She’s Back, and Hell’s Coming with Her novel Chapter 109

Yvette was stuffed into a duffel bag, writhing in panic.

“Stop squirming, or I’ll beat you senseless,” Seven-Shot snarled, punctuating his threat with a vicious kick.

“Behave yourself, or you’ll regret it,” another man chimed in, his voice low and menacing.

Hearing their angry threats, Yvette froze. She was just a child—her spirit fragile, her courage battered by too many blows already. She was terrified these men would make good on their words. All she could do was stay still as they slung her over a shoulder and carried her away from the house.

Seven-Shot and his two guys slipped Yvette out the back door of the villa. The moment they appeared, a lookout hiding nearby sent a silent alert to Sabrina.

“Stay on them. Don’t let them out of your sight, and don’t get spotted,” Sabrina ordered, leaving two of her people behind to keep watch. She led the rest of her team away, careful not to tip off their quarry.

Outside the rear exit, an inconspicuous old sedan waited with its engine running. One man stood guard by the open door, eyes darting nervously over the quiet street. Another hauled the bagged Yvette into the back seat, and the rest of the crew piled in after her. The doors slammed shut. Yvette crouched silently inside the bag, numb with fear. She barely registered anything now—only that she was in a car, and her captors were taking her somewhere new and unknown.

“Boss, we heading straight there?” the man riding shotgun asked, glancing over at Seven-Shot.

Seven-Shot took a long drag from his cigarette, then shot a glance at the white duffel bag in the trunk. “What do you think? Of course we’re going straight there. And listen up, all of you—keep your heads on straight. If anything goes wrong, we’re all dead.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry, boss. We’ll get it done.”

Seven-Shot nodded. “Pull this off, and there’s two hundred grand for each of you. Afterwards, I’ll take you all for a night out at Siren’s Club.”

“Sounds good! Thanks, boss!” The men started whispering among themselves, already dreaming of the easy life that money would buy.

If Seven-Shot succeeded tonight, he’d pocket half a million. The destination? The black market.

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