?Chapter 1295:


    “Why not talk to me instead?” Nate’s voice was calm, detached, but there was a weight behind it as he turned his gaze to Jonathan.


    “Fine.” Jonathan met his stare, his sharp features betraying nothing. “Let me be clear, Lone Ranger will not walk away unscathed. He tried to kill me. I am already being generous by not taking his life tonight.”


    If Corrine had arrived even a momentter, there would have been no debate.


    Lone Ranger would be dead.


    “So?” Nate’s tone was unreadable.


    Jonathan leaned against the edge of the table, tapping a finger against the polished wood. “Miss Hond and I had an interesting bet once. How about another round tonight?” His gaze darkened. “If I win, I take the northern docks.”


    There it was. The unspoken challenge. Jonathan was known as Hell—the kind of man whose name alone sent chills through the underworld. He thrived on fear, power, and control. If word spread that Nate could walk in and out of his territory without consequence, his reputation would take a hit.


    He had no intention of letting that happen. So, he would take something from Nate. One way or another.


    Bleacher’s men wasted no time carrying Lone Ranger out.


    Hisplexion was ghostly pale, his fresh clothes stark against the state he had likely been in before. Someone had changed him before his arrival, but it did little to mask the unmistakable scent clinging to him. The thick, coppery tang of blood grew stronger as he was brought closer.


    Corrine’s delicate features hardened, her frown deepening.


    A chill settled over her expression as she pushed to her feet and strode toward him. “Are you alright?”


    At the sound of her voice, Lone Ranger lifted his head with effort. His gazended on Corrine, but for a fleeting moment, it seemed as though he was looking straight through her. His vision wavered, unfocused, as if unsure whether she was real.


    ?????????? ???????? ???????? ???????????? — ????????????: ????????????????﹒??????


    His throat burned, raw from pain and dehydration. The words barely scraped past his lips. “Why are you here?”


    “What do you think? I came to save you.”


    Lone Ranger’s eyes darkened. A sharp breath rattled in his chest as he forced himself upright. “I do not need your help!” His voice, though hoarse, carried an unyielding edge. “You should leave now!”


    He had not expected to walk out of this alive. After falling into Jonathan’s trap, there had been no illusions about his fate.


    Jonathan was a man shrouded in mystery, but his ruthlessness was no secret. Anyone foolish enough to cause trouble in his domain rarely left in one piece—if they left at all.


    Lone Ranger had made peace with that.


    What he had not ounted for was Corrine.


    Her sharp gaze flicked over him, her frown deepening as the scent of blood filled the space between them. “How bad is it?”


    .


    .


    .