The Real Heiress Rules the World (Sloane Rivers) novel Chapter 88

Chapter 88 No Holding Back

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Jill let out a scream, terror flooding every inch of her body as she thrashed with everything she had. Her hands scrambled blindly across the ground—until they hit something sharp.

She grabbed it without thinking.

Ajagged piece of stone.

Fueled by pure survival instinct, she gripped it tight and smashed it straight into the blond thug’s head.

A sickening thud. Blood burst from his forehead. He screamed and staggered backward, releasing her as he stumbled.

The other punks froze for a second–then their faces twisted in rage and they surged toward her.

Jill pushed herself up against the wall, still clutching the stone like a weapon. Her body was shaking–part fear, part fury—but there was steel in her eyes now.

“Stay back! I swear I’ll take you all down with me!” Her voice cracked, half–sobbing, but there was no mistaking the fire behind it.

They didn’t care. They just kept coming.

And then-

The factory doors slammed open with a loud metallic crash.

“Let her go!” came a cold, cutting voice.

Sloane stood in the doorway, eyes sharp as a blade, a steel pipe gripped tightly in her hand.

The

gangsters flinched, spinning toward her.

Then they saw it was just a girl.

And laughed.

“Well, well, look who thinks she’s a hero,” sneered a punk with a scar running down his cheek. “Where’d this little chick come from? You lost, sweetheart?”

Sloane didn’t flinch. She stepped forward, dragging the pipe behind her. The screech of metal

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7:58 Thu, Sep 4

Chapter 88 No Holding Back

scraping concrete echoed through the factory.

Her eyes scanned them–icy and unblinking.

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One of the punks, tall and wiry, made the first move. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s have a little fun-”

He didn’t finish.

Sloane swung.

The pipe whistled through the air and cracked down on his arm with brutal force.

“Ahh!” he screamed, dropping to the ground, cradling his arm.

The rest of them froze, stunned by how fast and vicious she was.

Then, all at once, they snapped out of it—yelling and charging toward her.

Sloane’s eyes locked on Jill–bloody, battered, terrified—and something inside her snapped.

Rage ignited in her chest.

The blond punk lunged first.

She moved like a bullet–left leg bent, body exploding forward. The pipe whirled through the air and slammed into his shoulder with a crunch. He let out a howl and dropped like a sack of bricks.

Another guy–a thick, muscular brute–tried to grab her from the side, arms reaching for her throat.

Sloane dropped low, ducking under his swing. Using the momentum of her crouch, she swept the pipe across the floor–crack. It nailed his knee, sending him collapsing with a yell. She rose with the motion, drove the pipe straight into his back. He grunted and hit the ground, unmoving.

Behind her, the scar–faced punk charged with a knife.

She moved like she had eyes in the back of her head–spun on her heel, pipe arcing wide.

The metal slammed into his wrist.

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