What ever happened to honesty between people?
Xu Dan had only walked a few steps when he saw six or seven men in black suits sprinting straight toward him.
At once, he grinned.
Their outfits stood out awkwardly in this quiet little town—clearly the same outsiders who'd arrived in those black SUVs.
So these must be the fools who dared to snatch his prey from him, huh?
"Move it! Don't let that bitch get away!""Faster, faster!"
They were shouting as they ran—right toward Xu Dan—without realizing they were running headfirst into a tiger's jaws.
He watched them approach, quite satisfied."Since you're so eager," he murmured, "I'll make it quick for you."
The next instant, he struck.
When the seven men were barely a meter and a half away, Xu Dan shot forward like a pouncing leopard!
His strength was overwhelming, his speed explosive—lightning-fast.
The men had no time at all to react.
Bang! Bang!
A single punch, a single kick—two of them were sent flying backward.
They'd already been running full tilt, and now, with his force smashing into theirs, the combined impact was like being hit by a freight train.
No one knew how many ribs snapped as they crashed to the ground, unmoving.
Two down in one exchange. Xu Dan didn't relax.
This was his first real fight—not like those seasoned superheroes who had experience to spare. He was relying purely on his brain's analysis to find the most direct, most efficient ways to strike.
Everything happened in an instant. The remaining men barely registered their comrades being flung away before a crushing pain exploded in their stomachs.
Xu Dan swung his iron fists level with his waist, his biceps contracting like coiled steel. A punch like that could make a bull leap—what chance did ordinary men have?
The two in front folded over, intestines twisted and crushed, mouths open in silent agony as their bodies convulsed.
Four down. Xu Dan pressed forward.
One breath, one surge—he leapt into the air, his long leg sweeping out like a dragon's tail!
The power behind it was terrifying. The remaining three men didn't even know what hit them before darkness swallowed their minds.
"Phew."
Xu Dan exhaled softly. Victory—his first battle.
His heart was pounding fast. Every muscle in his body seemed to be burning with heat.
"Well damn," he muttered, "this ain't like schoolyard brawls at all."
Grumbling under his breath, he started toward the direction where the gunshot had come from—quickly.
He didn't realize just how different this was.
A normal fight might end with a few clumsy punches, some rolling on the ground.
But he—he'd sent men flying.
With bare fists, he'd crippled them.
And then one airborne kick had knocked out three more.
What kind of student fight ended like that?
Maybe in a Japanese anime, sure.
From afar, he soon spotted a group of people.
They stood out in this silent town like ink on snow—every one of them spitting curses like "shit" and "bitch," the very picture of American street scum.
And that little chick, Skye, had already been cornered in a dead-end alley.
There was no way out. Several of the black-suited thugs had drawn their pistols—not yet off safety, but the sight of those black muzzles aimed at her was enough to freeze anyone's blood.
She'd been running for over an hour, and her strength—already far less than theirs—was nearly gone.
"Run, bitch! Let's see if you can climb the damn wall!""On your knees, slut!""Hey, Jesk, maybe you want her on her knees for something else, huh?"
There were about a dozen of them, blocking every way out.
None rushed her yet; they were relaxed, smirking, certain she had nowhere left to go.
Before reporting back to their boss, they clearly planned to "enjoy" themselves first.
Skye's face, though unpainted, was naturally beautiful—clean, fresh, even more attractive than the heavily made-up women they were used to.
And her figure—well, for these men, that mattered more than any pretty face.
"You bastards!" Skye spat, furious and defiant.
Of course, her curse meant nothing to them.
She was furious—because she didn't owe them half a million dollars.
She'd already repaid the original three thousand and its interest in installments.
But only she knew the truth.
These men were liars, scum—she'd fallen into a well-oiled trap.
And she knew exactly what would happen if they caught her alive: she'd end up as one of those women working the tunnels after dark, "repaying" a debt she never owed.
Even if she sold her body a thousand times, they'd never release her. They'd use her until she was dead, buried in some nameless field, forgotten forever.
If that was what awaited her, she'd rather die here and now.
But before dying, she intended to drag one or two of them down with her.
Her eyes locked on the man with the nose ring.
Ugly bastard. Thought a piercing made him cool?
And that sleazy guy next to him—he was the one who'd loaned her the money in the first place! No wonder the "loan approval" had been so easy—he was a conman from the start.
Her raised hands began to move—slowly, ready to strike.
If she lunged, bullets would meet her—but better to take a few with her than wait to be dragged off alive.
Just as she steeled herself to fight, a voice came from behind the crowd.
"Hey. What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Who—?
Skye froze. She wasn't naïve enough to believe in knights in shining armor. That only happened in movies.
And her face—dry and makeup-free—hardly screamed "damsel worth saving."
So it had to be a local—some unlucky townsperson who'd stumbled across the scene.
Damn it!
She hadn't meant to drag an innocent bystander into this.
Another sin on her head…
"Buddy," one of the black-suits called, sneering, "this ain't your business. Walk away—unless you want something real bad to happen to you."
Of course. Threats—standard stuff. They weren't trained killers, but they didn't need to be; mob fear worked just as well.
But the "villager" in front of them didn't flinch. He just stood there, calm, almost stupidly still.
Was he some country bumpkin who didn't understand what "get lost" meant coming from armed thugs?
Damn it!
Why did an innocent fool have to show up now?
Skye's stomach sank—despair tightening its grip.
There was no breaking through; every one of them had a gun.
If that poor man died here, she'd at least take one down with her.
-----------------------
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