Chapter 203

Graham finished speaking and leaned back in his chair, a trace of amused interest curving his lips.

He wanted William to watch this woman's blood drain away drop by drop, to watch the person he cared about most in this world be tortured to death right in front of him. He wanted him to taste the agony of losing someone he loved. That was revenge. A single bullet was too merciful.

The twelve masked figures turned toward Victoria the instant the order was given.

The one in front planted his left foot hard and exploded forward two meters with shocking speed, his right fist whistling through the air straight for Victoria's throat.

The angle was vicious, the force brutal. Before the punch even connected, Victoria felt the crushing pressure against her windpipe. She dodged sideways, the fist grazing her ear and creating a sharp crack in the air.

But before she could regain her balance, the second and third masked figures attacked simultaneously from her right rear and left front. One swept at the back of her knee, the other drove an elbow at her side—the angles perfectly cutting off every escape route.

The fourth had been crouched in her blind spot, waiting. His whip kick sliced through the air toward her ankle with perfect timing.

Victoria couldn't dodge.

But William was faster. The moment Victoria turned to block the fatal strike and brace for the other attacks, his hand was already around her wrist, yanking her behind him.

Her body lifted almost completely off the ground as he pulled her through the gap between the two attackers, landing solidly two meters behind him.

At the same time, William's left forearm shot out, precisely blocking the frontal attacker's punch. The impact made a dull thud. His cufflink flew off, and a red welt immediately rose on his forearm.

Using the recoil, he twisted sideways and rammed his shoulder into the second masked figure, deflecting the attack by thirty degrees. Frank moved into position beside him in the same instant, throwing both fists to force back the third and fourth attackers. The two of them locked down the two critical points of the triangle formation.

But there were twelve opponents. The moment the front line was blocked, the rear figures had already silently repositioned. Four masked fighters pressed the frontal assault, fists, elbows, knees, and legs hammering down on William and Frank like a violent storm.

Another four found their opening, moving quickly along the walls from both sides, cutting in from behind and lunging straight for Victoria.

Victoria pulled the knife strapped to her calf and struck first, slashing the forearm of the first attacker before his punch could land.

The masked figure flinched back, but before she could retract the blade, the second attacker's knee drove into her stomach.

She grunted and doubled over. The third attacker chopped down on her wrist, and the knife flew from her hand, clattering against the wall.

The fourth grabbed her ponytail while she was bent over and slammed her against the wall, driving a knee into her spine and wrenching both her arms behind her back.

Rope appeared from nowhere. Rough hemp dug into her wrists, tangling with the already bloodstained gauze. The tightening made a teeth-grinding friction sound.

She struggled to lift her head and saw William taking hits from four masked figures at once. One punch to his shoulder blade, one elbow to his ribs, one kick to the back of his knee, another hand twisting his arm behind his back—forcing him down to one knee.

His eyes were searching for her. Through seven masked figures, he saw her pinned against the wall, hands bound behind her. His gaze turned bloodshot.

Frank was the last to fall. One masked figure locked his throat from behind; another kicked the back of his knee three times until his legs gave out and he collapsed face-down. A third bound his hands behind his back, then dragged him up by his collar.

All three were forced to their knees before Graham, hands bound behind them.

William's face was bruised and bloodied, his breathing labored, but his spine remained ramrod straight, his eyes cold as tempered steel.

Victoria knelt beside him, hair disheveled, a line of blood at the corner of her mouth. The violent struggle had reopened her hand wounds. Her gauze-wrapped right hand was completely soaked through, blood dripping from the end of the bandage. But she didn't lower her head. She glared at the man crossing his legs in front of her.

Frank was held at the far end, consciousness fading but still fighting not to pass out.

Graham slowly rose from his chair and walked before the three, hands clasped behind his back. He bent slightly, examining them one by one from left to right, finally stopping in front of William. He looked down at his disheveled state. His smile deepened slowly, filled with ten years of satisfaction and undisguised pleasure.

"William, should I slit her throat first, or chop off her fingers?" He held a knife, its cold tip sliding slowly across Victoria's face—from her cheekbone to her jaw, then from her jaw to the side of her neck. His expression was mocking as he stared at William.

"You wouldn't dare! Don't touch her—come at me instead!" William roared, trying to stand, but the masked figures forced him back down.

Graham laughed, his gaze on Victoria growing more satisfied, as if he'd found the most interesting toy in this game.

"Ms. Getty," his voice suddenly turned gentle, soft in a way that made skin crawl, "speaking of which, you and I share an even deeper connection. You must be dying to know where your sister's heart is now."

Victoria's head snapped up, something igniting instantly in her eyes.

Graham raised his hand to touch his left chest, the gesture tender as if caressing a precious collectible. "Right here."

"A young heart really is something special. You know what my doctor said? He said this heart was perfect—young, healthy, excellent myocardial elasticity, like a brand-new engine. Oh, and I should thank your sister for one thing. To maintain the heart's viability, they had to extract it while she was alive. No anesthesia. She was conscious the entire time. She really worked hard for me."

Victoria's pupils contracted to pinpoints. Her entire body surged like an enraged lioness, and the two masked figures holding her actually stumbled back half a step. The sound from her throat was hoarse and torn, like thunder exploding from the deepest part of her chest: "Graham! I'm going to kill you!"

Graham threw his head back and laughed. The sound echoed through the alley, utterly triumphant.

Victoria's struggles grew more violent. Tears filled her eyes but didn't fall. Her body twisted desperately against the ropes. Both masked figures applied more force to her shoulders, pressing her face almost to the floor. She lay there, gasping, and finally her tears mixed with the blood on her face and fell, spreading into small dark patches on the ground.

"That's more like it." Graham crouched before her, tilting his head to watch her cry, completely satisfied. "Go ahead and cry. You won't have time soon."

He stood and turned to walk back to his chair. The second he turned his back—

Victoria moved.

She'd already quietly loosened the ropes. Now she concentrated all her strength in her wrists and yanked. The hemp rope snapped with a crack.

In the next second, she flipped up and kicked away the two masked figures pinning her. Her body slid out nimbly, her right foot planted, and she launched herself at Graham's back like an arrow from a bow.

The heel of her right palm slammed into his upper back between the shoulder blades with crushing force. Then her wrist turned, the edge of her hand chopping viciously into the left side of his chest—precise placement, brutal impact. A dull thud.

Graham's body convulsed like a fish hit with an electric current. His mouth gaped wide as he let out a piercing scream, both hands clutching his left chest as he fell backward.

He rolled on the ground in agony, his nails clawing through his shirt and tearing the skin on his chest. Blood seeped from the scratches, but he didn't care—the pain inside his ribcage was a hundred times worse than any external injury.

"It hurts—my heart—" His voice cracked after the second scream, dissolving into broken, incoherent howls. "Bitch! What did you do to me!"