Breaking Mr. Cold (Giselle and Donovan) novel Chapter 218

When Giselle hit the ground, it felt as if every organ in her body had been rattled loose. The pain was so sharp she couldn't get up for a long moment. Thankfully, her helmet had taken the impact. Her head was fine, but her arm was scraped raw, and her back and hips throbbed.

Meanwhile, the car that had clipped her didn't drive off. It stopped a short distance away.

She assumed the driver had been drunk or distracted, that it was an accident, so she stayed where she was, waiting for them to call the police.

But instead, three men got out one by one. Each wore a stern, unfriendly expression. They didn't appear to be there to exchange insurance details.

Giselle's unease spiked. She glanced around. The stretch of road was deep in the suburbs, flanked on both sides by hills. So there were no streetlights, surveillance cameras, or even a single passing vehicle.

The men came right up to her, looming over her, trading strange looks that made her skin crawl.

"What the hell was that? Were you trying to kill me?" she said, keeping her voice steady. "Call the police first, then for an ambulance. I need to get checked at a hospital."

"Sorry, beautiful," one of the big, broad-shouldered men said, squatting in front of her with a leering smile. "Bad lighting out here. Didn't see you in time. Tell you what, we'll take you to the hospital ourselves."

He motioned to the other two, who stepped forward to lift her up.

"Don't touch me!" she snapped, fishing for her phone in her jacket. "I'll call the police myself. We can wait for the traffic cops to assign fault. I fell hard and shouldn't be moved."

But just as she started to dial 911, one of them snatched the phone right out of her hand.

In the next second, he tossed it to the ground and stomped on it hard, shattering the screen. Then he popped out the SIM card with quick, practiced motions.

Giselle's heart began pounding. "What… What are you doing?" she asked, even though the answer was obvious.

"Come on. We'll take you to the hospital," one of them said as the other two clamped down on her arms, yanking her up and dragging her toward the car.

In this day and age, everyone kept their phone within arm's reach. No matter how busy she was, she would have seen his messages.

She had to be ignoring him.

But they'd been talking about getting a marriage certificate just last night. How could she turn cold overnight?

Unable to make sense of it, he finally called her.

A flat, mechanical female voice answered, "The number you have dialed is powered off."

He called again, and then again, assuming it was a reception issue. Four or five times in total, he received the very same message.

What the hell was going on?