No Strings Attached

Chapter 437

The moment he finished speaking, he reached out with his large hand towards Clara.

With the reflexes of a cornered animal, Clara bolted upright on the bed and landed a solid kick right where it hurt the most. The man howled in agony, doubling over and curling into a fetal position on the floor, clutching at his groin.

Suddenly, a blonde-haired thug sprang into action, rushing over and delivering a stinging slap across Clara’s face. “Listen here, lady,” he sneered. “If my boss wants you, it’s your lucky day. You stick with him, and you’ll be living the high life — champagne and caviar, the works. But you dare fight back? You asking for trouble?”

Clara’s head reeled from the blow. The stars danced before her eyes, and a trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth.

The tattooed man, however, kicked the blonde thug in the rear, cursing under his breath, “Back off! I like this kind of hot girl. She’s got spirit.”

He reached out to wipe the blood from Clara’s lips, only to have his hand smacked away. She knew she couldn’t win a direct confrontation with these goons. She needed to buy time, stall for Ian’s rescue.

Suddenly, Clara’s eyes welled up with tears, and she gave the boss a look of utmost vulnerability.

“Hey,” she whimpered. Her voice was soft. “I’m very hungry. Can you get me something to eat first? Then I’ll have the strength to... take care of you.”

The blonde thug opened his mouth to protest but was met with a cold glare from the tattooed man. “Don’t just stand there. Get her some food!” This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org: ©.

“But what if she runs off after eating, huh?” the thug challenged.

The boss sneered, “This place is swarming with my guys. Where do you think she could go? Now get moving!”

Reluctantly, the blonde thug left the room. Just as he reached the door, a group of men burst in. Their presence was commanding and determined.

The thug blurted out, “Who the hell do you punks think you are, waltzing into my boss’ pad like you own the place?”

As his cronies rushed to join him, a deep voice cut through the tension from behind. “Where is she? The woman you’re holding?”

Ian stood there, clad in a dark tactical jacket. He was like an avenging shadow emerging from the night itself.

His formidable aura sent a shiver down the thug’s spine, whose legs trembled uncontrollably. “What woman? We ain’t got no one here. Beat it!” he stammered out.

It was then that Ian, grabbing a life preserver from one of his men, said in a chilling tone, “This life preserver is from our boat. It’s got an ID number. How did it end up in your house?”

The thug tried to deflect, “So what if I found it at the beach?”

Ian’s eyes narrowed. He sensed a glimmer of hope. He was certain now. Clara had been rescued and was somewhere on these premises. With one swift kick, he sent the thug sprawling on the ground and charged towards the room. The thug opened his mouth to shout, but was quickly silenced by one of Ian’s men.

Inside, Clara sat on the bed. Ian’s voice reached her ears like a lifeline. She leaped to her feet, peering out the window and catching sight of Ian sprinting towards her. She wanted to call out to

him but feared the tattooed man might use her as a hostage. Pretending to have heard nothing, she sat still, but her heart was pounding wildly.

The tattooed man, alerted by the commotion, got up to investigate. As he barely cracked the door open, a boot connected with his belly, sending him flying backward until he crashed to the floor.

Without a word, Ian burst into the room. His eyes instantly found Clara on the bed. For a split second, he was lost in a trance. It was as if he were dreaming, and in this dream, Clara was waiting just for him.

His voice was hoarse. His eyes rimmed red with emotion. “Clara.”