Bitcoin Billionaire: I Regressed to Invest in the First Bitcoin!-Chapter 234: Bitcoin Battle

Shrapnel screamed through the air, ricocheting off the vault's steel walls with sharp, metallic pings.

A strong stench suddenly filled the air. Acrid. The smell of smoke and burnt wiring. And it choked the room, swirling in thick clouds as emergency lights started to blare red.

Three men stormed through the breached vault door, moving like predators, and their clothing allowed them to appear as such. They wore tactical gears with matte-black color, no logos, or brands, and their faces were hidden behind featureless masks.

They certainly weren't cops or soldiers. They were hired muscle. Darren knew instantly: 'Scotland's crew.'

If it wasn't them, then it was the Lotus Triad. But he wasn't sure which of them he would prefer.

He dove behind the reinforced pedestal, the cold wallet — a sleek, carbon-plated device holding 1,200,000 Bitcoins — pressed tight against his chest inside his coat.

Darren's eyes caught sight of a broken electric pipe, sizzling at its top. He quickly took off his tie and wrapped it around his hand.

Then he picked up the pipe.

Now, it was a makeshift shock baton.

The first attacker caught sight of him and charged at full speed, a silenced pistol glinting in his hand. Darren hurriedly reduced his height, rolling low and jabbing the baton into the man's thigh.

Electricity crackled like a whip, blue arcs dancing across the gear. The man convulsed, his gun skittering across the floor as he crumpled with a choked gasp.

"Rachel, move!" Darren roared.

Terrified but ready, Rachel sprang up and with her was torch. She turned it on right in the sight of one of the attackers.

The second man staggered, hands clawing at his eyes, his pistol wavering. Rachel didn't pause— she spun, driving her steel-toed boot into his knee with a sickening crunch.

She didn't know what she was doing, but she was elated when the man dropped, groaning.

"Get his gun!" she heard Darren say.

Frantically, she yanked his weapon from his hand and tossed it into the shadows.

Darren frowned. "I didn't say toss it!"

"Sorry! I was nervous."

"There's more in the hall—two, maybe three!"

The third man was smarter, crouching low near the shattered doorway, his suppressor trained on the pedestal. "Give it up, Steele," he called, his voice muffled but steady, with a faint American drawl. "That wallet's not yours. Hand it over, and you walk. Thankfully for you, our boss doesn't want bodies."

Darren's grip on the baton tightened, his knuckles white. There was no way he was going to give up the wallet after everything they'd done to get.

"So that affirms it huh? You guys are from Scotland," Darren chuckled. "I never thought he would be so desperate that he'd use actual force against me. But here we are."

The man snorted, shifting his weight, the barrel of his gun steady. "Big talk for a guy cowering behind a table. Give up the wallet."

Rachel's eyes flicked to Darren, her hand hovering over a microcharge explosive she'd grabbed from the other man's belt. Darren gave a subtle nod, his pulse hammering but his face stone-cold.

Rachel slapped the charge onto the wall beside the vault door, its adhesive locking with a faint click.

"Turn!" she hissed.

Darren leaked down with her.

BOOM!

The detonation was a controlled blast that tore through the concrete like a thunderclap.

Dust and debris rained down, the shockwave rattling their bones. The third man stumbled, coughing, his gun dipping as he fought to regain balance.

Darren was on him in a flash, moving like a shadow. He swept the man's legs with a low kick, then drove a fist into his jaw with a crack that echoed in the small room. The man collapsed, out cold, his mask askew.

"Corridor!" Rachel yelled, already sprinting toward the elevator, her boots pounding the debris-strewn floor. Two more figures loomed in the smoky hallway— Scotland's backup, their suppressors flashing as rounds zipped past, one grazing the pedestal with a high-pitched zing.

Darren dove after Rachel, the air alive with the whine of gunfire, his heart pounding in his ears.

Rachel tapped buttons on the elevator. "Come on, come on," she muttered, sweat beading on her forehead. The panel screeched.

Darren crouched over her, makeshift baton crackling, his eyes locked on the advancing figures. A bullet sparked off the wall inches from his head. "How long?" he growled.

"Ten seconds," Rachel snapped, her voice tight but focused. "Don't get shot."

Another round buried itself in the concrete, chips flying. Darren's jaw clenched, his body coiled like a spring. "Don't worry. I don't think they're trying to shoot us."

The panel flashed a green light and the elevator doors slid open with a groan.

They dove inside, Rachel slamming the button for the garage level. The doors sealed shut, muffling the gunfire and chaos outside. Silence crashed over them, heavy and tense, broken only by their ragged breathing and the faint hum of the lift.

Darren stared at his reflection in the mirrored panel, his face pale, eyes hard, the cold wallet a solid weight against his ribs.

Rachel looked at him. "That was the craziest thing that has ever happened to me."

Darren didn't seem very amused. "That was Scotland's crew," he said, his voice low, like he was stating a fact to himself.

Rachel, noticing his sternness, simply nodded. "You were right. Doesn't seem like they weren't shooting to kill," she said, catching her breath. "Just to scare us."

"Scotland would be idiotic to commit murder," Darren said, his tone like ice. "They wanted us to grab the wallet. Let us do the work, then steal it. Come to think of it, that has been his strategy all this time."

Rachel leaned against the wall, her chest heaving, but her eyes were sharp. "Sloppy, though. They didn't expect us to be this skilled."

Darren's jaw tightened, fighting the smirk.

Rachel glanced at him with a furrowed brow. "What's the play now? We've got the wallet, but they're on our tail."

Darren exhaled. "We disappear. Crack the wallet somewhere safe, use the seed phrase, and transfer the coins before Scotland — or anyone else — catches up."

Rachel raised a brow. "Anyone else?"

Ding!

The lift announced they were in garage level

Darren's hand tightened around the wallet, his other gripping the baton, ready for anything.

The doors parted, revealing the dark expanse of the underground garage, their black SUV waiting in the shadows.

Darren stepped out first, his boots echoing on the cold concrete. Rachel followed, her eyes scanning the darkness. The air was damp, smelling of oil and metal, the only sound the faint drip of water somewhere in the distance. They moved toward the SUV, their steps quick but cautious, the tension thick enough to cut.

Darren's hand was on the SUV's door handle when a blinding DUM! DUM! DUM!

A blinding glare sliced through the night, high beams from a car parked at the garage's exit flooding the space with harsh white light. He froze, his pulse spiking.

The low rumble of an engine growled to life, and then, from the shadows, the silhouettes of six figures appeared. Each held a rifle, and their barrels trained on Darren and Rachel.

The duo glanced at each other.

"Come carefully," a voice called, low and precise, with a faint Eastern European accent. "Move slow, or you don't leave alive."

Darren's eyes narrowed, his hand slipping from the door handle, the wallet still secure inside his blazer. He raised his hands slowly, signaling Rachel to do the same. She complied, her jaw tight, her eyes flicking between the guns and Darren, confusion flashing across her face.

"Who the hell are these guys?" she whispered.

Darren didn't answer, his gaze locked on the figures. "Stay calm," he murmured. "Do what they say."

They stepped forward, hands raised, as the rifles tracked their every move like a warning. As they approached the car— a shiny, black Mercedes with tinted windows— the men came closer and handcuffed them.

Rachel moaned.

"Hey! Careful with her!" Darren shouted.

They didn't say anything and continued, taking them towards the door.

Darren looked around, his gaze locking to each and every masked face, until he saw a particular face that caused his heart to leap.

There, standing beside the Mercedes, was the Romanian girl from Cluj-Napoca — the one who'd given him the black card. Next to her stood a man, tall and gaunt, his expensive coal-black suit tailored to perfection, his face scarred and cruel, like a blade given human form.

The girl gave him an impassive look, but her eyes never left his, and the man beside her, he appeared to be proud, her curious.

Darren's mind could only think of the words 'Lotus Triad' and Rachel's safety when he was forced into the car.

The door clicked shut.