He Lost Me to His Best Friend novel Chapter 790

His face darkened. A heavy, suffocating sense of dread settled in his gut. Without warning, his right eye began to twitch aggressively—a rare, ominous sign.

Leaning forward, he kept his voice low. "Charles, step on it. Get us out of this sector as fast as you can."

Charles was visibly sweating, equally unnerved by the swarming crowd. Cursing violently in his native tongue, he laid on the horn, trying to aggressively nudge the SUV through the sea of living corpses.

But the roar of the engine didn't scare them off.

They completely engulfed the vehicle, their filthy hands clawing at the doors and windows. The agonizing screech of fingernails on glass, mixed with their deranged, hollow laughter, made Scarlett's skin crawl.

Without realizing it, her hand found Julian's. He laced their fingers tightly together, both of their palms slick with nervous sweat.

Just then, the aggressive, blaring horn of a heavy vehicle sounded right behind them.

Scarlett and Julian both exhaled, turning around in relief, assuming local law enforcement or a convoy had arrived to clear the road.

But what happened next shattered the air.

Men in the trailing vehicle leaned out the windows and opened fire directly at them.

*BANG! BANG! BANG!*

The SUV lurched violently as the rear tires blew out.

Charles screamed in pure terror. "Oh my god! They shot out the tires! We're dead in the water!"

Panic-stricken, Charles whipped his head around to look at Julian, opening his mouth to speak.

A high-caliber round shattered the rear windshield and tore straight through Charles's forehead.

Shards of glass exploded through the cabin like shrapnel, raining down on Scarlett and Julian's faces and arms.

The shooters were firing blindly now, mowing down the addicts swarming the street. Bodies dropped into the gutters in pools of blood.

"Scarlett, run!"

Julian roared, hauling her off the pavement. Gripping her hand like a vice, he dragged her toward a narrow, debris-filled alleyway branching off the main street.

These weren't street thugs. This was a professional hit.

Knowing they were seconds away from being executed, Julian practically carried her as they sprinted, glancing over his shoulder.

A dark green tactical SUV had slammed to a halt behind Charles's ruined car.

Three men piled out. They were dressed head-to-toe in black tactical gear—masks, gloves, and Kevlar vests—wielding assault rifles.

Looking like executioners sent straight from hell, they locked eyes on the alleyway and began marching directly toward Scarlett and Julian.