The moment the door opened, four eyes locked onto each other.
For some inexplicable reason, Jane found herself unable to maintain eye contact with him.
It felt as though he could see right through her—reading every thought, strategy, and dirty little secret she had ever hidden.
Maintaining a cold, furious expression, she opened her mouth, intending to use a verbal distraction to divert his attention. Then, she would wait for the perfect split-second opening to pump his torso full of lead.
But before she could even form a word, the handsome Asian youth spoke first.
"Hello, Jane."
"I know it's been a while, and reuniting like this must be very emotional for you."
His voice was calm and smooth. "But I highly advise against any terrible ideas you might be forming."
"At this distance, with just a single handgun, you are not my match."
Jane's heart sank. Behind the heavy oak door, the hand gripping the suppressed pistol trembled slightly.
She didn't know if he was bluffing or if he genuinely knew she was armed. But recalling her past three disastrous encounters with him, Jane knew this man was shrouded in an impenetrable fog of secrets.
Over her years as a top-tier assassin, she had killed cartel bosses, ruthless criminals, billionaires, corrupt politicians, and heavily guarded elites.
Yet, this man—Hunter Sun—was the only target she had ever faced whose depths she couldn't fathom.
"How did he find out where I live?"
"Did he actually spot the gun?"
"Or is he just guessing, trying to psych me out?"
Although panic was rapidly blooming in her chest, Jane forced her face into a mask of icy composure.
"You are not welcome in my house," she said coldly. She didn't dare pull the trigger right then; she had absolutely zero confidence she could kill him before he killed her.
Hunter simply smiled.
He had burned one of the two "favors" he extracted from the Continental Hotel specifically to locate Mrs. Smith. He hadn't traveled all the way to the New York suburbs just to say hello and leave.
Seeing her extreme vigilance, Hunter didn't get angry.
"There are some things that aren't convenient to discuss on a front porch," he said pleasantly.
"Let's go inside and talk."
Without waiting for permission, Hunter pressed his palm flat against the heavy alloy security door.
Jane immediately threw her weight against the door, trying to slam it shut in his face.
Instead, she was hit by a terrifying, utterly overwhelming wave of physical force. Despite planting her feet and pushing with all her might, the door—and Jane along with it—was forced steadily backward.
She couldn't hold him off for even three seconds before the door was pushed wide open.
Hunter stepped smoothly into the Smith residence.
From the moment he entered, his eyes never once flicked toward the gun hidden in Jane's hand behind the door.
He calmly surveyed the interior. The layout and decor screamed quintessential American upper-middle-class suburbia.
Looking around, Hunter couldn't help but think of the plot of Mr. & Mrs. Smith.
It was incredibly amusing. A married couple—both top-tier assassins—spending five or six years lying to each other, maintaining the facade of a boring, loveless marriage.
Even funnier was the fact that they had both secretly transformed this mundane suburban house into a heavily fortified armory. John hid his weapons under the tool shed, and Jane hid her sleek, high-tech arsenal inside the kitchen appliances. Yet, despite being world-class killers, neither had ever noticed the other's massive weapon stashes.
Thinking of this absurd dynamic, a genuine smile broke across Hunter's face.
Click.
The moment Hunter walked past her, exposing his back, Jane instinctively kicked the door shut.
The house was heavily soundproofed. Even if a massive gunfight erupted inside, the neighbors would barely hear a thing.
Seeing Hunter standing in her foyer, completely unbothered and facing away from her, Jane's training took over. She raised the suppressed pistol and aimed it directly at the center of his spine.
"If I were you, I wouldn't do something so deeply unwise."
It was as if Hunter had eyes in the back of his head. As he spoke, he slowly turned around to face her.
Looking at the muzzle of the gun pointed at him, his expression remained perfectly serene.
The gun was aimed at his chest, not his head. Therefore, while his danger premonition flared slightly, it wasn't screaming lethal threat.
Watching Jane slowly tighten her finger on the trigger, Hunter shook his head, his face displaying an exaggerated look of disappointment.
"I thought you were a rational, intelligent woman."
"Think very carefully, Jane. If you pull that trigger, this will be the fourth time you've tried to kill me."
"In the East, we have an old saying: 'Tolerance does not extend past three offenses.'"
"I've let you go three times."
"If you shoot me now, I will not let you leave this house alive."
Hearing his words, Jane's mind instantly flashed back to her previous three failed assassination attempts.
Western culture was open, and she was no stranger to casual hookups when her marriage grew stale.
However, choosing to give yourself to someone was fun; being forcibly overpowered, restrained, and "punished" into submission was intensely humiliating, no matter how physically pleasurable her body found it.
The memory of that humiliation ignited her pride. She violently crushed the logical voice in her head screaming at her to drop the gun.
Pew!
Jane pulled the trigger.
The bullet flew true, striking Hunter squarely in the chest.
To her absolute horror, his body merely jerked slightly. The bullet failed to penetrate his bespoke Continental suit.
While Jane was frozen in shock, her finger twitching to fire a second round, Hunter exploded into motion.
He ignored the blunt force trauma to his chest and closed the gap between them instantly.
Crack!
The moment Hunter's hand clamped down on Jane's wrist, an agonizing pain shot up her arm.
He dislocated her wrist with a sharp, violent twist. The suppressed pistol clattered onto the hardwood floor.
Jane hissed in pain, but her assassin instincts didn't falter. Ignoring her useless right hand, her left hand darted down to her thigh, instantly drawing a concealed combat knife.
She lunged, thrusting the blade upward toward Hunter's throat.
"That makes five," Hunter said calmly.
With all of his core attributes exceeding four times the human average, his dynamic vision and reflexes were borderline supernatural.
While Jane's knife strike was vicious and blindingly fast by human standards, to Hunter, it looked like it was moving in slow motion.
He waited until the tip of the blade was ten centimeters from his neck before his hand snapped out.
Jane's eyes widened in disbelief. She couldn't comprehend how fast he moved.
He perfectly caught her left forearm mid-thrust.
With a practiced, brutal wrench—
SNAP!
Hunter dislocated her left arm as well.
Looking down at the beautiful Mrs. Smith, who was now glaring up at him with feral, hateful eyes, Hunter's smile widened. He was quite satisfied with the [Bone Setting] skill he had triggered and learned a while back; it was just as useful for taking joints apart as it was for putting them back together.
He had used a massive Continental favor to find Jane's exact address.
Naturally, he wasn't here just because he craved her body.
The recent war with Hicks Consulting had made Hunter realize he needed to accelerate his plans to build a core team.
He didn't want to create a massive, sprawling syndicate. He just needed a small, elite group of highly capable individuals who could protect his vulnerable lovers (like Slattery, Sam, and Terri) when he was away, and provide tactical support when he needed it.
Obviously, a world-class professional assassin like Jane Smith perfectly fit his requirements.
His goal today was to thoroughly conquer and recruit her.
Looking down, Hunter noticed Jane was still stubbornly resisting.
She clearly had advanced field-medic training. Even while glaring daggers at him, she was violently shifting her shoulders and torso, trying to forcefully pop her left arm back into its socket using her own momentum.
Hunter watched her struggle with deep amusement, pretending he didn't notice what she was trying to do.
It didn't matter.
There was absolutely no way the deadly Mrs. Smith was escaping his grasp today.
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