What the hell?
Braxton froze when he saw the shooting port in Natalie's door.
Since when did she know how to build traps? He was sure she had no clue about this stuff. So it had to be Harold.
Harold helped her? Why?
A sick thought hit him. Don't tell me Natalie's with that guy now ...
Braxton remembered Harold from before the disaster. Lived on the top floor. Pale, clean-cut, kind of decent-looking.
But compared to him? No way. Braxton told himself he was better in every way—smarter, taller, better built. The only thing Harold had was money.
Braxton's chest tightened. So that's it. Natalie's just like all the other shallow girls. The rich guy shows up, and she runs right to him.
Inside, Natalie didn't know about his dirty little thoughts. She just frowned at the flaw in Harold's trap.
The blind spot was too big. If someone hugged the wall right next to the door, she couldn't hit them at all. She'd need to build something better—maybe even a trap that sprayed acid.
She shut the shooting port, grabbed her triangular bayonet, and decided to end this the old-fashioned way.
But just then, Tiffany's voice came from outside.
"Natalie! Wait! Don't get the wrong idea—we're not here for food this time! We have something important to tell you."
Braxton quickly added, "Yeah, Nat! Open up—we saw your dad!"
My dad?
Jacob's face flashed in her mind. That cold, cruel man.
Natalie clenched her jaw. She didn't consider him her father anymore.
She remembered everything—how he betrayed her mother, drove her grandmother to her grave, stole the family business, and finally threw her out to starve. He let her die, like she was nothing.
Her blood boiled.
In her last life, his actions got her killed. She had cut him out of her heart completely.
And now they claim they saw Jacob? No way. He was supposed to be hiding away in his fancy hillside villa, pretending the world hadn't ended. He'd never risk coming into the city.
They were lying. It had to be a trick to lure her out.
Natalie tightened her grip on the bayonet.
She unlocked the door quietly. Then in quick movements, she shoved it open and lunged straight at Braxton.
"Look out!" Tiffany screamed.
Is it a drug?
Damn!
Her last thought before the darkness swallowed her was simple.
Harold was right. This thing really works.
...
Outside, Tiffany tossed the empty can to the ground and rushed to Braxton's side.
"Braxton! Are you okay?"
He clutched his bleeding shoulder, heart hammering.
If Tiffany hadn't used the spray in time, Natalie's blade would've gone right through his chest. He'd be dead.
His head spun. The drug was strong—even though he'd taken the antidote earlier and held his breath, the stuff still left him dizzy.
Gritting his teeth, he tore a strip from his shirt and tied it tight around the wound.
"I'll live. She must be out cold by now, right?"
Tiffany pressed against his wound, face grim. "Yeah. The spray always knocks people out. She made it back inside, but she didn't get far. No way she's getting away. She's gotta be lying just behind that door."
She glared at the steel barrier with hate in her eyes. "The drug's too strong. She can't fight it. Let's drag her out while she's down."

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