Chapter 71: Chapter 71

POWER STONES

Christine phone buzzed in her hand, the cryptic string of asterisks on the caller ID sending a familiar jolt of adrenaline through her veins. She pressed the answer button, her breath steady despite the pounding of her heart.

The voice on the other end was unmistakable—Jason, his tone dripping with urgency and that rough edge she’d once found so fucking irresistible.

“Goddamn it, you finally picked it up!” Jason’s voice crackled through the line, a mix of relief and exasperation.

Christine’s first thought was that he’d fucked something up on his end—typical Jason, always diving headfirst into trouble. She cupped her hand over her mouth, her voice low and sharp. “What’s wrong? You in some deep shit over there?”

“Nah, I’m good, but listen up—this is fucking serious,” Jason said, his words tumbling out like a runaway train. “I got intel that Avril’s got a hit out on you at that fancy-ass gala tonight. She’s got a killer waiting to splash sulfuric acid on your face. Bitch wants you disfigured so you can’t steal her spotlight—or her men.”

Christine’s grip on the phone tightened, her mind racing back to the gaunt, corpse-like man who’d just tried to melt her face off in the grand hall. The bastard had missed, thanks to her lightning-fast reflexes, but the screams of the socialites whose legs had been burned by the acid still echoed in her ears. Her pale blue eyes narrowed, glittering with a dangerous calm. “Yeah, already dealt with that prick,” She said, her voice cool as ice. “He’s out cold, probably dreaming of the ass-kicking I gave him.”

“Fuck, Christine, you’re a goddamn badass,” Jason said, a hint of admiration cutting through his panic. “But you gotta be careful. Avril’s not fucking around. That guy was supposed to ruin you, and now that he’s failed, she’ll be desperate. You need to get the hell out of there. Skip the gala, make up some bullshit excuse, and lay low.”

His words hit her like a shot of whiskey—warm, familiar, and stirring something deep in her chest. Jason, the reckless, foul-mouthed bastard she’d once loved with every fiber of her being, was genuinely worried about her. She could picture him now, pacing some seedy LA nightclub, his jaw clenched, those intense eyes of his burning with that same fire she’d fallen for years ago. Back when they were tangled in each other’s lives, fucking like the world was ending, laughing over cheap beers, and dreaming of a life that didn’t involve running from cops.

Christine’s lips curled into a rare, genuine smile—not the polished, fuck-off smirk she used to keep the world at bay, but something soft, vulnerable, born from a place she’d buried long ago. She tilted her head back, gazing at the star-strewn sky, memories flooding her mind. The late nights with Jason, their bodies pressed close in some shitty motel, his hands rough but gentle on her skin. The promises they’d made, half-drunk on lust and hope, before it all went to hell. If she’d trusted him more, fought for him instead of pushing him away, maybe they’d be living that dream now—a house, a kid, a life where she didn’t have to dodge acid attacks at fucking galas.

But the past was a ghost, and Christine wasn’t one for haunting. She leaned against the palm tree, her black gown catching the moonlight, and let her voice drop to a teasing purr. “You’re blowing up my phone like this because you’re worried about me, huh? What’s the deal, Jason? You thinking of ditching Harley and crawling back to me? Wanna rekindle that old flame, maybe fuck me senseless like the good old days?”

There was a pause, and she could almost see Jason’s face—those sharp features tightening, his eyes blazing with that mix of lust and fury that used to drive her wild. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He snapped, his voice a low growl. “I’m out here sweating bullets, calling you a dozen goddamn times, and you’re over there playing fucking romance novel? I don’t give a shit about your love life, Christine—just get your ass home before you get killed!”

The line went dead, the harsh beep-beep-beep of the busy signal cutting through the night air. Christine’s smile vanished, her face darkening as she stared at the phone. Her fingers trembled—not from fear, but from a white-hot rage that surged through her like wildfire. That fleeting warmth she’d felt, that flicker of connection to the man she’d once loved, was gone, chewed up and spit out like cheap gum. “Fuck you, you piece of shit,” She muttered under her breath, her voice thick with venom. “Go to hell, you fucking prick.”

She shoved the phone into her purse, her heels clicking sharply against the stone path as she stormed back toward the estate. The gala’s chaos was behind her, but the night was far from over.

—

Back in a dimly lit LA nightclub, Jason slammed his phone down on the table, his blood boiling. “Fucking unbelievable,” He growled, running a hand through his hair. Harley, perched on the edge of the couch, looked up from her drink, her wide eyes glinting with concern.

“Is she okay?” Harley asked, her voice soft but edged with worry. She’d seen Jason like this before—pissed off, ready to punch a wall, usually when someone he cared about was in deep shit.

“She’s fine,” Jason snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut glass. “Fucking great, actually. Got time to flirt while someone’s trying to melt her face off.” He dropped onto the couch, his leather jacket creaking, and grabbed the earpiece he’d been using to eavesdrop on the private room next door.

Avril and her goons were still there. The air was thick with the stench of vodka and desperation. Jason adjusted the earpiece, tuning back into their conversation, his jaw tight as he listened.

Avril killed the music, the room falling silent except for the faint hum of the AC. One of her bodyguards’ phones rang, and she leaned forward, her eyes sharp with anticipation. “Well?” She demanded as the guard answered.

The bodyguard’s face went pale, his lips tightening as he listened. After a moment, he hung up, his shoulders slumping. “It’s bad, boss,” He said, his voice low. “The guy fucked up. Christine dodged the acid, took him out with one move, and now he’s in custody. Didn’t even manage to bite the poison capsule.”

Avril’s face twisted into a mask of rage and panic. “You’re fucking kidding me!” She screamed, slamming her fist on the table. “I paid you a million fucking dollars, and you hired some incompetent fuck who can’t even kill himself right? Now that bitch is gonna be on high alert, and we’ll never get another shot like this!”

Jason, listening from the next room, let out a quiet breath, relief washing over him. Christine was safe—for now. But Avril’s meltdown was a goldmine. She was unraveling, her carefully laid plans crumbling like a house of cards. He smirked, leaning back in his chair, his mind already working on how to use this.

Avril grabbed a bottle of vodka, chugging it like it was water, her hands shaking with fury. Halfway through, she hurled the bottle at the wall, the glass shattering with a deafening crash that made Jason wince. “Fucking useless!” She shrieked, her voice cracking. “If that bastard talks, I’m done! My career, my life—fucking over!”

She collapsed onto the couch, her face blank, eyes staring into nothing. For a moment, she looked lost, like a kid who’d just realized the world wasn’t hers to control. Then, with a sudden jerk, she stood, grabbing her trench coat. “I’m out,” She muttered, storming toward the door, her bodyguards scrambling to follow.

Jason ripped off the earpiece and grabbed Harley’s hand. “Let’s move,” He said, his voice low and urgent. They slipped out of the room, Jason pausing just long enough to plant a tiny signal-emitting bug in Avril’s coat pocket as she brushed past him in the hallway. The collision was deliberate—she didn’t even notice, too caught up in her own rage. He stumbled back, playing it off like he was just some drunk heading to the bathroom, and flashed her a friendly wave. “Hey, Miss Avril!”

She didn’t even glance at him, her heels clacking as she barreled down the stairs, her goons trailing like obedient dogs. Jason smirked, retrieving the hidden listening device from their room before leading Harley out of the club and into the neon-lit LA night.

At the parking lot, they caught sight of Avril arguing with her head bodyguard. “Let go of me!” She snapped, yanking her arm free. “I’m in a shitty mood, and I need to drive.”

“You’re wasted, and you smoked that weed earlier,” The bodyguard protested, his voice tight. “Let me drive.”

Avril spun on him, her hand cracking across his face with a slap that echoed in the quiet lot. “You can’t even handle a simple hit job, you fucking loser,” She snarled, her eyes bloodshot and wild. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

The bodyguard hung his head, silent, as Avril snatched the keys to her fire-red Ferrari F430. The engine roared to life, and she peeled out of the lot, tires screeching, leaving a trail of exhaust and fury. Her four Cadillacs followed, struggling to keep up.

Jason pulled out his phone, the tracking app lighting up with a red dot—Avril’s bug, loud and clear within a ten-kilometer range. He grinned, sliding into their Mercedes. “Got her,” He said, his voice low with satisfaction. “Let’s see where this bitch is headed.”

Harley clapped her hands together, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Oh, honey, promise me you won’t hurt her, okay? She’s my idol!”

Jason shot her a sidelong glance, his lips twitching. “I’ll try, babe. No promises.” He floored the gas, the Mercedes surging forward, keeping a safe distance as they tailed the signal.

—

Los Angeles was a beast that never slept, its streets alive with headlights and the pulse of the night. Avril’s Ferrari tore through the city, weaving through traffic with reckless abandon. Her bodyguard’s voice crackled through her phone, frantic. “Slow the fuck down, Avril! There’s still a chance to fix this Beverly Hills mess, but if the cops pull you over and test your blood, your career’s fucking toast!”

“Go fuck yourself, you useless prick!” Avril screamed, slamming the phone down and veering toward the suburbs, where the roads opened up and her Ferrari’s power could shine. Within minutes, she’d left her bodyguards in the dust, their Cadillacs no match for her speed.

At a quiet suburban intersection, the bodyguards pulled over, their leader barking orders through the radio. “Split up, four ways. Find her, stop her, and drag her ass back. If she fights, do whatever it takes.”

“Got it,” Came the replies, and the Cadillacs scattered.

Jason, watching from a distance, grinned wider. “Perfect. She’s alone.” He glanced at Harley, who was practically bouncing in her seat, her hands clasped together.

“Be careful with her, babe!” Harley pleaded, her voice a mix of worry and adoration.

Jason chuckled, his eyes locked on the red dot blinking on his phone. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.” He gunned the engine, the Mercedes roaring as they closed in on Avril’s signal, the LA night stretching out before them like a playground for their next move.

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