Helena's face drained of color. She clutched her torn collar and backed away, trembling.
"Get away from me!"
Her fear only fed their excitement.
"Feisty, huh?" one of them jeered. "Makes it more fun."
A filthy hand shot out, grabbing her wrist, another tearing at her blouse—
Rip!
The sound of fabric tearing echoed through the empty space. Cold air hit her exposed skin, and a dozen camera flashes followed.
"Stop! Please—let me go!" Helena screamed, thrashing helplessly as tears streamed down her face.
But her struggle was useless against their brute strength.
Suddenly, a loud bang echoed.
A dark figure exploded through the shadows, his kick landing squarely on the leader's chest. The man slammed into the wall and collapsed with a groan.
Before the others could react, they were struck down one by one—heavy blows, quick and merciless. Their cries filled the warehouse, then faded into silence.
Helena looked up, shaking, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
Jackson stood amid the wreckage, his face cold, his entire body radiating murderous rage.
He shrugged off his blood-spattered suit jacket and strode toward her.
Without a word, he wrapped the jacket around her trembling body—still warm from his skin.