold and neglect.

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Chapter 175

+25 BONUS

Behind me, Pudding’s coughing and labored breathing grew worse by the minute. I drove desperately, trying to find a way out of this deserted area by instinct alone.

If I couldn’t find civilization, at least finding an area with cell service would help.

But Pudding’s breathing was becoming dangerously heavy, sounding like something was blocking her airway. It was frighteningly abnormal.

I glanced over and saw her clawing at her chest in obvious distress. A horrible realization hit me, and I slammed on the brakes. I reached over to press firmly on her acupressure point between her nose and upper lip.

“Pudding! Pudding, wake up!” I pressed repeatedly until her eyes fluttered open.

Her beautiful eyes seemed unfocused, taking several seconds before she wheezed out, “Sis…sister…”

That single word stabbed through my heart like a dagger. “Do you have asthma?” I asked urgently.

Pudding nodded painfully, then collapsed against me. “Sister… don’t… be scared…”

“Asthma… won’t… won’t kill me…” she managed between gasps.

Who says asthma can’t kill? Her condition was clearly severe, with the wheezing growing louder by the second.

Without treatment, her life was in imminent danger. Even if she survived, each minute during an attack like

this was torture.

Yet here she was–suffering unbearably–trying to comfort me. My heart shattered at her selflessness.

“Where’s your medication?” Tears sprang to my eyes, my throat constricting with emotion. “People with asthma usually carry medication, right?”

As the words left my mouth, the answer hit me.

Her backpack!

The medicine had to be in her backpack.

The backpack that Scar Face had tossed carelessly in the cabin–that I’d been too panicked to grab when

rescuing Pudding.

I slammed my foot on the accelerator and yanked the steering wheel hard to the left, executing a rapid U–turn. The tires kicked up sand as we headed back toward the cabin at full speed.

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