Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm

"Who are you? What's with those uniforms?" a soldier demanded, eyeing Ram's team, whose attire didn't match the local troops.

Before he could press further, the fight erupted.

It was a slaughter.

Ram's team, at the cost of five wounded and one dead, wiped out all of Saif's soldiers in the square.

Saif stood frozen, mouth agape, as Satan, Ram, and their men strode toward him. Glancing at the bodies littering the ground, he doubled over, vomiting.

Ram raised an eyebrow. "No way—Gaddafi's son hasn't seen death?"

Saif had seen death—had even killed—but never this close, never such carnage. His guard captain's head, shattered by a bullet, had splattered brains onto his suit. It was revolting.

Saif wanted to maintain dignity before these unknown enemies, but fear overwhelmed him. His terror of death churned his stomach, bile rising.

"Don't—don't kill me! I have money. I can pay you!" he blurted after a final retch, a black muzzle aimed at his head.

Satan smirked. "Money?"

He gestured around. "This is already ours."

"No, no, this is just part of it! I have offshore accounts—my personal wealth. $100 million enough? U.S. dollars. I'll buy my life."

"What about them?" Satan nodded toward Ahmed and his five men, crouching with hands on heads.

The six looked up, hopeful.

Saif didn't hesitate. "They're not my concern."

Their eyes dimmed.

Satan chuckled. "So you're abandoning them? Fine. Big Dog, secure these six. Keep watch."

Then, to Saif: "$100 million's not enough."

"Then—$200 million. No, $500 million!"

"Really? You're not playing us? How do we get it?"

"Europe. My money's in Switzerland, France, Italy—anonymous accounts. Take me there, and I'll give it to you."

Satan laughed heartily.

Saif forced a smile.

A second later, a slap cracked across Saif's face, nearly bringing the middle-aged man to tears.

He looked at Satan, aggrieved.

Satan's face hardened. "Think we're idiots? Ever heard of online banking? Write down every account number and password. I'll have them verified. Lie, and I kill you. No money, I kill you. Not enough money, I kill you. Got it?"

Saif sobbed, tears streaming. "If I write it down, will you really let me go?"

"Look at our gear. We're not rebels—we're mercenaries. We don't care about your life, just your money. Whether we let you go depends on how much you give. Satisfy me, and you're free. Understand?"

"Y-Yes!"

Three days later, Satan got a call from Gordon.

"Suitable landing spot for a plane?"

Satan climbed to the highest room in the complex, scanning the area. The sandy terrain was too uneven for a cargo plane.

His gaze shifted south, toward Tarhuna, which had a military airstrip. Government forces… maybe they could be leveraged.

Mutassim's probably still alive, right?

Helicopters were an option, but their range and payload were limited. Deploying multiple choppers would be complex and risky.

So, Satan hatched a sly plan—one Martin would love.

He called Mutassim via satellite phone.

"Hey, old friend, it's me."

"We're not friends."

"Ouch, that hurts. I mobilized bodyguards to Italy to protect your girlfriend the moment you asked."

Silence.

"Fine, friend. What do you want?"

"I've got a bone to pick. You stuck my guys in Aziziya Barracks and forgot them. Who were they supposed to protect? Three days ago, when rebels attacked, they went to report, only to find the building's VIP gone. They had to break out themselves."

More silence.

"Sorry, I forgot. Heavy losses?"

Mutassim wouldn't normally apologize for a few deaths, but needing Martin's help, he swallowed his pride.

He braced for bad news, but Martin's reply stunned him.

"My guys are elite. Most broke through. Five wounded—two serious—and one dead."

Mutassim's eyes widened.

What the hell? Three days ago, rebels hit with 30,000 men. Satan's team—50 strong—not only escaped but with minimal losses? Elite? They're goddamn super-soldiers!

Mutassim's gut twisted with envy. Why don't I have men like that?

"Hey, you listening? You've gotta help them," Martin pressed.

Mutassim snapped back. "Help how? They escaped, didn't they?"

"Yeah, and grabbed some trucks. But they're lost near a place called Tarhuna. They're avoiding the city, worried your army might mistake them. So—"

Martin paused, waiting.

Mutassim took the bait. "Tarhuna? I know it. It's still under our control. You want me to tell the local military to let them in?"

"Exactly. They need rest, food, water, and medical supplies. Can you make it happen?"

Mutassim didn't hesitate. "Sure. I'll inform the local commander to receive Satan's team. But I have a request."

"What?" Martin's lips curled, guessing what was coming.

"I want Satan's team to join me after resupplying—to protect me and train a unit as elite as them."

"No problem," Martin said.