North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws Chapter 140 - 116: How Do You Know I’m a Pervert?1

The surroundings unfolded in Dean’s mind like a three-dinsional landscape. Then, his body instinctively exerted force, borrowed montum, and burst forward, transforming the rugged mountain terrain into what felt like flat ground beneath his feet.

The wind howled against him.

At this mont, Dean felt no pain.

He only felt a surge of heat. His heart pounded at an extraordinary pace, like a high-pressure pump, forcing blood to every part of his body and continuously supplying him with energy.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Bullets streaked from the mountaintop.

They landed either in front of the rapidly approaching figure or to his sides.

Through rapid changes in speed to dodge the bullets, the threat of the single-shot rifle was minimized.

"FK, what kind of monster is this!"

Atop the mountain, a pair of eyes reflected shock and terror.

Gritting his teeth, the man quickly swapped to a new magazine, preparing to try to kill his target again, but the figure had already vanished from his sight.

He’s in the woods!

Recalling the target’s cheetah-like speed made the man’s scalp tingle.

This person, hit in the arm by my own gunfire, is definitely not the kind of prey we brothers typically hunt.

Realizing he had provoked soone terrifying, the man dropped his gun and fled empty-handed in the opposite direction.

Trying to shoot him is useless.

He had no intention of confronting that monster head-on.

Besides, they had a backup plan.

Not far away, in another rocky area, lay the trap zone he and his brother had set up.

It was originally intended for any pursuing police officers, but since no one ever ca, they used it to toy with captured prey and alleviate the boredom of mountain life.

As long as that bastard dares to follow, I’ll give the one who terrified a proper welco!

While fleeing,

CRACKLE...

The walkie-talkie on the man’s chest sputtered. "Little brother, why do I hear gunshots? Has more ’fun’ arrived?"

From the other end of the walkie-talkie, amidst the static, ca the faint sounds of a woman crying and screaming.

Panting heavily, the man replied urgently, "There are two of them! One is chasing ! I’m going to—FK!"

「A cave.」

Hearing his younger brother’s scream through the walkie-talkie, a man wearing multiple layers of leather masks hurriedly dealt with the woman he had, grabbed a nearby semi-automatic rifle, and rushed out.

「Elsewhere.」

Dean snarled, forcing the man—who was screaming and clutching his broken leg—to the edge of a large boulder. "Shoot! Why aren’t you shooting now?"

This was the first ti he’d been shot since arriving in this world!

Even though it was just a graze, Dean was prepared to give this man—the one who had drawn his first blood in this world—a very special "reception."

"Friend, this is all a misunderstanding! I thought you two were the psychos who have been hunting us, that’s why I fired! I ant no harm!" the man pleaded, enduring the agonizing pain from his broken leg, desperately trying to buy so ti.

My big brother will definitely co for !

Little did he know, Dean looked at him with feigned confusion. "How did you know I’m a psycho?"

The man stared, bewildered. What?

The next mont, a sly smile touched Dean’s lips. He grabbed the man’s other leg and, with a forceful wrench and a sickening CRACK, twisted the man’s right lower leg up onto his left shoulder.

That looks asymtrical, Dean mused.

He then picked up the man’s dislocated left lower leg. Amidst the man’s heart-wrenching screams, he wrenched it onto the man’s right shoulder. Then, with chilling deliberation—as if to destroy not just his body but his spirit—Dean seized the man’s hands, forced him to embrace his own grotesquely contorted legs and, under the man’s despairing gaze, interlocked the man’s own fingers and twisted.

After doing all this, and making sure he hadn’t injured the man’s head, Dean tore off strips of the man’s clothing to gag him. He then positioned him on the rock, ensuring that the other Skinning Brother, upon arrival, would have a clear view of his sibling’s grueso state.

Now it’s my turn to fish! Dean thought.

Dean’s usual approach was direct—a swift kill, nothing more. He rarely indulged in such sadistic tendencies, preferring to eliminate opponents cleanly and efficiently, avoiding any chance of things going wrong. That was basic professional conduct.

But today, these brothers had made him break his own rules.

Moving to a good vantage point, Dean sat down, sowhat fatigued, and examined his wound.

The wound was small, about thumb-sized. Only a bit of flesh had been scraped off, and it didn’t even affect his movent.

But recalling the sensation from that mont, Dean fell into deep thought.

The shooter had originally aid for his heart, from the back.

Thanks to his bulletproof vest, even if the bullet had hit its mark, it would have resulted in a re bruise at most.

However, at that precise mont, Dean had felt an itch on his back. He’d instinctively ducked slightly, and that movent had ironically exposed his unprotected shoulder, causing it to actively et the bullet.

The problem was that itch on my back, Dean mused, stroking his chin.

In his previous life, he’d heard so rather extraordinary claims. It was said that so individuals who constantly skirted death developed a sixth sense, almost like wild animals, keenly perceiving mortal danger. If soone aid a firearm at one of their vital spots, they would supposedly sense it.

Dean had been skeptical of this in his past life. Yet, he had just experienced sothing very similar.

Dean shook his head. He couldn’t determine if his back had genuinely been itchy, or if his Spirit attribute, having risen to a certain level, had granted him an animal-like, acute perception.

It was simply inexplicable.

In any case, when Dean tried aiming his own handgun at himself, he felt nothing.

Suddenly, a faint rustling sound ca from behind him.