Substitute Bride: Utterly Pampered by Her Billionaire Husband-Chapter 1219: I’ll Always Wait for You to Come

Chapter 1219: Chapter 1219: I’ll Always Wait for You to Come

Yes, Mort Thorne was afraid.

He was afraid he would be late.

Taking out the phone from his pants pocket, he began to search for the main signal. The signal here was very weak; Blood Eagle and Dianna Hollis were not here at all.

This Blood Eagle was naturally cunning and treacherous. He led him here but took Dianna to another place.

Mort Thorne quickly headed out, walking away.

"Blood Eagle, where are you going?" At this moment, Melissa ran over. She saw the injury on Mort Thorne’s back and gasped, showing tension and concern, "You’re hurt; you need bandaging."

Mort Thorne didn’t look at Melissa, as several jeeps stopped. He strode swiftly like the wind to one of the jeeps, reached out, and opened the driver’s side door, directly pulling the person inside out.

The person pulled out was Paul. Paul almost stumbled from the man’s sheer force, "Hey, what’s up with you? This is my car."

Mort Thorne lifted his leg, ready to get in the car, but then Paul slapped his shoulder.

Mort Thorne turned around, his dark eyes landing on Paul’s face. He moved his thin lips, forcing out a sinister syllable from his throat, "Scram!"

Paul was born from a family of generals, and his path was smooth sailing, rising step by step. Who dared to speak to him like this?

"I won’t scram. What do you intend to do with me?"

As soon as these words fell, Mort Thorne turned around, his broad, calloused hand reached out and grabbed Paul’s wrist, then twisted forcefully.

With a crunch, Paul’s arm was dislocated. He screamed in pain, "It hurts, it hurts, let go!"

Mort Thorne pushed him, causing Paul to stagger backward and fall to the ground, rolling a few times like a ball.

Mort Thorne looked at him coldly, "You won’t scram, so I can only teach you."

After saying that, Mort Thorne got in the driver’s seat, and the jeep sped away.

"You bastard, come back!" Paul shouted sitting on the ground, but the jeep left him with a face full of exhaust.

Puff.

Many people laughed quietly.

Paul looked up and saw the FIU people covering their mouths, laughing.

He glared angrily at them.

"Get to work!" The team leader ran with the people.

Paul got up, came to Melissa’s side, and smiled obsequiously, "Melissa."

Melissa gave Paul a disdaining look and turned away.

In Melissa’s eyes, this Paul wasn’t even worthy to shine Mort Thorne’s shoes.

She watched the jeep disappear, feeling both love and hate.

...

The jeep stopped in front of a villa on a nearby mountain, Mort Thorne found a signal here.

He got out of the car quickly and entered the villa swiftly. The villa was completely silent.

The silence was suffocatingly oppressive.

He looked up at the room upstairs, the door was tightly shut.

Mort Thorne lifted his foot, stepping up the stairs one step at a time.

With each step, it felt like a thousand-pound weight, the muscles under his black shirt tense and swollen; he didn’t know what he was thinking.

Perhaps, he was thinking of nothing.

He was late.

As long as she was alive.

He wanted nothing else.

In the future, he would spend more time caring, loving her. Everything would pass, all wounds would heal.

Reaching the door, there was still no sound inside, Mort Thorne constrained his elegant eyes, then reached out and pushed open the door.

With a bang, the door opened, his crimson eyes looked into the room.

No.

Not the scenario he could imagine.

Earlier on the stairs, a thousand scenarios ran through his mind, but none matched this scene before him.

His deep pupils contracted violently, it took several seconds to react.

Dianna Hollis was sitting on the bed, her dress torn, covered in blood, and Blood Eagle lay in her arms, a bedsheet wrapped around his neck.

Blood Eagle was not completely dead, he stared at Dianna Hollis, his body twitching.

Mort Thorne quickly advanced, taking several strides to Dianna’s side, then crouched down, reaching out to touch Dianna’s little head.

Dianna suddenly looked up, her bright eyes filled with icy blades aimed at Mort Thorne.

Mort Thorne’s breathing tightened, his heart feeling like it was gripped tightly by a large hand, lowering his eyelids, he looked at her small hands clutching the bedsheet; her palms were already ruined, raw flesh stuck to the fabric, a shocking sight.

The bed was filled with blood, thick blood dripped along the bedsheet with a tick-tock, tick-tock sound that made one’s scalp tingle, terrifying.

Blood Eagle had no knife wounds, the blood all came from Dianna Hollis.

Mort Thorne’s throat bobbed up and down, his coarse hand clutched the back of Dianna’s head, pressing her into his embrace.

His supple lips pressed against her hair, kissing firmly, his voice hoarse, "Dianna, it’s me, I’m here."

Mort Thorne.

It was Mort Thorne, he came.

Dianna’s tense brain nerves suddenly relaxed, her stiff body also softened, like a puddle of water, the color returned to her bright eyes, she closed her red lips, nothing came out.

Just now she hadn’t felt it, but now as her mind rebooted, her body was engulfed by overwhelming pain.

Pain.

Such pain.

Her palm-sized face instantly turned as white as paper, butterfly-wing-like eyelashes draped down, she softened in his embrace.

Mort Thorne pulled the bedsheet from her palms, kicked away the now completely dead Blood Eagle, embraced her with one arm, tore open her clothes with the other; her flat abdomen had been stabbed seven or eight times, each knife exposed flesh, hot blood gushing out like a fountain, unstoppable.

Mort Thorne covered up her clothes, tightened his arm embracing her slim body, "Dianna, I’ll take you to the hospital now."

He carried her horizontally, quickly left this villa.

Placing her in the passenger seat, he used the bedsheet to tie her waist; there were no first aid services here, he could only stop the bleeding this way.

The jeep started, he glanced at her, blood flowing down her slender white legs, quickly staining the passenger seat red.

He held the wheel with one hand, pressed her wound with the other, feeling her blood’s warmth, feeling her life slowly slipping through his fingers.

The girl’s little head swayed on the seat, if it weren’t for the seatbelt holding her, she would have fallen, the edges of her long lashes drooped, as if about to sleep.

Once asleep, she wouldn’t wake up.

Mort Thorne tugged at his thin lips, his hoarse voice trembling, full of coaxing affection and... pleading, "Dianna, don’t sleep, let’s talk a bit, tell me, what happened just now?"

Hearing his raspy voice, Dianna weakly and arduously lifted her eyes, her whole body hurt, hurt so much she didn’t have the strength to speak.

She looked at Mort Thorne, softly curled her pale lips, "Mort, I said... I’d wait for you, always... wait for you to come."