The next morning at 7, Summer received a message on her phone filled with encrypted codes. A smirk tugged at her lips as she deciphered the text. "Time for a workout," she murmured to herself. She swiftly responded with her own set of encrypted codes and left her apartment, donning a simple black t-shirt and blue denim. Despite the casual attire, her beauty was undeniable. The black t-shirt clung to her figure, accentuating her curves, while the denim highlighted her long, toned legs. Her hair, cascading in soft waves, framed her striking face, and her eyes, sharp and focused, hinted at the intelligence and resolve within.
Half an hour later, she arrived at an abandoned building that looked like an old factory. With a quick glance around, she slipped inside, where four to five men were engaged in some illegal and unscrupulous work. Unseen, she sat in a corner and began typing codes on her phone. Ten minutes later, a series of explosions rocked the building, flames engulfing the structure. Through the raging fire, Summer emerged, walking casually toward a remote street. Her demeanor was nonchalant; she had meticulously wiped all traces of her entry and exit from the explosion site.
Just as she sent an encrypted message to report her accomplished mission, she was ambushed by eight burly men, clearly members of the same gang whose hideout she had just destroyed. Her eyes narrowed, and she prepared to fight head-on, taking a defensive stance. The men closed in, but before any of them could make a move, another figure emerged from the shadows.
It was Tristan. His sudden entrance halted the gang members in their tracks. Summer glanced at him, unaware of his identity but recognizing his imposing presence. Tristan's eyes locked onto Summer's, a mix of curiosity and recognition flashing through them. He moved with a calculated grace, his stance indicating readiness for combat.
The gang members hesitated, caught between their desire for revenge and the unexpected addition of a new threat. Summer and Tristan stood side by side, an unspoken understanding passing between them. The air was thick with tension, the anticipation of the impending fight palpable.
Summer was completely shocked to see another person who appeared like a civilian, but his mannerisms stated otherwise. Without wasting any time, they began fighting the rogues. Their movements were synchronized, like a dance, each complementing the other's attacks. When Summer landed a kick to one man, Tristan delivered a powerful punch to another. They covered each other's backs, staying close and moving fluidly together.
During the fight, Summer's curiosity got the better of her. "Who are you and why are you here?" she asked between kicks and punches.
Tristan, equally busy fighting off the men, replied with a teasing smile, "I was on my way to work when I noticed a girl surrounded by these guys. Thought she needed help. But it looks like I was saving someone from her own kind."
Annoyed, Summer spat back, "I'm not a damsel who needs saving. I can kick their asses and send them to hell by myself."
Impressed, Tristan turned around, grabbed her by the waist, and lifted her mid-air. She used the elevation to kick three men hard in the chest. As he set her back down, he teased again, "See, you needed me."
Further annoyed, Summer ignored him. With a somersault, she closed the distance to two more men, punching them precisely on the major veins of their necks, causing them to collapse instantly. On the other side, Tristan was busy fighting, lunging at the remaining two men with swift, powerful kicks.
Summer noticed the last gang member aiming a gun at Tristan. With no time to call out or attack the shooter, she sprinted towards him, intending to take the bullet. The moment the bullet hit her left shoulder, Tristan finished off the two men and turned his attention to her.
Seeing his enraged gaze, the shooter panicked and aimed at Tristan again. In a swift motion, both Tristan and Summer picked up guns—Tristan from the shooter's pocket and Summer from the ground. They fired simultaneously, hitting the shooter in the center of his head and chest.
Tristan, worry etched on his face, looked at Summer, now soaked in blood. But Summer, triumphant, smirked at him. "Told you, not a damsel in distress. By the way, you're welcome for saving your life."
With that, she lost consciousness in Tristan's arms, a smile still playing on her lips.
As Tristan's car sped through the city streets, the urgency of the situation weighed heavily on him. With Summer lying unconscious in his arms, her blood staining his shirt, he felt a surge of panic and determination coursing through him. His right hand pressed firmly against her gunshot wound, desperately trying to stem the flow of blood, while his left hand cradled her neck, supporting her limp body as she lay across his lap in the backseat of the car. Despite the chaos of the moment, Tristan couldn't tear his gaze away from Summer's face, her features serene in sleep yet marred by the violence of the ordeal they had just faced.
As he looked at her, a sense of familiarity washed over him, as if he had known her for ages yet couldn't place where or how. He was stunned by the lengths he had gone to help this stranger, his heart pounding with a mixture of gratitude and confusion. Why had he risked his life for someone he barely knew? And why did he feel such an overwhelming sense of concern for her well-being?
The questions swirled in his mind, each one more puzzling than the last. Who was Summer, and what had led her to this dangerous situation? How had she ended up in the crosshairs of such ruthless individuals? Tristan couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to her story than met the eye, and he was determined to uncover the truth.
But amidst the flurry of thoughts and emotions, one thing remained clear: he was grateful to her for taking a bullet meant for him. Her selfless act had saved his life, and he would do whatever it took to ensure she survived.
As they finally arrived at the hospital, Tristan's heart raced with a sense of urgency. With swift, decisive movements, he rushed inside, carrying Summer's unconscious form in his arms.