The cold metal barrel of the gun aimed straight at her sent a chill down Natsha’s spine.

A phone rang.

The man in the dark suit standing behind her seemed to receive news he didn’t like. His brows furrowed deeply.

“Boss, Mason is dead. Finding a replacement will take a lot of time. His driving skills… aren’t something just anyone can match.”

The woman whom the man respectfully addressed as “Boss” kept rubbing her temples, her eyes half-closed.

“Deal with this mess first.” She said, her voice devoid of emotion.

The man nodded, signaling the one holding the gun to finish it quickly.

Natsha lay on the ice-cold floor. Every word of the earlier conversation had reached her ears. Before the man could pull the trigger, she screamed with everything she had.

“DON’T SHOOT!!! I CAN DRIVE! I CAN HELP! DON’T SHOOT!”

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Her scream made the woman frown. Her dark eyes, no longer hidden behind closed lids, sharpened as they fixed themselves on the trembling figure curled up on the floor.

When no pain came, Natsha slowly opened her eyes. The breath she had been holding finally escaped her chest.

The woman looked at her. The gun barrel still pointed mercilessly in her direction. Natsha forced herself to stay calm.

“I’m a Formula One driver. Just... like the one you took earlier. You can check my records. I won the Formula One World Championship just a few hours ago.”

The man in the dark suit slid his fingers across the tablet screen, verifying her words. Once he finished, he slightly lowered his head and gave a subtle nod toward the woman seated on the sofa.

She offered him nothing more than a single look. That was enough.

Understanding immediately, he tilted his chin toward the two men in black. They stepped forward, a large bag already in their hands.

A bad feeling crept up Natsha’s spine. She instinctively backed away, her voice trembling.

"W...what are you g.. going to do?"

Then, for her, there was nothing left but complete darkness.