The bodyguard behind Darren still couldn’t shake the memory of the bomb. He forced a shaky laugh. “Mr. Harrington, you must have nine lives. They must’ve sold you a box of duds!”
Xena looked as if she’d been struck by lightning. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed to the floor.
One of the bodyguards pulled out a knife and pressed it mercilessly against the housekeeper’s stomach.
Darren’s voice turned glacial. “Xena, I’ll ask you one last time. Who is Shortie? Where is she?”
“She… I…”
Xena tried desperately to stall for time.
But the housekeeper’s eyes—pinned by the blade—flickered with hopeless resolve. Suddenly, she lunged forward.
The blade slid deep into her chest.
Xena’s scream tore through the room. “Mom—!”
The housekeeper would rather die in a pool of her own blood than become the weakness that doomed her daughter. With the last shreds of her strength, she looked at Xena, her voice barely a whisper. “Xena… live… on…”
Xena watched in horror as her only family bled out before her eyes. Any will to survive vanished. She flung herself onto her mother’s corpse, frantically reaching for the bloodied knife, desperate to end her own life.
But Darren was quicker. He kicked her wrist with brutal precision.
The crack of breaking bone rang out in the silent room.
The knife clattered away.
Darren stepped forward, towering over Xena’s curled, trembling form. His voice was cold as the grave. “Talk, and I’ll make it quick. Otherwise… I’ll make sure neither of you are left intact.”


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