Chapter 522
Chapter 522:
Seeing the faint flicker of hope on Jacoby’s face, Ashton sneered, “Don’t celebrate just yet. My phone was in the car, and it’s toast. Check yours. If it’s as useless as mine, you’d better get ready for a long walk to Staville.”
Despair swept over Jacoby like a tidal wave. “Walk? Might as well kill me now and get it over with.”
Ashton’s expression remained icy. “I didn’t let you die because I still need you. Otherwise, I’d have left you here to rot. If you tell me about the Dark Night Organization, I might consider putting you out of your misery.”
Jacoby kept silent, his hand trembling as he reached into his pocket for his phone. It was shattered, beyond repair—the result of his desperate leap from the car earlier.
“Can’t we just wait for someone to drive by?” Jacoby muttered under his breath, hoping for a miracle.
Before Ashton could respond, a pair of headlights pierced the darkness. The wail of sirens followed close behind, filling the air. A patrol car had arrived, its blue and red lights casting eerie shadows across the scene.
The vehicle pulled up in front of them, and two uniformed officers stepped out, their faces grim as they took in the burning wreckage not far off. One of them called out in a stern voice, “We heard an explosion while on patrol. What’s going on here?
And why are you two out here?”
Jacoby found himself torn between fortune and calamity. On one hand, he’d stumbled into the misfortune of crossing paths with Ashton, nearly paying for it with his life.
On the other hand, just when things seemed utterly hopeless, a patrol car appeared out of nowhere—a glimmer of hope amid the storm.
“Look! There’s a car!” Jacoby’s voice brimmed with sudden optimism, like a drowning man spotting a life raft.
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He limped toward the officers, clinging to that flicker of salvation.
But like a candle in the wind, his hope quickly flickered out.
As he approached, his smile froze. The officers eyed him with suspicion, their gazes as sharp as knives slicing through his already frail confidence.
“Did that explosion over there have anything to do with you? Get down on the ground, hands on your head!” one officer barked, his voice like thunder in the distance before a storm struck.
Jacoby flinched, his heart pounding as he stammered, “No, no! You’ve got it all wrong! We were ambushed—attacked by random guys! We’re the victims!”
But the officers, unconvinced, exchanged a glance that reeked of doubt.
One of them drew his gun, the cold steel aimed directly at Jacoby’s chest.
“Doesn’t matter what your story is. You’d better cooperate right now, or we’ll assume you’re the culprits. We won’t hesitate to open fire,” the officer warned, his finger itching dangerously close to the trigger.
Jacoby’s heart raced. He wanted to lash out, to scream at the injustice of it all, but the barrel of the gun forced him to bite his tongue.
.
.
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