Chapter 231: Do You Trust Me?
With the sudden gunshots, chaos erupted instantly. Screams filled the air as the music cut off abruptly. People panicked, shoving toward exits or ducking behind tables. Glass shattered as the crowd surged in disarray.
Mia gasped, her body freezing in terror. Her eyes widened with raw panic, hands clutching Stan’s shirt as tremors ran through her. "Stan... what’s happening?!"
He pulled her down low into the booth with him, shielding her body with his own. His arms wrapped tightly around her, one hand cradling the back of her head against his chest. "Stay down, Mia. Breathe. No matter what happens, I’ll get you out of here safely. I promise. I won’t let anything touch you."
His voice was calm and commanding, cutting through her fear. Mia nodded shakily against him, clinging tighter, her full curves pressed flush to his body in desperate trust. Tears of fright pricked her eyes, but his presence anchored her. "I’m scare... Don’t leave me..."
"I’m right here," he murmured, stroking her back soothingly even as his mind raced at full speed. ’I have no firearms on me. Multiple hostiles likely. The exits are all blocked... crowd control... use the chaos."
Adrenaline sharpened his thoughts. He scanned the room for threats while keeping Mia tucked protectively beneath him, ready to move the second an opening appeared.
Stan’s enhanced senses pieced it together instantly.
The security personnel outside had been hit. A chill ran through him as the realization settled in.
His jaw tightened. ’This is bad. The security guards... they shot them, these people are not your normal robbers, this is definitely not the first time they’re doing this...’
The words felt heavy even as they crossed his mind.
This wasn’t a warning shot or an intimidation tactic. These people had already crossed that line. They had killed, and anyone trapped inside this club could become a loose end the moment the robbers decided they were no longer useful.
Their only hope was the police. But by the time law enforcement arrived, everyone inside would be completely at the gunmen’s mercy.
Beside him, Mia trembled uncontrollably, her body pressed tightly against his in the cramped hiding space.
The crimson party dress had ridden up her thick thighs from the sudden movement, her massive breasts heaving rapidly against his chest with panicked breaths, her warm brown eyes were wide with terror, tears streaking down her flushed cheeks and smudging her mascara. Her fingers dug into his shirt as though he were the only thing keeping her grounded.
She was holding herself together by sheer force of will, and Stan could feel how much effort it cost her.
Around them, the club had collapsed into a tense, terrified silence.
People huddled behind overturned tables and booths, clutching one another for comfort. A woman nearby covered her mouth with both hands, her shoulders shaking violently. Behind the bar, a man in an expensive suit knelt with a phone pressed to his ear, whispering in a strained, broken voice.
Somewhere deeper in the club, a young woman cried quietly, unable to stop herself.
The music had died.
Only the neon lights remained, pulsing across the darkness, indifferent, beautiful, and utterly disconnected from the fear consuming the room.
With a heavy heart, Stan’s mind raced, cold and precise.
Police response time in this district: eight minutes at best. Twelve is more likely. These men knew that. That was why they had chosen tonight.
However Stan was here, his enhanced abilities were something he rarely thought about in civilian life. Most days, they were simply part of the background. But now they were the only advantage he had.
He could lift nearly twice the greatest weight ever recorded by a human. His reflexes operated at speeds most people wouldn’t even register. He had faced trained fighters before and walked away without a scratch.
POW! POW!! POW!!!
Three more shots resounded from outside. Then three cries of pain. Three more security guards down.
Which meant three or four attackers, most likely. A small, disciplined team. Enough to lock down a room. Few enough to move quickly.
’They’re definitely professionals at this.’
Taking a deep breath his gaze shifted to the table beside them, they were two bottles there; half-full wine bottle made of thick, dark glass and asquat whiskey bottle with a dense, heavy base.
Not ideal weapons. But weapons nonetheless. In the right hands, either could become a projectile.
A plan began to take shape. Slowly, carefully, and dangerously.
He looked at Mia. Her eyes were fixed on the entrance, wide with fear. Tears glistened on her lashes. Her lips were pressed together so tightly they trembled.
Despite everything, she was fighting to stay silent.
"Stan..." she whispered, clutching his shirt with white-knuckled fingers.
"Mia." His voice was barely audible as he added softly, "Do you trust me?"
Her gaze snapped to his, for a moment, she studied his face, then she understood.
The color drained from hers.
"Stan, no." Her voice shook. "They have guns. They already..." She swallowed hard and forced herself lower behind the booth. "Please. Let them take whatever they want and leave. I can’t..." Her voice cracked. "If something happens to you, I can’t..."
"They killed the guards."
His tone remained calm. Matter-of-fact.
"They’ve already crossed that line. What makes you think they’ll stop there?"
Mia’s breath caught, fresh tears welled in her eyes. He held her gaze, steady, and certain. She needs to understand how unpredictable those guys can be...
"I’m not going to do anything reckless," he said. "But I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"
For a second, neither of them spoke. Then she nodded. Once, twice, then in quick succession. As if convincing herself as much as him.
Stan let out a slow breath. "Good."
His voice softened slightly. "Stay down. Stay quiet. No matter what happens, don’t draw attention to this spot. Can you do that?"
She nodded again, pressing her lips together until they turned white.
"Good." He squeezed her hand once before letting go. "Give me the bottles. Both of them. Quietly."
Without hesitation, she reached for them. The glass slid softly across the seat as she passed them over with trembling hands.
Their fingers brushed. For a brief moment, their eyes met.
She didn’t say the words. She didn’t have to, because it was pretty much obvious how much she cared
Stan offered no reply.
Instead, he wrapped his fingers around the necks of the bottles and turned his attention toward the entrance.
Waiting, listening, preparing and formulating different plans in his mind..
At that moment, the doors burst open, and three men stormed inside.
Dressed entirely in black from boots to collar, their faces hidden behind dark balaclavas, they moved with the confidence of people who had done this before. Two carried handguns held at chest level.
The third swept the room with a compact automatic weapon, the muzzle gliding left and right in a slow, practiced arc.
"NOBODY MOVES!"
