While Anthony was speeding down the road on his motorcycle, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone had been tailing him for a while.
"What a mess," he muttered, recognizing the motorcycle behind him as the same one used by the person who had threatened the life of Victoria.
He turned into a wooded area, not wanting to put any innocent bystanders at risk. He knew these woods well, having explored them thoroughly for moments just like this.
The trees seemed to close in around him, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. He could hear the distant shouts of Mr. Jaxon's men growing louder with every passing second.
Anthony had picked this area for a reason. He had spent months memorizing every path, every hidden nook and cranny, preparing for a day when he might need to disappear or make a stand.
Suddenly, a sharp crack rang out through the trees. Anthony ducked instinctively, feeling a bullet zip past his ear. Pressing himself against a tree, he gasped for breath. He needed to think fast. He needed a plan.
Reaching into his jacket, Anthony pulled out his gun and checked, it's full. He allowed himself a brief, grim smile. He wasn't going down without a fight.
The first shot had barely faded when Anthony rolled to the side, dodging another bullet. He fired back, aiming low to disable his pursuers. A pained grunt told him he had hit his mark.
Anthony’s movements were fluid, almost instinctual. He had trained for this, his mind was a fortress, blocking out the fear and fatigue. He was ready for this. He was ready for them.
But Mr. Jaxon's men were no ordinary thugs. He was trained, disciplined, and relentless. He moved with calculated precision, flanking Anthony and forcing him deeper into the woods. The sound of gunfire was deafening, each shot echoing like a drumbeat of impending doom.
"Who are you?" Anthony shouted.
"Tsk, and why should I tell you?" The voice that responded was dripping with sarcasm, a smug grin barely visible beneath the shadow of the helmet.
"Who ordered you?" Anthony demanded, his grip tightening on the gun he held, aiming it steadily at the henchman's back. 
The henchman was slightly shocked because of Anthony's wiseness. That he didn't realize, Anthony was on his back asking his gun to him.
"You’re quite arrogant, huh? You must not be just an ordinary bodyguard," the henchman sneered, the amusement in his tone infuriating Anthony further.
"Don't change the subject. Give me your gun," Anthony commanded, his hand outstretched, and palm open.
With a slow, deliberate motion, the henchman handed over his gun, his eyes never leaving Anthony's. There was something unsettling about the calmness in his movements, a quiet confidence that hinted at danger.
"Now, who are you?" Anthony's voice was a low growl.
He moved to remove the helmet, fingers brushing against the cold metal. He didn't see it coming.
Anthony attempted to take the helmet off Mr. Jaxon's henchman, but he didn’t expect what happened next.
In an instant, a powerful fist collided with Anthony's jaw, the impact sending a jolt of pain through his entire body. He stumbled backward, the world around him spinning. The gun slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground as he struggled to regain his balance.
Anthony’s vision blurred as he struggled to stay on his feet, the taste of blood sharp in his mouth. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his head.
The henchman stood over him, "You really should be more careful, bodyguard," he taunted, his voice a venomous whisper that promised more violence to come.
Anthony shook his head, clearing the haze just in time to see the henchman swinging at him again. Instinct took over, and he ducked, feeling the rush of air as the blow narrowly missed him. Adrenaline surged through his veins, sharpening his senses.
"So, you're not ordinary either," Anthony taunted, a smirk curling his lips. "Why? Are you afraid I'll see your ugly face?"
"Ugly? You should tell that to yourself," the henchman retorted, his voice dripping with disdain.
"Why would I? I can tell it to you directly and not practice it on the mirror," Anthony shot back, his voice laced with sarcasm.
Seizing the moment, Anthony aimed a kick at the henchman’s head. The force of the blow was solid, precise, and it knocked the helmet off with a clatter.
The henchman straightened, revealing an unexpectedly attractive face with sharp features. His hazel eyes glinted with a mix of intelligence and danger, and his untidy dark hair framed his strong features. There was a rugged charm about him that made Anthony momentarily forget the peril he was in.
"You," the henchman spat, wiping blood from his lip. "You have no idea what you're getting into."
"Truly disgusting!" Anthony muttered in a final taunt, his voice steady as he prepared for another attack.
The henchman sneered, his hazel eyes narrowing dangerously. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gleaming knife, the blade catching the light ominously.
"Let's see how tough you really are."
Anthony tensed, watching the blade's every movement. The henchman lunged, knife aimed straight for Anthony’s torso. Anthony dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding the sharp edge. His breath came in ragged gasps, but he had no time to rest. The henchman was relentless, attacking again with a swift, calculated strike.
Anthony tried to evade, but the knife sliced across his shoulder, a hot line of pain searing through him. He staggered back, clutching his wounded shoulder, blood seeping between his fingers. The henchman advanced with a satisfied smirk, his eyes gleaming with triumph.
"What's the matter?" the henchman taunted. "Losing your edge?"
Despite the pain, Anthony managed a smirk of his own. His eyes flicked down to the henchman's stomach, where blood was beginning to stain his shirt.
The henchman's eyes widened in shock as the realization dawned. In his single-minded focus on stabbing Anthony, he hadn't noticed the blade Anthony had slipped into his flesh, quick and unnoticed, at the vital spot.
"Surprised?" Anthony asked
The henchman staggered, his grip on the knife loosening as he tried to comprehend what had just happened. 
"How...?" he gasped, pain and confusion mingling in his eyes.
Anthony stepped closer, his smirk widening as he whispered, "You should never let your guard down, especially not with someone like me."
The henchman's legs gave way, and he collapsed to the ground, clutching his wound. Anthony stood over him, watching as the life drained from the man's eyes.
As Anthony limped towards the wodded area exit, the sudden crack of a gunshot echoed through the air. Pain exploded in his side, hot and blinding, causing him to stumble. He barely caught himself against a stack of crates, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His mind raced, there was a sniper.
Panic surged through him, a wild, uncontrollable beast clawing at his insides, but he forced himself to stay calm. He had to move, and fast. He sprinted towards the far side of the river where his motorcycle was hidden, every step a battle against the agony.
Another shot rang out, the bullet hissing past him, missing by inches and splintering the wooden crate beside him. He flinched, the close call sending a fresh wave of fear through his veins. He couldn't afford to stop, not now.
The roar of his motorcycle engine a lifeline. He swung his leg over the bike, his fingers fumbling as he turned the key. The engine roared to life just as another bullet whizzed past him.
He leaned low over the handlebars, the wind whipping past him like a relentless predator. He zigzagged through the streets, each turn a desperate attempt to avoid another sniper shot.
Streetlights blurred into streaks of light as he accelerated, the city's nighttime sounds drowned out by the pounding of his heart.
He could feel the blood trickling down his side, warm and sticky, the pain a constant reminder of his narrow escape. He had to find a safe place to stop and tend to his wounds. His vision blurred slightly, the edges darkening, but he pressed on.
He spotted an alleyway that looked secluded enough. He stay into it, the narrow space offering a temporary refuge. He brought the motorcycle to a halt behind a large dumpster, panting heavily. His entire body throbbed with pain and exhaustion.
Anthony slid off the bike, collapsing against the wall. He fumbled with his jacket, wincing as he inspected the gunshot wound. It wasn't fatal, but he needed to stop the bleeding. He tore a strip from his shirt, tying it tightly around his torso as a makeshift bandage. The rough fabric dug into his skin, but he gritted his teeth against the discomfort.