The Return of Raymond West.

Chapter 5

Raymond's head barely moved from the slap.

The force was so light he didn't even feel it. His expression didn't change. He just stood there, looking past Deborah, his eyes scanning the street where the vans had disappeared.

“It seems these people are well-trained assassins,” Raymond said, his voice calm. “Someone is planning to take your life. You've acquired enemies.”

Deborah stared at him, her chest rising and falling quickly, her face flushed with anger.

“Are you deaf or what?” she shouted. “Didn't you hear what I just said? How dare you endanger my life like that!”

Raymond turned to face her.

His eyes dropped slightly, and he froze.

Part of her suit jacket had torn during the struggle. The fabric hung loose, exposing the top of her blouse. One of the buttons had come undone, and the edge of her bra was visible beneath the white fabric.

Raymond's hand moved instinctively. He pointed at her chest and stepped closer.

Deborah's eyes went wide. She took a step back, her hands coming up defensively.

“What are you doing?” she said, her voice rising in panic.

Raymond kept moving forward, his hand still pointing.

Deborah slapped him again.

Hard.

“Are you deaf?” she screamed.

Raymond stopped. He lowered his hand slightly and spoke, his voice flat. “Your body is exposed.”

Immediately Deborah blinked. Her eyes dropped to her chest.

She gasped.

Then, as if on cue, another button popped loose. The fabric of her blouse fell open, fully exposing her bra and the curve of her breasts.

Raymond saw everything.

Deborah's face went pale, then bright red. She screamed.

“Pervert! You're a pervert!”

She covered herself with her hands, her voice shaking with rage and humiliation.

From the direction of the mansion, footsteps pounded against the pavement. A woman in a dark pencil skirt and blazer came running out, her heels clicking rapidly. She was young, maybe mid-twenties, with sharp eyes and a professional air. Deborah's secretary.

She quickly pulled off her own jacket and draped it over Deborah's shoulders, covering her exposed chest. Then she turned to Raymond, her face twisted in disgust.

“Who the hell are you?” she snapped. “You poor-looking thing. What are you doing here?”

Deborah's voice was still shaking. “I don't know. He just came out of nowhere and put my life in danger. Who knows if he's the one who sent those men after me in the first place?”

The secretary's eyes narrowed. She looked Raymond up and down, her lip curling. “That's exactly what I'm thinking. He probably sent them. This whole thing could be a setup.”

Raymond's expression didn't change. He just looked at them both, his voice calm and steady.

“I can forgive the slap,” he said. “I can even forgive being called a pervert. But I will never forgive anyone accusing me of something like that.”

Deborah's face hardened. She pulled the jacket tighter around herself and pointed at Raymond.

“Call security,” she said to her secretary. “Call them right now. This man needs to be arrested and investigated.”

The secretary nodded quickly and pulled out her phone.

But before she could make the call, the gate behind them opened.

More than ten security guards in black uniforms poured out, moving quickly across the driveway. They wore radios clipped to their belts, and a few of them carried batons. Their expressions were sharp, focused.

Deborah turned to them immediately, her voice commanding.

“Arrest this man. He's a criminal.”

At that moment the guards moved forward, forming a loose circle around Raymond.

Raymond didn't move. He just looked at Deborah, his voice quiet but firm.

“Why would you call me a criminal?” he said. “It seems you don't know who I am. But very soon, you'll understand that you shouldn't have said that.”

The secretary stepped forward, her voice sharp and cutting. “Just keep your mouth shut, pervert. You're disgusting. Keep your mouth shut.”

The security guards tightened the circle, their hands moving to their batons.

Then a voice called out from behind them.

“Stop!!”

The voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding.

Everyone froze.

The security guards turned, their hands still hovering near their batons. Deborah's secretary stopped mid-sentence, her mouth half-open. Even Deborah herself turned to look.

A man stepped out from behind one of the parked cars across the street.

He was tall, dressed in an expensive black suit that fit him perfectly. His hair was slicked back, his face clean-shaven, his expression cold and professional. He moved with confidence, his shoes clicking against the pavement as he approached.

But it wasn't him that drew everyone's attention.

It was the gun in his hand.

A sleek black pistol, held low but ready. The man's finger rested just beside the trigger, and his eyes were locked on Raymond.

Deborah's breath caught in her throat. Her secretary let out a small gasp and took a step back.

The security guards immediately tensed, their hands moving to their radios.

The man in the suit raised the gun slightly, aiming it directly at Deborah.

“Nobody move,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “Or she dies.”

Deborah's face went pale. She took a step back, her hands still clutching the jacket around her shoulders.

Raymond didn't move. He just stood there, his expression completely calm, his eyes locked on the man with the gun.

The man smiled slightly, his finger sliding onto the trigger. “You cost me a lot of men today. I don't know who you are, but you're going to regret getting involved.”

Then he fired.

The shot was loud, echoing off the walls of the mansion and the surrounding buildings.

But Raymond was already moving.

He grabbed Deborah by the waist and pulled her against him, spinning her to the side. The bullet whipped past them, missing by inches, and buried itself in the gate behind them with a metallic clang.

Deborah gasped, her body pressed tightly against Raymond's chest, her face inches from his.

The man fired again.

Raymond twisted, holding Deborah close, their bodies moving together in perfect sync. The second bullet missed, shattering the other Rolls-Royce's side mirrors.

The man's eyes narrowed. He fired a third time.

Raymond moved again, his hand still firm on Deborah's waist, his movements smooth and effortless. The bullet hit the pavement and ricocheted off into the grass.

Immediately the man fired a fourth time.

Raymond dodged again, pulling Deborah with him, their faces so close she could feel his breath on her skin. The bullet missed and hit the stone wall of the mansion, sending chips of stone flying.

At that moment the man stopped.

He stared at Raymond, his face pale, his hand trembling slightly. His mouth opened, then closed. He blinked, shaking his head as if trying to clear it.

“I don't miss,” he said, his voice shaking. “I never miss. How the hell are you dodging my shots?”