"T-Tristan Sinclair?" His voice shook. He knew this man for sure. They were mortal enemies. "So you are the one who attacked our base?" he continued to ask, feeling his anger spike.
Tristan ignored the man’s question. Instead, he asked, "Why the rush?" as he moved forward, shortening the distance between them. He stopped a few steps from him, ignoring the gun still pointed toward his head.
The man clenched the gun even tighter, cursing Tristan Sinclair repeatedly in his mind when he saw how calm he remained, even though he had threatened him.
Since yesterday, he had been suspicious about why two of his mbers, who were being held captive by Tristan Sinclair, were suddenly released. Even though his people did not directly co to their main villa, Tristan Sinclair still found them in this secluded place.
He had predicted this would happen and planned to relocate their entire base tomorrow. Still, he hadn’t anticipated Tristan Sinclair would attack them much earlier. Now, he regretted not acting by following his instincts.
"How do you know this path?" he asked, curiosity flooding him. This was a hidden path that only he and a few high-ranking leaders knew about. Even the entryway was well hidden.
He had been too confident that no one could trail or trace him here. After all, once he got to this ultra-hidden path, he only needed to walk a few miles behind the mountain before finding the stand-by car they had deliberately parked for ergencies like this, allowing them to escape from their pursuers.
Tristan chuckled, his sharp eyes locking onto the man. He hadn’t seen his photo on the list of the most wanted leaders of Dark Skull. Still, finding him here made Tristan strongly suspect that this man was either Marco’s most trusted lieutenant or perhaps Marco himself.
"You think of yourself slick…but the truth is you are predictable. That’s why you can’t escape once you co into my sights," Tristan taunted.
The man gritted his teeth, feeling all his blood rush to his face, consud by anger towards Tristan Sinclair.
"I’ll finish you tonight, Tristan Sinclair. I don’t care if your people hear the gunshot and encircle this place. I don’t care anymore. At least I can drag you down to hell with !" A wicked smile appeared on his lips as he slowly squeezed the trigger.
"Wait!"
"Hahaha," the man laughed sarcastically when he heard Tristan asking him to stop.
"Tristan Sinclair, are you afraid of now? Tsk! Tsk! I thought you were brave enough to die by my hand and co here alone. Fine, fine, move aside. I don’t have ti to play with you.
I’ll give you one last chance to escape your death. You’d better guard your wife because I’m coming for her next. I’ll take her away from you!"
Tristan clenched his fists, his anger surging at the man’s threat, but he tried to control his irritation, suppressing the urge to kill him. Instead, he smiled and said, "So you want to kill ?"
"Mr. Sinclair, if you ask to, I’d be more than happy to oblige," the man said, feeling impatient as he started to hear movent approaching their position. "Damn it, Tristan Sinclair, move now!"
A small smile crept across Tristan’s face as he spotted the man’s weakness.
Tristan moved swiftly, his hand reaching out to grab the man’s arm and twisting it so hard that the sound of bones breaking echoed in the silent night. The man’s roar of pain pierced the silence, and his gun slipped from his hand.
Tristan snatched the gun out of mid-air before it hit the ground.
He released the man’s wrist and, in a single fluid motion, stepped back two paces, raising the gun and aiming it at the man’s head. His cold gaze t the man’s, whose face had turned ghostly white as he held his broken wrist, his eyes wide with terror.
Everything had happened so fast that the man barely understood what had happened. One mont, he was in control; the next, Tristan had disard him and pointed his own gun at him.
"Y-You, how did you move so fast?" the man asked in a trembling voice, too stunned to process that Tristan had taken his gun in an instant.
A cold smile spread across Tristan’s calm face. "You want to kill ? Well, go ahead—if you think you’ve got the ability."
The man no longer cared about the searing pain in his wrist. He knew he was finished. With Tristan Sinclair now possessing the gun, any thought of fighting back seed futile.
Tristan didn’t bother with more words. He looked in a specific direction and said, "You can handle him. Make him talk," before tossing the gun to Geoffrey, who appeared in the shadows.
The man’s shock deepened. Only now did he realize Tristan Sinclair wasn’t alone. Another figure had been lurking behind him all along. The man could tell from his presence that this newcor might be even stronger than Tristan.
The newcor kicked him before he could turn to get a better look.
"On your knees!"
"Argh!!" The man scread in agony as the forceful kick sent him crashing to his knees in front of Tristan Sinclair, who stood just a few steps ahead.
"You don’t have to torture . I’m not going to say anything, Tristan... Arrgh, damn it..." he growled as the gun struck his skull. He felt like his brain had shattered, and a deafening ring filled his ears, leaving him unable to hear for a mont.
Internally, he cursed the man who hit him. How dare he strike his head?
"Speak nonsense again, and you’ll kiss your skull goodbye!" Geoffrey’s cold voice made the man shiver. He pressed his lips together tightly, gritting his teeth as blood began to trickle from the corner of his mouth.
"What’s your na? How many leaders are there?" Geoffrey demanded.
The man clenched his fists, but before he could resist further, he realized he was out of options.
"Looks like you’ve accepted your fate, young man. Fine–"
"Four!" the man blurted out.
"Nas?" Geoffrey pressed again.
Tristan and Geoffrey exchanged glances as the man, his voice trembling, listed several nas.
"And you? What’s your na?" Geoffrey asked once more.
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