Revenge Wears My Ring novel Chapter 232

The first of the thugs—a blond with a nasty sneer—lunged at her, reaching out to clamp a meaty hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, gorgeous, don’t run. I promise, I’ll take real good care of you in a minute.”

But before his fingers even grazed her jacket, his vision blurred—she moved so fast he could barely register it.

Gwyneth left behind nothing but a flicker of motion, as if she’d rehearsed these moves a thousand times. No one could track her; nobody saw how she did it. There was only the sickening crack of bone and a scream that made everyone’s teeth ache. The blond’s wrist dangled at an unnatural angle, and he collapsed to his knees, howling in agony.

The other three hesitated, stunned, but emboldened by their numbers, they rushed her together, shouting curses as they closed in.

“Shit, this bitch is tougher than she looks! Get her—together!”

But Gwyneth was like quicksilver, impossible to catch, a gust of razor-sharp wind among lumbering oafs.

Her movements were sharp, efficient—each dodge perfectly timed, each strike landing with pinpoint precision on the body’s most vulnerable spots.

Her side kick slammed into one man’s knee, sending him howling to the ground.

With a brutal elbow to the gut, she doubled over another, who immediately collapsed, retching bile and half-digested food onto the cement.

The last one barely had time to react before Gwyneth grabbed him, flipped him over her shoulder, and slammed him onto the cold concrete. He hit with a dull, heavy thud and didn’t even have time to groan before he passed out.

It was over in less than fifteen seconds.

Just moments before, four big men had swaggered in, full of menace. Now, they lay sprawled on the ground, writhing and moaning in pain, stripped of any threat.

Gwyneth straightened, her breathing only slightly quickened, not a strand of hair out of place. She brushed imaginary dust from her hands and fixed an icy stare on Desiree, who stood frozen, face drained of all color, eyes wide with disbelief.

Desiree gawked at her, as if she’d just witnessed something supernatural. Her lips trembled; her hand shook as she pointed a finger at Gwyneth.

“You… How did you…? That’s not possible! You—”

Gwyneth strode toward her, the click of her heels echoing through the empty parking garage, each step pounding in Desiree’s racing heart.

She stopped just in front of Desiree, who was paralyzed with fear, and leaned down slightly, her eyes filled with a cold, almost pitying mockery. Her voice was calm, each word landing like a blow:

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re actually stupid.”

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