Touch Me And Your're Dead! [English]

10

Chapter 10

I was amazed when I stumbled upon an art gallery that resembled a museum I had seen in pictures, located in the grand warehouse owned by the Alegre family. The building was imposing and elegant, its classical architecture exuding wealth and refinement.

People were flowing in and out of the place, and just as Gabriel had said, it seemed impossible for me to get inside. The individuals entering looked wealthy and sophisticated; their clothes, their bearing, even the way they walked suggested they belonged to a world I had never been part of.

Gabriel had mentioned that only select individuals could see the inside of the museum. This wasn’t just any public gallery—it was clearly an exclusive establishment that catered to a very specific clientele.

I kept peeking at the museum entrance until a guard approached me, his expression professional but suspicious.

“Do you have an appointment, miss?” he asked in English, his tone polite yet firm.

I stopped, confusion washing over me. What appointment? I heard Gabriel’s voice through the communication device, urging me to simply answer “no.”

The guard scrutinized me and reiterated that I wasn’t allowed there. My shoulders sagged as I walked down the stairs, away from the gallery entrance, feeling defeated before I had even begun.

As I turned to leave, I noticed a woman sitting sprawled on the ground, her wares scattered at the bottom of the stairs. She was clearly a street vendor who had been knocked down.

An angry foreigner was shouting at her, while the woman kept apologizing, even though it looked like the foreigner had been the one who bumped into her. The injustice of the scene—a wealthy person berating someone who was clearly struggling—made my blood boil.

Once the foreigner left, I hurried down to help the woman, picking up her merchandise. The least I could do was show some human decency.

She looked up at me and said thank you, and I replied that it was okay, even though I wasn't sure if she understood me.

“Are you Filipino?” she asked suddenly.

I stopped and looked up, surprised. Her eyes were wide as she stared at me, and I was equally shocked to hear my native language.

“Oh yes, I’m Filipino,” I replied, relief flooding through me at finding someone who spoke my language.

We both stood up, and I handed her the basket that had fallen.

“What are you doing here? Are you working too?” she asked with genuine curiosity.

I shook my head immediately. I said I was looking for work and pointed toward the gallery, using it as a cover story.

The woman glanced at the gallery entrance and then back at me.

“They don’t hire workers there. Only rich people can get in there, and that gallery is famous,” she explained, confirming what I already suspected.

I was just making an excuse anyway, since Gabriel had told me that no one should know about my mission.

“If you want work, our shop is hiring. They need a mascot—it’s right over there,” she said, pointing to a small restaurant across the street.

I stopped at her words and looked where she was pointing. My eyes immediately lit up because this was perfect for my mission. From there, I could observe the gallery while having a legitimate reason to be in the area.

I grabbed the woman’s hand and started jumping with excitement.

“Thank you! Thank you! I really need work!” I exclaimed, genuinely grateful for this unexpected opportunity.

“Are you going crazy?” Gabriel’s voice came through the communication device, asking what I was planning.

I ignored Gabriel’s question—I would explain it to him later. This was actually a brilliant development that could provide me with the perfect cover.

I applied for the job with the help of the woman, who introduced herself as Maria. She spoke to her boss for me since I couldn’t communicate well in English. They asked for my documents, which made me pause nervously.

“Accept it. We’ll take care of the documents,” Gabriel’s voice assured me through the device.

When I heard Gabriel say that, I immediately told the manager that I would bring my documents tomorrow.

It was exciting because they let me start right away. They had me wear what looked like a chicken costume and distribute flyers. Of course, I never took my eyes off the gallery, using my position to conduct surveillance.

This was also advantageous because my face wasn’t visible. There was a very small chance that Truson’s men would recognize me while I was outside in this disguise.

After three days of working there, I cursed under my breath because I hadn’t even seen a shadow of Aron Nicastro. I was just grateful that Gabriel’s boss wasn’t rushing me, but the pressure was building with each passing day.

One evening, feeling quite tired, I sat down for a moment on a bench. There were no more people passing through that area, and I could only see cars driving by.

I looked at the entrance of the art gallery. I couldn’t see anyone there except the guard patrolling the area. At this time of day, no one was going inside, and the cars were already parked for the night.

After a while, as I sat there, I saw Art approaching me. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, pants, and flip-flops—a casual look that somehow made him even more handsome.

“Can you still see anything? It’s dark, and you’re wearing sunglasses,” I teased him.

He didn’t respond and sat down next to me, carrying a paper bag that looked like food for both of us.

“You’re just wasting your time here,” Art said bluntly.

I pouted and removed the chicken head from my costume, feeling the cool evening air on my sweaty hair.

“I have a strong feeling we’ll see him here,” I replied, though my confidence was wavering.

In truth, I was starting to lose hope. I really didn’t know where to start. What if I couldn’t find Aron here? Gabriel’s boss would definitely kill me.

I took the paper bag Art handed me and opened it to eat. There were free foods available at the shop, but I was sure we wouldn’t be fed by the shop boss until much later, and Art had brought food anyway, so I ate that before my work shift ended.

I wasn’t shocked anymore when Art disappeared again after a while. He was like a ghost—suddenly appearing and then vanishing without warning.

While I was eating, a beautiful woman passed by. I put down what I was eating and placed it on the bench before chasing after her to give her a flyer.

She stopped and looked at me. I was stunned because she was incredibly beautiful and looked like a celebrity. She was also very tall—was she a model or an actress?

I covered my mouth because it was full of food and I couldn’t speak properly. I saw her laugh at my predicament.

“Have we met before?” the woman asked, taking the flyer I was offering. I stopped and looked at her carefully.

I smiled sweetly and said it was impossible, speaking after I swallowed the food that had been in my mouth.

“I’ve never seen anyone as pretty as you,” I said honestly.

I heard her laugh, which made me pause. Could she understand Tagalog?

“So you can speak Tagalog?” I asked in amazement.

My eyes widened—she really could speak Tagalog! I suddenly felt embarrassed and stepped back, swallowing nervously.

“Is your shop still open? I suddenly got hungry, and I’m also looking for something to take out for my friends,” she said with a warm smile.

I jumped at that—a new customer! I immediately pointed to the shop where I worked. The woman smiled and thanked me.

“See you,” she said with a wave.

The woman passed by me and headed to the shop. I saw her look back before entering, and something about that glance seemed significant.

“She’s so pretty. I’m envious,” I muttered to myself, genuinely awed by her beauty.

Happy, I approached the bench to continue eating my dinner.

---

“Hey, you’re here again! Did you like the chicken that my boss sells?” Hilda asked happily after seeing the same woman she had invited four days ago. She had been seeing her there every day, buying food and greeting her.

The woman’s face clearly showed confusion. As far as she knew, the shop didn’t sell chicken but duck.

“Haven’t you tasted any of the dishes made by your shop?” the woman asked curiously.

Hilda immediately shook her head. She only ate the food that Art brought her, even though there were free dishes inside the shop.

The woman took something from the paper bag she was carrying and handed it to Hilda, who looked at her questioningly.

“That’s for you—eat it so you’ll know that your shop doesn’t offer chicken dishes,” the woman said with amusement before turning around and saying goodbye to Hilda, who wore a puzzled expression.

Hugging the plastic container with food, Hilda waved at the woman and said thank you, still confused about the chicken versus duck distinction.

Not far away, a car was parked with several men inside, their eyes fixed on Hilda, who was holding food and waving at the woman crossing the street.

“This is the first time I’ve seen that woman outside alone,” said the man in the driver’s seat, observing the beautiful woman.

They had been monitoring her for several days, watching her return to that shop repeatedly. They were studying her patterns, waiting for the right moment.

They planned to take the woman that day. Their patience was finally going to pay off.

They waited for darkness to fall while Hilda sat on the bench, wearing her costume and still distributing flyers, completely unaware of the danger lurking nearby.

At exactly 9 PM, the woman returned and bought from the shop again. She greeted Hilda, who waved back at her with her usual friendly enthusiasm.

When the woman was leaving, a car suddenly arrived. Hilda stood up from the bench when men got out and tried to drag the customer into their vehicle.

“Police! There are kidnappers!” Hilda shouted, hitting the men with her costume.

The woman was shocked by Hilda’s attempt to help her. Without thinking of her own safety, Hilda had jumped into action to protect a stranger.

Hilda kept shouting, and they immediately attracted the attention of passersby. The woman kicked one of the kidnappers, but in the chaos, Hilda was grabbed and forced into the car.

Police approached the area, responding to the commotion. The men got in the car with Hilda in the backseat, their original target forgotten in their haste to escape.

The woman’s eyes widened as she tried to chase the car. She cursed and immediately took out her phone.

“I’ll give you my location! Get your damn ass here, hurry up!” she shouted into the phone, her voice filled with urgency and anger.

Later, Art was walking calmly toward the shop to visit Hilda, carrying a paper bag with food inside, as had become his evening routine.

He stopped after seeing scattered flyers near the bench, Hilda’s costume abandoned on the ground, and several police officers in front of the shop.

Art’s eyebrows furrowed in concern at the scene. He threw the paper bag into a trash bin and walked back toward the alley where he had left his car.

He heard through the communication line that someone had taken Hilda, and his teammates were in chaos on the other end. Gabriel was frantically contacting groups near the location where Hilda had been kidnapped.

Meanwhile, Hilda was going wild inside the car, fighting against her captors with desperate fury.

“If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll rip it off for you!” the driver shouted angrily.

Their mission had been ruined because of a mere mascot from a duck shop. The irony wasn’t lost on them—they had been outsmarted by someone in a chicken costume.

The men inside the car were furious and frustrated. Hilda sealed her lips in fear that the kidnappers would actually follow through on their threat.

Hilda also heard Gabriel cursing on the communication line, asking what she had been thinking.

Hilda wanted to ask herself the same question. She couldn’t just watch while someone was being kidnapped in front of her. Her conscience wouldn’t allow her to be a passive bystander to such violence.

Hilda was taken to an abandoned building, and when the car stopped, someone opened the door and dragged her out roughly.

“What are you planning to do to me?” Hilda struggled, but the men were too big and strong for her to escape.

They threw her to the ground, causing her to wince and hold one arm in pain. The concrete was cold and unforgiving against her body.

Hilda looked fearfully at the men who were now talking among themselves. She couldn’t understand anything because they were using a different language—possibly Russian or another Eastern European language.

Frightened, Hilda scanned her surroundings. She could only see boxes and containers scattered around the abandoned warehouse. The place smelled of rust and decay.

“Just kill her,” was the last thing Hilda heard clearly in English.

Hilda turned and saw one of the men leave. Two of them remained, wearing menacing smiles that made her blood run cold.

“W-what are you going to do?” she stammered.

They said that Hilda wasn’t as beautiful as the woman she had been with earlier, but they could make do with her. Hilda couldn’t understand their words, but based on their looks and grins, she had a very bad feeling about their intentions.

Hilda backed away until she was leaning against a fallen container, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.

“We will have fun here,” one of them said in broken English, his meaning unmistakable.

Hilda screamed and hit the man hard in the face with the container, then ran with all her strength.

The men laughed as they blocked her path, treating her terror like entertainment. Hilda retreated and headed toward a pile of cardboard boxes, throwing them at the men who were laughing like demons.

One of them simply grabbed Hilda by the arm and threw her into the scattered cardboard, the impact knocking the wind out of her.

Hilda’s eyes widened as one of the men covered her mouth with his hand, muffling her screams.

Hilda was terrified as she looked at the two men who suddenly began tearing her clothes. The reality of what was about to happen hit her like a physical blow.

Hilda was stunned when one of the men suddenly collapsed on top of her after a loud gunshot echoed through the warehouse.

Behind them stood Art, holding a gun, and just as the other man turned around, Art shot him in the head as well. The efficiency was cold and professional.

Hilda stared at Art in shock. There were traces of blood on her face from the men, and when she recovered from the initial shock, tears began to flow down her cheeks.

“Wahhh! Why did you only come now?” she cried.

Like a child, Hilda sobbed while lying there, asking Art why he had only arrived now. The relief, terror, and gratitude all crashed over her at once.

Art looked down at her, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the warehouse. In his hands, the gun seemed as natural as any other tool—a reminder that in this world she had stumbled into, violence was always just a heartbeat away.

But for now, she was safe. Art had come for her, and that was all that mattered in this moment of overwhelming relief and residual terror.