Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO
Chapter 85: Rambo Granny

Chapter 85: Rambo Granny

LEONARDO ANNISON

Oliver’s fingers dug into my wrist. "There’s another way out."

Of course there was.

I didn’t ask how he knew. Just followed as he crawled toward a side drain, the icy water soaking through my clothes. The passage narrowed until we were forced to move single file, the darkness pressing in like a physical weight.

Behind us, the shouts grew louder. Closer.

Then—

Light.

The drain spilled out into a riverbank, the cold air biting at my exposed skin. The extraction point was half a mile downstream. If we could make it—

Oliver gasped.

I turned just in time to see him crumple, his knees giving out. Blood soaked through his bandages, the dark stain spreading too fast.

"Oliver!"

His eyelids fluttered. "’M fine," he slurred.

He wasn’t.

Charles grabbed my shoulder. "We can’t carry him."

Like hell we couldn’t.

I hauled Oliver up, his weight heavy against my chest. His breath came in shallow puffs against my neck, his skin frighteningly cold.

"Leo," he murmured, his fingers brushing my jaw. "You should go."

The words sent a white-hot rage through me.

I adjusted my grip and started walking.

The river blurred at the edges of my vision, the world narrowing to the weight in my arms and the ragged sound of Oliver’s breathing. Charles kept pace beside me, his gun trained on the tree line.

Then—

Engines.

I froze as black SUVs skidded to a stop on the road above us.

Oliver stirred weakly. "Told you... to leave me."

I tightened my hold. "Shut up, King."

Doors opened. Boots hit pavement.

I raised my gun—

"Annison!"

The voice froze me mid-motion.

A figure stepped into the moonlight, hands raised. Familiar green eyes glinted in the dark.

Oliver went rigid in my arms. "Mom?"

The woman didn’t smile. "Get in the car."

Charles tensed beside me. "It’s a trap."

But Oliver’s fingers were already clutching my sleeve, his voice barely a whisper. "Trust me."

The armored SUV’s suspension groaned as we hit another pothole, jostling Oliver against me. His sharp inhale cut through the hum of the bulletproof windows, his blood seeping through the fresh bandage and onto my sleeve. I shifted to take his weight, my free hand never leaving the grip of my Glock. Across from us, Victoria King watched the exchange with the detached interest of a scientist observing lab rats.

"They’ve stopped following us," she remarked, checking a diamond-encrusted watch.

Charles twisted in the front seat, his good arm resting on the headrest. "Maybe they got held up buying matching villain uniforms."

Victoria’s smile could have frosted glass. "Your man is amusing. Does he do children’s parties?"

Oliver coughed, his fingers digging into my thigh as another wave of pain hit. "Mom, play nice. They did just save my ass."

"You’re lucky it missed the artery," she said, her voice crisp. Not worried. Assessing.

Oliver grimaced against the leather seats. "Feels fantastic."

I kept my gun trained on the tinted window separating us from the driver. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere safe." Mrs. King snapped a syringe from a medical kit and plunged it into Oliver’s thigh without warning.

I moved before thinking, grabbing her wrist. "What the hell—"

"Painkillers," she said coolly, shaking me off. "Unless you’d prefer he go into shock?"

Oliver’s fingers brushed my knee—a silent stand down. His skin was still too pale, his breathing shallow, but his eyes were alert. Watching his mother like she might transform into something venomous.

Charles shifted in the front seat, his hand resting on his holstered weapon. The message was clear: I’ve got your back.

Mrs. King arched a perfect brow. "You Annisons and your theatrics." She peeled off her gloves, revealing a ring I recognized—the King family crest twisted into a viper eating its own tail. "My brother wants my son dead. You want him alive. For now, our interests align."

The car took a sharp turn, throwing Oliver against me. His breath hitched, his temple pressing into my collarbone for one fleeting second before he righted himself.

I clenched my jaw. "Why is your brother after him?"

"Because Oliver is the heir." She said it like it was obvious. "And my brother prefers... other arrangements."

Oliver laughed weakly. "Uncle Damian never could stand coming in second."

The pieces clicked together. A power struggle within the King empire. Oliver as the pawn.

The SUV rolled to a stop beneath a stone portico. Before the engine cut, I caught the flicker of movement in a third-floor window—a sniper’s barrel retracting.

Charles noticed it too. "Cozy place."

"Every home needs security." Victoria smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt. "You’ll be safe here."

Safe.

Like we were safe in the cabin.

Like Oliver was safe with me.

The engine cut off. Oliver’s mother reached for the door, but I caught her arm.

"He’s not a bargaining chip," I said quietly.

For the first time, something flickered in those cold green eyes. Something almost human. "No," she agreed. "He’s the king on the board. And you, Mr. Annison, are the only piece left standing between him and checkmate."

The car door opened, letting in a rush of cold night air that smelled of impending rain. Oliver’s grip on my hand tightened as armed guards approached, their boots crunching on the gravel drive. I could feel his pulse racing where our wrists pressed together - too fast, too shallow. Shock setting in deeper.

Victoria stepped out first, her designer heels sinking slightly into the damp earth. "The doctor is waiting," she told the nearest guard before turning back to me.

The guards moved to help Oliver, but I shouldered past them, lifting him myself. His breath hitched as I adjusted my grip, his blood warm against my neck. "Still with me, King?"

His laugh came out as a pained exhale. "Wouldn’t miss this for the world, Annison."

Victoria watched us with that calculating gaze as we passed into the mansion’s glaring light. "How interesting," she murmured. "The Annison heir carrying a King across the threshold."

Oliver’s hand found mine in the dark, his fingers interlacing with my own. Bloodied. Steady.

Alive.

For now.