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 a

open the warehouse door, and the light from outside illuminated the darkness, revealing a flurry of moths and

than before as he called out,

silent, with only his anxious

grew dimmer. He pulled out his phone, using the flashlight to guide his path.

at a vague human shape inside, and Frederick’s heart pounded in

thinking, “Oh my God! Could Marguerite be in

opened the bag. What he saw was

barely breathing and was cold

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

and she remained unconscious, unable to hear

draping it over Marguerite’s frail body. Then he gently

Cullinan car had just pulled up through the bushes. Sporting a new injury on

Marguerite tight as he opened the car

roared

somewhere with a string of firecrackers in

car, and Frederick instinctively

dim streetlights illuminated Marguerite’s

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

to the gut, leaving him with a dull

Who had she offended?

the audacity to not only hurt her but to tie her

thought of the beggar in

Could it be him?

There was no

beggar was clearly mentally unstable, dressed in rags. He was probably just a pawn,

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