Chapter 777

Chapter 777:

A sickening crunch echoed as steel tore through muscle. Severe pain ripped through her abdomen, fire licking up her spine, each nerve set ablaze in a symphony of agony. Her body stiffened as though caught in a vice, the ordeal an unrelenting force she could neither fight nor flee. Her strength drained like water through cupped fingers. A primal, anguished cry wrenched itself from her throat.

Beckett yanked the knife free with brutal force. A crimson spray hit his face and dripped down in grotesque rivulets. His eyes, so bloodshot they seemed ready to burst, glowed with a manic frenzy.

Her crumpled form, writhing in agony, only seemed to stoke the twisted glee in him. A savage grin split his face, his pleasure at her suffering making his madness all the more terrifying.

He raised the knife again, aiming for another strike.

At that precise moment, the door slammed open. A group of people burst in.

Fernanda moved with lethal precision, a single, well-placed kick sending Beckett’s arm flying back. The knife slipped from his grip, clattering onto the floor.

Bonita had already collapsed, her clothing soaked in red, consciousness teetering on the edge of oblivion.

Beckett, eyes still wild, lunged for her again, but was instantly tackled by officers. Their swift hands snapped cuffs around his wrists, binding his frenzied movements.

“You miserable wretch!” Beckett roared, his voice raw with fury. “I swear to God, if you ever say that again, I will carve your bloody tongue out! Damn you! You dare dump me, huh? I will kill you! Do you hear me? I will kill you!”

He struggled frantically with all his strength, enraged like a crazed hound.

Spittle flew from his lips as he fought against his restraints, every muscle straining with unhinged desperation.

“We need to go to the hospital,” Fernanda said decisively, kneeling beside Bonita’s nearly unconscious form, ready to lift her.

At that moment, Neal came rushing in.

𝗧𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝘁 gⱯ𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀⫽𝖼𝗈𝗺

Without hesitation, he scooped Bonita into his arms. “Let’s take your car,” he told Fernanda, his voice tight.

An ambulance would take too long.

But with the police car clearing the roads, they arrived at the hospital in ten minutes.

Neal barely noticed as his clothes became drenched in Bonita’s blood. He carried her straight into the hospital, his every step fueled by urgency.

Doctors descended instantly, rolling a gurney toward them. Bonita was swept away into the operating room.

Outside, Neal stood rigid, his entire body coiled with tension. His face was carved from stone, his eyes locked on the glowing OR sign with an intensity that could have burned straight through the walls. Only the barely perceptible tremor in his clenched fists betrayed his inner turmoil.

“Bonita will be fine,” Fernanda placed a hand on his shoulder, her voice calm and reassuring. “The wound wasn’t in a fatal spot. Once they stop the bleeding, she will recover.”

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