My Bratty Wife
Chapter 51 - Fifty One

Chapter 51: Chapter Fifty One

The world outside the carriage was a scene ripped straight from a horror movie. Ryan’s sharp command echoed in her ears, his voice laced with a raw urgency that sent shivers down her spine. She huddled on the floor, pressing herself as flat as possible against the cold leather, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

Every creak of the carriage, every rustle of leaves in the wind, sent a jolt of terror through her. Her mind conjured up horrifying images of shadowy figures lurking in the twilight, of masked bandits with cruel eyes and greedy intentions. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision, making the sounds outside even more distorted and frightening.

The world outside the carriage was a blur of adrenaline and terror. Ryan crouched low, his pistol aimed towards the source of the gunshot – a lone figure emerging from the shadows at the edge of the road.

"Who’s there?" Ryan barked, his voice tight with command. "Show yourself!"

The figure stepped into the fading light, revealing a tall, lean man clad in dark clothing. A hooded cloak obscured his features, but the moonlight glinting off a pair of startlingly bright brown eyes sent a shiver down Ryan’s spine.

"What do you want?" Ryan demanded, his finger hovering near the trigger. "Money? Jewels? How much?"

The man chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Money holds no interest for me, Duke," he replied, his voice surprisingly young. "I come bearing a message."

Before Ryan could press for details, a deafening crack filled the air. Gunfire erupted, shattering the tense silence. Ryan reacted instinctively, a bullet whizzing past his ear as he dove for cover behind the carriage wheel.

The air grew thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder. Ryan fired back, his aim true. A grunt of pain came from the figure in the shadows, followed by the clatter of something metallic hitting the ground.

The figure stumbled back, momentarily stunned. He clutched his injured arm, his dark eyes flashing with anger. But the anger quickly morphed into a chilling smirk.

The exchange of fire was brief but intense. Ryan felt a searing pain shoot through his upper arm, a bullet grazing flesh. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the sting, his focus solely on the attacker.

Ryan, his adrenaline pumping, used the momentary break to reload his weapon. But before he could take another shot, a sound tore through the tense silence - a whimper, soft and muffled, but unmistakable. It came from inside the carriage.

Suddenly, the shoot out ceased . A tense silence descended, broken only by the ragged gasps of someone in pain. Suzy held her breath, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst out of her chest, her claustrophobia acting up.

The figure’s head snapped towards the carriage, his smirk widening into a devilish grin. He turned back to Ryan, his eyes filled with cruel amusement. "Looks like your priorities are misplaced, Duke," he rasped, his voice dripping with malice. "I believe the Duchess is in rather... delicate circumstances, wouldn’t you agree?"

Ryan’s blood ran cold. He had been so focused on the attacker that he’d forgotten about Suzy. A wave of guilt washed over him, coupled with a surge of fear for her safety.

"Leave her out of this!" he roared, his voice a guttural growl laced with desperation. He lunged forward, his injured arm screaming in protest, but the figure was quicker. With a nimble sidestep, he avoided Ryan’s tackle and raised his gun once more.

"What if I don’t want to?" the figure taunted, his voice distorted by the mask. A cruel glint shone in his eyes, the only part of his face visible. "A pretty little thing like her, all alone on a long journey. Bound to get lonely, wouldn’t you agree?"

"Shut your filthy mouth!" Ryan roared, his voice raw with barely contained rage. His injured arm throbbed in protest, a dull ache now overshadowed by the white-hot fury consuming him.

The attacker threw his head back and cackled, a sound that sent shivers down Ryan’s spine. "Oh, the Duke gets protective! Don’t worry, I wouldn’t touch your precious Duchess with a ten-foot pole. But a woman like that, all alone on these dusty roads... who knows what kind of trouble she might find herself in, right?"

Ryan’s jaw clenched. He knew the attacker was trying to bait him, but the image of Suzy, helpless and alone, fueled his rage. "I dare you to touch her," he snarled, his voice laced with a dangerous calm. "You go any closer to that carriage, and I’ll make you regret the day you were born."

He snarled, adrenaline overriding the throbbing pain in his arm. He lunged again, this time fueled by a desperate need to protect Suzy. The attacker fired, the bullet whizzing past Ryan’s ear, the wind of its passage ruffling his hair. He returned fire, the sound echoing through the dense forest.

Chaos erupted once more. Gunshots boomed, punctuated by grunts of pain. The air grew thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder and the metallic tang of blood. Ryan, his vision narrowed with a primal focus, traded shots with the attacker, their movements a blur of desperate violence.

Suzy, trapped within the confines of the carriage, felt like a helpless animal caught in a cage. With every gunshot, she flinched, burying her face deeper into her knees. Tears streamed down her face, hot and stinging, as terror threatened to consume her. The world outside seemed to have transformed into a nightmare, filled with deafening noises and the sickening smell of violence.

Through the muffled sounds and the rhythmic pounding of her own heart, she could vaguely discern the struggle outside. She heard Ryan’s grunts, followed by the attacker’s chilling laughter. Each sound sent a fresh wave of terror coursing through her veins.

Suddenly, the gunfire stopped as abruptly as it had begun. Silence, thick and heavy, descended upon the scene. Suzy held her breath, straining to hear any sound that might indicate the outcome of the fight.

"This is a warning, Duke," the masked figure’s voice sliced through the silence, cold and menacing. "My employer sends regards. And a message – your wife might be the next target if you don’t back off from your investigation."

A moment of agonizing silence followed, then the sound of retreating footsteps. The figure was gone, leaving Ryan alone in the wake of the confrontation.

Ryan slumped against a tree, his chest heaving with exertion. Pain lanced through his injured arm, a dull ache now replacing the initial sharp sting. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the gnawing fear in his gut. He had failed to protect Suzy. He had put her in danger.

Blood seeped through his fingers, painting the dusty ground in drops of red. Through the haze of pain, he focused on the carriage, a silent sentinel just a few feet away.

Silence. No movement, no sound from within. Panic clawed at his throat, choking his pleas. "Duchess!" he rasped, his voice weak. But the only reply was the mournful sighing of the wind.

He forced himself to walk, each movement a searing protest from his body. With a final grunt, he reached the carriage door and fumbled with the latch. It wouldn’t budge. Panic clawed at him, turning his vision into a swirling mixture of emotions. He slammed his fist against the wood, a desperate plea for a response.

"Duchess! Open the door!" His voice tore through the silence, raw with fear. Still, no answer. His mind conjured horrific images, fueled by the attacker’s taunts. Had she been hurt?

With a trembling hand, he reached for the carriage door. He needed to see her, to make sure she was alright. He needed to assure her, to apologize for his recklessness.

Blood trickled down his hand, but it was a small price to pay. Ignoring the throbbing pain, he reached through the broken window, fumbling for the latch. His fingers brushed against the cool metal, and with a final heave, he managed to open the door.

As he pushed the door open, the moonlight illuminated the interior of the carriage. Suzy sat huddled on the floor, her face streaked with tears, her eyes wide with terror. The sight of her vulnerability, the raw fear etched on her features, twisted Ryan’s heart with a pang of guilt and protectiveness.

"Duchess," he rasped, his voice hoarse. "Are you alright?" He reached out a hand, his fingers trembling, and gently pulled her up.

She clung to him, burying her face in his chest, her body wracked with silent sobs.

Ryan, his face pale and drawn, a crimson stain blooming on his sleeve grunted as his pain intensified.

"Ryan" she cried out, her voice thick with relief and terror. "Are you alright?"

He winced as he moved, the pain in his arm evident. "I’m... I’m fine," he gasped, his voice strained. "Just a scratch." As he collapsed onto the seat, his breath ragged.

Suzy, her fear momentarily forgotten, rushed to his side. She ripped a strip of fabric from her skirt, her hands trembling as she began to access his wound.

"It’s not deep," she murmured, more to herself than to him, her voice surprisingly steady despite the frantic hammering of her heart. "Just needs a good cleaning and some pressure."

Ryan winced as she washed the wound with alcohol she saw in the compartment, his eyes fluttering open. A flicker of surprise crossed his features, then a wave of fatigue washed over him.

"Duchess?" he mumbled, his voice raspy and weak. The events of the past hour had taken their toll, leaving him drained both physically and emotionally.

"Here," she soothed, her touch gentle as she wrapped the clean strip around his arm. "Hold still, it’ll be alright."

But even as she spoke, a tremor ran through Ryan’s body. His grip on the carriage chair slackened, his eyelids drooping shut. Before she could react, his entire body went limp, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

"Ryan!" She cried, a surge of panic flooding through her. She rushed to his side, checking for a pulse. Relief washed over her as his heart beat steadily beneath his hand. He had simply fainted, overwhelmed by exhaustion and blood loss.