Bride Behind The Mask (Frederick and Marguerite)

Chapter 39

Marina Shores Village was just an hour’s drive away from Stonebridge City, tucked away in the countryside. But Frederick, with his foot heavy on the gas, made it there in less than half an hour.

By sunset, the village was filled with the salty, fishy scent of the sea breeze.

Robert held his breath, but Frederick’s was dark and grim. His gaze landed on an old, dilapidated warehouse surrounded by thorny bushes.

Wincing through the pain, Frederick pushed his way through the bushes, heading straight for the warehouse pinpointed in Google Maps.

Each step he took felt heavier than the last.

The stench from the surrounding dump was so bad that it had Robert following behind him sneezing like crazy.

With his nose covered, Robert could barely hide his anger. “Who on earth did Marguerite piss off? Who would go so far as to dump her here? This is just sick!”

Just then, there was a shabby and dirty beggar, and his hair was all over the place. He sat in the pile of garbage gnawing on moldy bread. Seeing Frederick and Robert approaching, he picked up a steel pipe and began to menacingly stride towards them.

“This is my turf. Who the hell are you guys?”

Robert was taken aback. “Is this guy out of his mind?”

Before he had even finished his sentence, the beggar was swinging the steel pipe at them. Frederick dodged swiftly. Caught off guard, Robert was forced to block the incoming pipe with his hand.

Frederick shot a glance at the situation. “You handle this guy, and I’ll go find Marguerite!”

With pressure mounting, Robert was livid. “Frederick, make it quick! This guy is stronger than he looks!”

caught up in

no time. He kicked open the warehouse door, and the light from outside illuminated the darkness, revealing a flurry

was grimmer than before as he called

silent, with only his anxious echo

He pulled out his phone,

bag hinted at a vague human shape inside, and

thinking, “Oh my

and opened the bag. What he saw was

was barely breathing and was cold

ropes around her hands and feet, calling her name, “Marguerite!

breath was faint and she remained unconscious,

Marguerite’s frail body. Then

Cullinan car had just pulled up through the bushes. Sporting a new injury on his face, Robert shouted,

Marguerite tight as he opened the car door and

engine roared

string of firecrackers in his hand. He threw them at the

the car, and

the dim streetlights illuminated Marguerite’s

looked at her face. While gently touching her wounds, his hand was

punch to the gut, leaving him with a dull

Who had she offended?

had the audacity to not only hurt her but to

thought of the beggar in the

Could it be him?

There was no

a pawn, and there was no

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