Chapter 710: Chapter 710

Chapter 710:

“Does she really live in a dump like this?” one muttered, his face twisted in disgust.

“This neighborhood’s crawling with all kinds of filth. Stay sharp,” another warned.

“Wait, look, she seems to be in trouble.”

Their murmurs faltered as they spotted Allison in an alley, seemingly cornered by a group of thugs. At the helm of the group stood a one-eyed man, his lips curling into a grotesque grin.

“Hey there, sweetheart. Care to grab a drink?”

Allison’s mind raced. She needed to lose her tail, and this ragtag band of thugs might just serve her purpose. Adopting a frightened demeanor, she shrank back, hugging her arms as if shielding herself.

“I don’t drink,” she stammered, her gaze darting toward the alley’s other exit. “Please, let me pass.”

The one-eyed man laughed, a guttural sound that scraped against the walls.

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere,” he sneered, reaching out a grimy hand. “Come quietly, unless you want to be stripped right here.”

A flicker of cunning crossed Allison’s eyes, masked by her feigned panic. She forced her expression into one of wide-eyed terror, playing her part to perfection.

These weren’t criminal masterminds. They were gutter rats, clinging to their scraps of power. Handling them wouldn’t take much effort, but if she could exploit this scene to shake off her tail, it would be time well spent.

She glanced around frantically, her gaze darting like a cornered prey’s. “No… please, don’t,” she stammered, her voice trembling. She took a tentative step back, as if the idea of bolting down the path she had come from was her only hope.

The one-eyed man grinned, a twisted leer that reeked of malice. He lunged forward and clamped a hand on her shoulder, his grip as firm as a steel trap.

“You little bitch, you think you can still run?” he spat, his voice thick with disdain.

“Let go of me! I have a boyfriend!” Allison’s cry carried a perfect blend of anger and desperation. She flailed her arms, throwing punches that landed with no real force, her struggle an artful dance of calculated weakness.

The man chuckled, thoroughly amused by what he saw as a futile effort. “Overestimating yourself, aren’t you?” he jeered. Turning to his lackeys, he barked, “Tie her hands!”

“Understood,” they chimed in unison, stepping forward to grab her arms.

“Let go! Let go of me!” Allison wailed, her voice rising in a convincing crescendo of despair. She twisted and writhed, putting up just enough resistance to sell the illusion. The thugs dragged her toward a waiting car, her resistance gradually subsiding into what appeared to be helpless submission.

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