Hey guys, here's a new update! Enjoy!

Tracey

While my fiancé waged a bloody one-man war against various foot soldiers of the Madrazo cartel, Agent Smith and I escaped to the upper level of the farmhouse. The second floor of the modern, luxurious home consisted of only one room—a bedroom. An empty bedroom. Smith's daughter wasn't here.

He paced the dim-lit space, his tall figure illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the drapery windows. "Bloody hell!" he cursed sharply. "Where could she be? I could have sworn she was here, I heard her—"

A scream rent the air, louder than the explosive firefight going on below, the raw sharpness of a terrified child crying out in pain seeped into my skin and clenched my heart. It came from outside! The sound was like an adrenaline shot straight into my bloodstream. With reckless abandon, despite the danger lurking ahead, Agent Smith and I maneuvered our way out the open window and sprinted in the direction of screaming.

We crossed the ranch's deep tracks to a large red barn. Propped on a slight rise amid the wildflowers, the weathered structure drooped, creaking ominously in the wind. We threw open the rough double doors, the scent of moldy stale hay hit my nostrils. To our right, among the shadows, grime, and dirty straw scattered across the floor, was a young redheaded girl confined to a cot, and an ugly, beer-bellied, colossus of a man had his pants down on top of her. Disgusted, dumbfounded, my brain stuttered for a moment. Oh my god. Gross!

The girl screamed and screamed, squirming about in a hopeless attempt to free herself from the fat, disgusting bastard. Agent Smith sped to her defense, yanking the monster off the poor girl and knocking him to the ground with a good right to the jaw.

"Phoebe!" Agent Smith ran to his daughter's side and cupped her tear streaked cheeks. Hands balled into tiny fists, she struggled against her own father in a blind, weeping fury—pushing, punching, arms flailing.

She cried, "No! No! No! Get off! Get off—"

Regardless of how hard she fought, Smith clung tight to his daughter, unmoving as a statue, refusing to let go. "Angel, look at me," he implored, his voice choked with emotion. "Daddy's here. Do you understand? All is well. You are safe now."

She froze, her little blue eyes widening. "Daddy?"

"Daddy's here," he reassured, his eyes wet with tears. "It's over, sweetheart. There is nothing to fear. No one can hurt you anymore."

"You came for me!" She jumped into his arms, quaking and sobbing. I smiled at their bittersweet reunion. Finally, we found her. Although she was probably going to be psychologically scarred for the rest of her life, at least she was physically okay. For now, that's all that mattered.

The creepy rapist jerkbag rolled over, attempting to rise while Smith was distracted. I kicked the sicko in his flabby stomach, fast and fierce, over and over. "Take that, asshole! And that!" I rained down a flurry of blows on him until he stopped moving, enjoying every second of it. He totally deserved it.

Once that was taken care of, I glanced up, cautiously scanning our surroundings. We weren't alone. There were more cots scattered throughout the barn, aligned against the mud-splattered walls. My gaze shifted from one unconscious girl to another. Bony ankles cuffed to the bedframes, their youthful skin was hidden behind layers of filth and rags. It was horrible.

How could someone do such a thing. It was sick! Madrazo was a monster.

"Smith," I tapped his shoulder. Preoccupied with nothing more than comforting his sobbing daughter, he didn't acknowledge me. I pinched his arm. "Smith!"

His gaze snapped to me. "What is it?"

"We have a problem. Look."

Propped on one knee, still holding his daughter, he blinked back his tears and swiveled his head. Once he laid eyes on the numerous victims being held against their will, he flinched. "Oh dear…"

"Why are they all sleeping?" I asked. "Shouldn't they be wide awake with all the commotion going on?"

"They are drugged, most likely." Agent Smith stood, and closely examined the handcuffs around his daughter's ankle. "Hmm, we'll need a key." He glanced at the jerkbag on the ground. "Search him. Perhaps you will find something of use."

"Okay." I pat him down, rooted through his pockets, but all he had was loose change, a fake driver's ID, and a pack of bubblegum. Great. "Crap. He doesn't have a key."

"Shit," he grumbled under his breath. "Just our luck."

Phoebe sat up and tugged at the back of her father's suit for his attention. "Daddy, I wanna go home."

"Worry not, angel. You will be home soon. Daddy has a plan." Teeth clenched, Agent Smith tugged at his daughter's restraints until his face reddened and his eyes bulged. But the iron bonds remained intact.

"Wow, you are so weak," I teased. "My fiancé could break those things with his bare hands, with like, no effort at all. Are you seriously even trying right now?"

Raw hurt glittered in his blue eyes, only for a moment before he managed to bury it and regain his composure. He sighed, shoulders drooped. "Very motivational, Tracey," he snapped, his voice sharp with sarcasm. "Your input is quite helpful indeed. I appreciate the encouragement."

My gut clenched. He had every right to be cranky. Maybe now wasn't a good time for teasing, considering the terrible situation we were in. If we didn't find a way to free his daughter soon…

He continued, "Now if you are done providing your meaningless commentary and quips, we can use a plan—"

A hand touched my shoulder. I yelped and spun around. Franklin appeared, his hazel eyes softened at the sight of me. I beamed at him, his powerful presence was such a relief. Except for some bruises, disheveled clothes, and the debris in his curly hair, he seemed none the worse for wear.

Franklin leaned in, his eyes sweeping over my figure, examining me with such scrutinizing attention I coulda sworn I was a painting in some old museum. A cold sweat dotted my forehead. "What? Is there something wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Eyes narrowed, finally, he asked, "You good?"

"I'm fine," I brushed some of the debris from his curly hair. "But we have a problem. A big one."

"Yeah, no shit." His face went grim, a deep, disgruntled groan seeped from his throat. "Madrazo been keepin' his hoes locked up in this dirty ass barn, huh? Man, this is fucked up."

"Mr. Clinton, great to see you," Agent Smith muttered, still fumbling with Phoebe's lock. "A little help would be greatly appreciated."

"I got you." Franklin drew a lockpick and tension wrench from his back pocket, and handed it to Smith.

I gaped at my fiancé. "Um, do you usually carry around lockpicks?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Not as often since I quit the repo business, girl."

Smith made quick work of the lock. "She's free," he announced, handing back the lockpicking tools to Franklin. He swept his daughter into his arms. She was uncomfortably quiet, her body strangely limp, and pupils were hooded by lazy eyelids.

"What's wrong with her?" I asked.

Agent Smith's naturally solemn face was grim, anxious as he stared down at his daughter. "She…she is not herself. I-I don't know what's wrong. Perhaps she has been drugged, like the others."

Franklin regarded Phoebe critically, his thick black brows pulled together in a fleeting frown. "Ay, dog, I'm sorry 'bout yo' daughter. If I had known Madrazo had her from the beginnin'…"

"Then what? You would not have tried to kill me for exchanging your precious Tracey for her? My betrayal would have been of little consequence?" Agent Smith laughed bitterly. "I doubt that. Nothing would change."

"If you woulda told me and Trace the truth from the jump, instead of fuckin' kidnapping her, things would be different. Me, Michael, and Trevor woulda helped you out, man. This whole situation is fucked up, but you made yo' choice—"

Agent Smith stabbed a finger at Franklin. "You have no right to judge me! I did what was necessary, as I always do! I got my angel back, she's alive and well, and I didn't need the help of three violent, psychotic bank robbers to do so. I am efficient, self-disciplined, competent in all that I do. You are not."

"Uh-huh." Seemingly unimpressed, Franklin crossed his arms. "You forget all 'bout the Mexican ambush at the farmhouse? You'd be dead if weren't for me, aight? A 'violent, psychotic bank robber' just saved yo' pretentious ass. Better show me some motherfuckin' appreciation, fool."

"For the first time in your sad, pathetic life, you thought about someone else other than yourself. Congratulations!" Agent Smith clapped mockingly. "Would you like an award? Tell me, how difficult was it not to be the dreadful, terrible person you usually are? Wouldn't you had rather spent your precious time robbing grocery stores? Selling narcotics? Committing credit fraud? Stealing candy from babies, perhaps?"

Franklin grinned, a humorless, vicious sound. "Listen, man, I've been meanin' to ask…where were you when Madrazo pinched yo' daughter? Why you didn't stop it before it happened? Maybe you ain't as efficient as you thought, at bein' a father at least."

With a nonchalant smile, Agent Smith replied, "No better than you at being a lover. Your fiancée has a track record for leaving you. Does it not hurt your pride? Only being able to satisfy a woman for a few days before she grows tired? You must be an absolute bore."

"Why you so concerned 'bout my relationship? You jealous or somethin', man?"

"N-no," Smith stuttered. "I…am concerned only with her well-being, nothing more."

Franklin stepped up to him. "Bullshit," he declared, his words carried an unmistakably strong note of dislike. "She's mine. She always finna be mine. How does it feel to be a second-place ass bitch? She ain't never finna choose you over me. Get the fuck over it already, dog. It's pathetic."

A flush of red colored Smith's face. He cleared his throat and straightened his tie, quickly regaining his cool, distant attitude. "Your arrogance will be your downfall, Mr. Clinton."

"Guys," I let out an exaggerated sigh. "Seriously? I'm standing right here."

Silently, they glared daggers at each other in direct challenge, heat stealing into my face from the smoldering hostility. A muscle ticked angrily at Franklin's jaw, and Agent Smith grinded his teeth audibly, his skin red and tight with strain. There was tension in the air, animosity radiated off them in waves. Wow. They really, really, hated one another.

Although it was super annoying when they argued over me, it was kinda flattering at the same time. I mean, who wouldn't want me? I'm amazing, talented, smart—a total catch for sure.

There were sounds coming from outside, incoherent muttering that was quiet and sharp at the same time. I rose my head, straining to identify where exactly it was coming from. "Hey, do you guys hear that?"

"Sounds like we got company," Franklin said, peeling his eyes off Agent Smith to glare at the large double doors.

I cowered behind my fiancé, my hands clasped his broad shoulders. "What do we do? Do we run?"

"And leave these chained women to their cruel fate?" Agent Smith set his daughter back down on the bed. "I would sooner die than allow such an atrocity. We must help them."

"Tracey," Franklin turned to face me. He clutched my hands with both of his and pressed the lockpicking tools firmly against my palms. "Listen, I'ma need you to free the other girls while I handle the bad dudes outside, a'ight? Can you do that for me?"

"B-but Frank, I never…" I hesitated, fighting the nausea clawing its way up my throat. "I never picked a lock before. It can't be that easy, is it?"

"I will aid her if you cover us," Agent Smith volunteered.

"I like that plan much better. Let's do this, Smith."

I turned away, but Franklin grabbed my arm with gentle authority, drawing me back in. He pressed his forehead against mine. My senses were spun by his dangerously intoxicating scent of sweat, gunpowder, and cologne. His body was warm, perspiration trickled down his shoulder-blades and imposing muscular arms. How on Earth could someone be so sexy and dangerous at the same time?

Our eyes closed, his warm breath on my lips, he whispered to me, "Be careful, baby." His voice was so wonderfully soft and loving, my heart fluttered wildly.

I curled a finger around the ammunition belt fastened to his chest, pulling him closer. "You need to be careful too. You're almost out of bullets."

"It's all good. I'ma make every shot count."

"If you run out of bullets, you could die."

"We could all die," he added.

"But you won't let that happen." I peeked at him with one eye open. "Right?"

"Right. Ain't no one finna die today, no one I care 'bout at least, and especially not you. I got you, babe."

"Then go. Show those scumbags we're not to be fucked with."

With a smirk, he pulled away. I joined Agent Smith by the nearest occupied cot. Careful not to frighten the dazed girl lying before us, we sunk into a crouch opposite of the lock dangling at the foot of the bed. I passed over the tools. "Okay. So, what do we do?"

"It's simple, really. Watch closely, love." He slipped both the wrench and pick into the lock. "First, it's important to understand the design, and anatomy of the lock itself. All locks are different, but they are quite intriguing pieces of technology with a quite a bit of history, the very first created spanning back to 4000 BC. Did you know…"

Instead of teaching me how to do anything, Agent Smith proceeded to give me a history lesson on locks as he picked them, freeing one girl after another. While he babbled about crap I cared nothing about, I tuned out most of his words and watched his hands work. Every movement he made was calculated and precise. Who would had thought lockpicking would be so entertaining to watch? He was so good at it!

Once we reached the very last lock, he handed me the tools. "Alright, sweetheart, your turn. Have at it."

"Um…" I stared blankly at the odd metal gadgets in my hands.

"Kindly insert the tension wrench in the bottom hole. The pick goes in the top."

With trembling fingers, I did as he instructed. "Okay. Now what?"

"More pressure on the wrench." He squeezed my fingers. "Now, using the pick, very carefully and controlled…" He clasped my palm, directing my movements. "Remember our goal here. We must lift and set all the pins to gain access. Listen for the click. Be sure to apply more pressure than the last. Just like that…"

Click. The lock popped open. I gasped. "Holy crap! I did it!"

Agent Smith beamed at me, clapping his hands. "You, my dear, are a natural. Very well done!"

"I wouldn't celebrate just yet," a grainy, deeply accented voice called out. Dark, ugly laughter filled the space. My head snapped toward the sound. Madrazo strode into the barn with a dozen armed goons at his heels. His men crowded around him protectively, their dastardly presence siphoned the blood from my face. My mind went numb, one look at his burnt, bandaged face caused a tornado of swirling fears to rampage through my head. He found us! We're doomed!

Agent Smith rose fearlessly.

"Smith, you're still alive, I see," Madrazo rose a brow. "I'm impressed."

Madrazo stepped aside as Franklin was pushed through the crowd. He tumbled to the ground at Madazo's feet.

"Franklin!" I dropped everything and scrambled to his side. There were a few crushed bullets embedded in his vest, blood seeped down his waist. No! I propped his head up on my thigh and cupped his bearded cheeks. "Frank? Are you okay? Are you shot? What did they do to you?"

He wasn't responding. His eyes were squeezed shut, face pinched with tension, hands probing his bloodied side, it seemed like he was in too much pain to even speak. He shivered and I held him tighter. In that moment, I didn't care about my well-being. I just wanted him to be okay. I needed him to be okay.

"Fucker got caught off guard and ate lead, so very tragic," Madrazo snickered. "It's over! No more running, no more games. Oh, I'm gonna enjoy getting rid of you poor fucks for good."

"You mean, your men are going to get rid of us for good?" Agent Smith asked. "A coward such as yourself knows nothing of real combat, of real bloodshed. You can barely hold up your own gun."

"I built my empire from the ground up, and with that comes certain perks, like my enemies being brutally slaughtered like pigs while I sit back and enjoy the lovely show—"

A bullet zoomed through the window, zipping past me, hitting one of Madrazo's men square in the chest. Another round followed shortly behind, throwing him back. Yes!

"Get down!" Madrazo ordered. The men scattered for cover, most dropped face down into the hay, one of them threw themselves over Madrazo like a shield and steered him away. Full-automatic guns sprayed death all around us, blinding flashes lit the space, the explosive sounds annihilating my ears.

Agent Smith made a dash for his daughter. Heart thudding in my ears, I hooked my arms around Franklin's shoulders and began to yank him back toward the wall. "You're…" Huff. "So…" Huff. "Heavy…"

He shuddered, snapping violently out of his daze. With a pained groan, he rose, dragging me with him to nearest wall, out of the midst of gunfire. Crouched down, he held me close, his breathing slow, labored. While Madrazo's men were returning fire at the windows, a bad guy pulled off from the group and approached us, an evil smirk plastered on his face. He was muttering something in Spanish. Whatever it was, it did not sound friendly. My knees trembled as he closed in on us, his giant gun raised.

Once he was in arm's reach, Franklin lunged for his gun. I cringed. Boom! There was a smoking, crater-like hole in the wall, the bullet missing Franklin's head by mere inches. He snatched the gun out of the man's hand with little effort, and punched him, one hit alone bloodied his face. The blow sent him twirling senselessly to the floor. Ouch.

From the corner of my eye, I spotted Agent Smith and his daughter. They pulled out a loose slab of concrete in the wall, creating a hole just big enough for the both to slip through. His daughter crawled through with little hesitation. Agent Smith looked back at me and waved a hand, beckoning me to join them.

I clung to my fiancé tighter. He was far too large, he simply wouldn't fit through such a narrow crevice, and there was no way I was leaving him. I shook my head sharply. Agent Smith eyed me gravely, his harsh stare alone emanating disapproval. Then, he turned away, disappearing through the hole.

At least him and his daughter were going to make it out of this alive. Franklin and I were totally screwed.

Someone let out a war cry so loud, it shook the very foundation of the barn. "Ayayaya!" An unnaturally short, shirtless man waving a crowbar over his head like a madman sped toward us at a frightening sped. He went for me first, the overhead swing so quick, his weapon was nothing more than a winking blur of steel. Franklin shoved me out of the way, the hay breaking my fall.

He attacked Franklin next, unleashing a flurry of speedy blows. Franklin managed to evade most of them, but the little dude was fast and persistent. After five missed swings, the sixth made contact with my fiancé's jaw. Clack! I smothered a hand over my mouth to stop myself from screaming. Franklin reeled from the terrible blow, a glob of blood spat from his mouth.

The midget scaled his back and pulled the crowbar against his throat, cutting off his oxygen supply. Franklin struggled to shake him off, but he kept kicking his foot against my fiancé's wounded side, intensifying the hurt, agonized grunts spilled through my lover's lips.

Oh no…

I have to do something!

I lashed out with a quick kick to the midget's face. "Leave my fiancé alone!"

He cried out, dropping the crowbar. Franklin wheezed, sucking in much needed air. Then, he reached up, grappled the midget by the hair and flung the little sucker off. Finally.

"Motherfucker…" Franklin's expression darkened as he closed a fist around the crowbar, his eyes glittering slits of murderous rage. I stepped back. Way back. I knew this side of him regrettably well. It was dark, meticulous, severely ominous, and worst of all, there was no way of turning back until his destructive needs were satiated.

The midget tried to crawl away. Franklin stomped on his back. He wiggled about helplessly, ensnared like a mouse caught in a glue trap. My fiancé held the crowbar high, preparing to swing. I buried my face in my hands. I couldn't look! God, this was going to be so unnecessarily gruesome.

Instinctively, I peeked between my fingers. The crowbar came down with a crack, the little dude's head popped open like a piñata of brains, blood, and other gooey stuff. Yuck! So disgusting. Franklin clobbered him again for good measure, blood splattered over all the hay.

"Jeez, that was overkill," I shouted over the shooting.

Franklin didn't reply. Weakened by his grievous wounds, he pressed his back to the wall and slid down on his bottom, his every breath uncomfortably shallow. I chewed on my lip. The beautiful brown glow of his skin had dulled. His eyes were glazed and bloodshot. There was an ugly red welt on his jaw from when the midget whacked him with the crowbar.

Through all we've been through, I've never seen him in such crappy condition. It was bad.

I slapped a hand over both sides of his cheek. "Frank? Are you okay?" I asked, terrified of the answer.

"Mmm…" His response was a tight grunt.

My ribs burned, collapsing in on itself, the overwhelming fear of losing my fiancé squeezed my insides. I just wanted to curl up in a ball and weep. But I had to be strong for him. I wiped the tears brimming on his thick lashes. "Frank? Say something, you're really scaring me right now. I'm freaking out! I need you to be okay. Why aren't you saying anything?"

"I'm…I-I'm good," he muttered weakly.

Swallowing a sob, I forced myself to give him a wan smile. "You can't die. You promised you wouldn't."

His face nuzzled mine, a silent reminder that he was okay, that he still loved me. "Stay close to me. I, mmm…I think—I think we're winnin'."

"We are?" Refusing to pull away, I glanced behind me. There were stiff bodies buried in the hay, riddled with bullet holes. Only a few of Madrazo's men remained. Crash! The barn door flung open. Trevor barged in, flesh and fabric was shredded under his weapon's assault.

"Give it up!" Uncle T raged. "You got no chance, ya sorry sacks of shit! I'm gonna kill every last one of ya! Die! Die! Die!"

I beamed at Uncle T. For the first time ever, I was happy to witness him doing what he loved most—murdering people.

"Tracey!" My body involuntarily jerked at the call. Dad appeared at Uncle T's side. My heart nearly burst from my chest. He wasn't dead! Daddy was alive! Like a little girl, I squealed, flailing my arms so Daddy would notice me. His eyes sparkled at the sight of me, an eager, delighted smile softened his weathered face. Quickly, he closed the distance between us, gathering me into arms.

I melted into his embrace. Dad hadn't hugged me like this since I was a little girl. Those were the good days.

"I thought I lost you, honey," Dad said, his voice all sappy and sad.

"I thought I lost you too, Dad," I buried my face against the collar of his suit jacket. "I'm so glad you're okay."

He patted my shoulder and pulled away, his gaze shifted to Franklin. "You alright, kid? What happened?"

"Daddy, I think he's been shot."

"Let me see." Dad ripped open his vest. My stomach lurched, there was so much blood. I couldn't even tell where it was coming from. Dad winced, "Jesus, he's lost a lot of blood."

"O-oh my god…" Tears stung my eyes. "Is he going to be okay?"

Despite the odds, Dad managed a smile. "He's gonna be fine, baby. The cops are on their way, they'll be here any second."

Silence reclaimed the barn. "I think that was the last of 'em," Uncle T announced, grinning proudly at the limp bodies scattered in the hay as he inched farther into the barn. "All that's left is that shifty little bastard, Madrazo. Where ya hiding at, fuckface? Don't be afraid. All I'm gonna do is blow your brains out. It'll be quick, I swear. Don't be a pussy—"

Madrazo leapt out of a haystack from behind Uncle T, holding a pistol. "Got'cha," he grinned, pressing the barrel against Uncle T's head.

"Hey!" Dad drew a handgun on Madrazo. "Don't you fucking dare."

"Sneaky fucking bastard," Uncle T stilled. "Better kill me now, before I rip your heart out through your fucking chest and eat it like mud pie."

"You'll be long dead before then, asshole," Madrazo sneered.

"You pull that trigger and you're dead," Dad threatened. "Or, you can put the gun down and we can talk this out. The violence can stop here. Be smart about this, man. Things don't gotta end this way."

"Do I look that stupid to you? Hm?" Madrazo asked. "There's only one way this is gonna end. If I'm gonna die, I'm taking one of you with me. Who better than the cocksucker who kidnapped my wife, huh? This piece of shit deserves worse than death. He's a fucking psycho!"

"Alright, just stop!" Dad blurted, dropping his weapon. "There, you win. Now let Trevor go. Don't do anything rash."

Madrazo shook his head. "Well, that was stupid. You loco or something? I thought you were smarter than that, Michael. Now I'm gonna kill all of you—"

A girl pounced on Madrazo, jamming her nails deep into his eyes. He screamed, his gun hit the floor. More girls joined the fray, attacking him from all angles in a frenzy. The girls we freed—they were helping us! They stomped, kicked, and clawed, mercilessly extracting their revenge. Madrazo's cries slowly died out as the swarm of angry malnourished girls beat him into the hay, droplets of crimson flew from their jagged fingernails.

It was great. Gruesome, but great.

"My type of women," Uncle T nodded in approval, admiring the bloodbath.

Sirens wailed in the distance. Finally, I could breathe. The police were here. We were going to be okay. The nightmare was over. We made it!

"You hear that, F?" Dad pat Franklin's shoulder. "You're gonna be fine, kid. Doctors are gonna fix ya right up. Not the first time you've been shot, man. Probably won't be the last."

Franklin managed a slight nod, his breath coming in quick shallow gasps. I stroked his cheek. "Dad, he needs medical attention right effing now. This is serious! I think he's dying—"

"Franklin is gonna be fine," Dad said. "He's strong. Don't panic—"

I pulled at my hair. "Ugh, what do you mean, 'don't panic'? This is my fiancé, I have every right to panic. He's been shot! I'm having his baby, Dad. Are you effing kidding me? Where the hell is the paramedics? Why are they taking so long?"

"Alright, alright, calm down." Dad squeezed my shoulder affectionately. "Just breathe. Everything's gonna be okay."

A half smile crossed my face. In a way, Dad was right. Madrazo was gone. We won! My fiancé and I could finally have a normal life together! I hugged his strong body tight. "Frank, we won! Can you believe it? We won!"

There was no response. He didn't even move. I stared up at him. His body was stiff, cold, eyes open, no breath on his lips. The police came rushing in, followed by the paramedics. Dad dragged me away, "The medics needed space to work," he said.

Once my fiancé faded from sight, the whole world froze. There was no sound, no movement, no…anything. Everything came to a complete halt. My entire universe came crashing down into absolute stillness.

Was he…dead? He couldn't be. He promised! My heart refused to believe the terrible, bitter truth. He wasn't supposed to die. Our life together was just starting…

Things weren't supposed to end this way.

Thanks for reading guys! Only one more chapter to go, so stay tuned! How are you guys feeling about this chapter? Leave a review and let me know! Your feedback is greatly appreciated :)