Chapter206 Being Followed
The man lightly pressed the record button on his phone, capturing the moment when Miranda and Harrison faced each other across the table.
He didn't record Miranda's fierce rebuttal afterward, or the part where she stomped on Harrison's foot.
Without sound, with the café's ambient lighting, from this angle, it looked like a couple having a lovers' quarrel.
The man skillfully opened his chat app, found Clifton's name, and sent the video.
Then he pulled up another video from his phone's album.
It was from when Miranda had gone to the neighboring city to relax and happened to run into Harrison at a restaurant. He had "coincidentally" captured that encounter too.
After both videos were sent successfully, the man pressed the voice message button, his tone carrying a hint of amusement.
"Clifton, seems like your wife isn't much. She keeps getting entangled with her ex-husband again and again."
After doing all this, the man unhurriedly put away his phone, paid his bill, and left.
Meanwhile, inside the café.
Harrison's mind kept replaying every word Miranda had just said.
"He's going to be just fine, and you have no right to say anything bad about him."
The way she defended that man felt like a knife stabbing into his heart, twisting and tearing at his flesh.
An overwhelming wave of jealousy and resentment nearly consumed his rationality.
Miranda was his wife!
He'd made mistakes, he admitted that, and he would do everything in his power to bring her back to his side, to make it up to her, to cherish her.
But that damn man...
Some random nobody who came out of nowhere. What right did he have to steal his woman?
A terrifying darkness flashed in Harrison's eyes.
He walked to the most secluded corner of the café and dialed a number.
The call was answered almost immediately.
Harrison's voice was low. "I need you to make trouble for someone."
"It'd be best if something happened to him," his voice held no warmth, only bone-chilling malice, "the kind that puts him in the hospital for months."
There was a moment of silence on the other end, then a respectful response. "Understood."
After hanging up, Harrison's mood hadn't improved at all.
His fingers gripped the cold phone so tightly it seemed he might crush it.
Anyone who dared covet what was his would pay.
Evening.
A black Jeep was driving from the suburbs toward the city.
Clifton sat in the driver's seat, his expression indifferent, one hand resting on the steering wheel. His gaze occasionally swept to the rearview mirror, his eyes ice-cold.
He had a tail.
Two black sedans had been following him for several kilometers, keeping their distance. Their tracking technique was laughably amateur.
He glanced at his phone screen, which showed two videos and one voice message received an hour ago.
In the videos, his wife was having an "intimate moment" with her ex-husband.
Clifton's eyes darkened. He casually tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, not even bothering to open them.
Compared to this boring attempt at manipulation, he was more interested in getting some exercise.
He yanked the steering wheel, and the Jeep turned onto a deserted side road.
The two cars behind followed without hesitation.
Watching the headlights growing closer in his rearview mirror, a bloodthirsty smile curved Clifton's lips.
He slammed on the brakes. With the screech of tires against pavement, the tall Jeep stopped dead in the middle of the road.
Before the people behind could react, Clifton had already pushed open his door and gotten out, moving so fast it was almost impossible to see.
He swiftly drew his gun, the dark barrel aimed at the tires of the two cars behind him.
Bang! Bang!
The front car's two front tires exploded instantly. The vehicle swerved and crashed into a utility pole on the roadside.
The car behind braked hard. Before its occupants could react, two more shots rang out.
"Bang! Bang!"
The sound of exploding tires was particularly sharp in the quiet night.
The car doors were violently pushed open, and seven or eight men armed with steel pipes and machetes rushed out, looking vicious.
Clifton leaned casually against his car door, his figure upright in the wavering light from the damaged headlights.
"Heh."
A soft laugh escaped his throat, laden with mockery.
He couldn't even remember the last time someone had dared to follow him like this.
"Get him! Cripple him!" the bald leader shouted.
The seven or eight men, as if receiving an order, roared and charged at Clifton.
The last trace of warmth disappeared from Clifton's eyes, replaced by murderous intent.
The first man to reach him raised his steel pipe high, bringing it down toward Clifton's head with all his strength!
Clifton didn't dodge. Just as the pipe was about to fall, he lifted his leg.
Fast, precise, ruthless!
One kick, right to the man's abdomen!
"Ugh!"
The man let out a muffled groan. His entire body flew backward, crashed heavily into the car behind him, then slid limply to the ground, instantly unconscious.
One strike, one down!
The remaining attackers froze, terrified by what they'd just witnessed.
But Clifton gave them no time to breathe.
He quickly seized a weapon from another attacker's hands and struck at the others.
Ten minutes later, the fight was over.
On the empty road lay seven or eight men scattered about, all bruised and battered, with broken arms or legs, groaning in pain.
Clifton stood amid the carnage, pulled out his phone, and dialed a number, his voice cold enough to freeze.
"Come clean up this mess."
He gave the address and hung up directly.
Half an hour later, the sound of tires on pavement approached. A military off-road vehicle pulled up and stopped steadily.
Several young men jumped out. Seeing the scene before them, they showed no surprise, only saluted Clifton respectfully.
"Captain!"
Clifton leaned against his car, jerking his chin toward the men on the ground, his tone flat. "Take them back. Interrogate them thoroughly."
"Yes, Captain!"
The team member responded and immediately began picking up the men on the ground like chickens, tossing them into the back of the off-road vehicle.
As he worked, he muttered under his breath, "Tired of living, following our captain like that."
"These sorry excuses couldn't even fill the gaps between our captain's teeth."
He knew very well that never mind seven or eight men, even double that number wouldn't be a match for their captain.
Their captain was a demon who'd fought his way out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood!
Usually, it was the captain training them. Now, finally, they'd have some fun too.