Chapter 20 You Are Not Even Worthy to Carry My Shoes
When the gun barrel was pulled out of Howard's mouth, he had already collapsed on the ground, a large wet patch spreading across his crotch.
But he still wouldn't give up.
"Hans, you got the wrong guy!"
Howard desperately scrambled backward, his voice cracking, "The one who hit Garcia was Wayne! A convict who just got out of prison! You should go kill him, not come after us!"
When he said this, only one thought filled his mind: as long as he could redirect the trouble to Wayne, Garcia's fury would shift direction, and the Hawk family would still have a way out.
In his understanding, Wayne was just a worthless ex-con. Garcia had no reason to let the real culprit go and come after them, innocent people.
Hans pulled a combat knife from his waist and without any hesitation, stabbed it straight through Howard's thigh.
Howard's screams echoed through the estate. Blood gushed out along the blade. He looked down at his leg, his whole body convulsing.
"If you dare speak that gentleman's name again, I'll cut out your tongue right now."
Hans pulled out the knife and wiped the blood on Howard's suit.
That gentleman?
Allen knelt on the ground. Hearing these words, his mind went blank.
Hans was Garcia's brother. In the entire Texas underground world, the only people who could earn this level of respect from him were Garcia himself, or someone even higher than Garcia.
But Wayne—a reject kicked out of the family by Merlin, a death row inmate they all considered finished—when did he become someone Hans would respect like this?
There had to be something they didn't know about.
"Hans."
Allen spoke through gritted teeth. He knew if he didn't speak now, the Hawk family would be wiped out here today.
"The Hawk family is about to take over the arms business at West Port. We can bring the Garcia family at least a hundred million dollars in profit every year."
"For a convict who just got out of prison, are you going to destroy this deal?"
This was his last card to play.
Though the Hawk family wasn't large, they controlled a key node in West Port's arms distribution chain. Without them coordinating, a lot of cargo simply couldn't leave port. This was the only reason Joseph was willing to ally with him.
As long as he put the profits on the table, anyone would have to think twice.
Hans kicked Allen in the chest.
The sound of ribs cracking was crisp. Allen was sent flying backward, spitting out a mouthful of blood.
"A hundred million dollars in profit?"
Hans crouched down, grabbed Allen's chin, and turned his face toward him.
"That gentleman holds a Gods' Covenant Card. Do you know what that card is?"
Allen's pupils contracted sharply.
He'd been in the underground world for twenty years. Of course he'd heard that name. In the entire North American dark web circles, the Gods' Covenant Card was synonymous with the highest level of authority. A word from its holder carried more weight than any contract.
"With one word, he could buy ten Texases."
Hans let go and stood up, looking down at Allen sprawled on the ground.
"What are you people? You're not even worthy of carrying his shoes."
Gods' Covenant Card.
These words kept churning in Allen's mind.
In all of North America, fewer than five people could get this card. Each one was a ruthless player who could change the international landscape. With the slightest move of a finger, they could cause a regime change in a country.
And Wayne was one of them.
The Hawk family had actually publicly mocked this kind of person in the mall, calling him too poor to afford a shoelace, even wanting to make him kneel and beg for a job.
This behavior was no different from an ant spitting at an elephant.
Allen's face turned as gray as a corpse.
He finally understood why Garcia had knelt down in the mall to lick Wayne's shoes. It wasn't because he was a coward, but because Garcia understood better than all of them what the holder of that card meant.
Offending this kind of person couldn't be settled with money and apologies—it meant the entire family would disappear from the map.
"Father, don't believe what they're saying!"
Howard clutched his bleeding thigh, still shouting, "Wayne is just a convict. That card must be stolen. How could he possibly..."
Hans backhanded him with a slap that sent Howard sprawling on the ground.
"Is your son's brain damaged?"
Hans looked at Allen. "The Gods' Covenant Card is jointly issued by the dark web and the International Mercenary Alliance. Each one is bound to the holder's biometric information. It can't be forged, can't be transferred. Stolen? Go ahead and steal one for me to see."
Allen closed his eyes.
He understood everything now.
From the very beginning, they had been going against someone in a completely different dimension, and the leverage and confidence they thought they had were less than dust in that person's eyes.
"But you did remind me of something."
Hans turned and walked toward the table, where the "West Port Arms Alliance Agreement" that Joseph and Allen had just signed still lay, the ink not yet dry.
This agreement was the Hawk family's entire hope for a comeback. Allen had spent a third of the family's assets to secure this partnership, and it was the core credential that made Joseph willing to provide resources for the alliance.
Without this agreement, the Hawk family was nothing in Texas.
Hans picked up the agreement and flipped through two pages.
"This piece of garbage, and you dare call it an alliance?"
He walked to a fire pit in the corner of the estate that Joseph used to burn confidential documents. There were still embers inside.
Hans tossed the agreement in.
The moment the paper touched the hot coals, the edges curled. Flames leaped up, devouring the signatures and clauses.
"No!"
Allen struggled to crawl over, but two private soldiers stomped him back down.
The fire wasn't just burning an agreement—it was burning the Hawk family's last chance at a comeback, the only path upward he'd earned through twenty years of accumulation. Once it was burned, there would be nothing left.
"Having offended that gentleman, from today on, there is no more Hawk family in Texas."
Hans watched the ashes in the fire pit, his tone flat.
"Joseph of West Port won't see tomorrow's sun either."
"This is Garcia's position."
Lying on the gravel ground, Allen heard these words and lost even his last bit of strength to struggle. He lay there motionless.
He'd operated in West Port for over a decade, building up all those connections, channels, and armed forces, and because of a few stupid words Howard said in the mall, it had all turned to nothing.
If he'd known earlier that Wayne was this level of person, forget about forming an alliance to oppose him—he wouldn't have dared to even meet Wayne's face.
"You... you can't do this..."
Charlotte huddled in a corner, shaking like a sieve, repeatedly mumbling the same phrase. Her eyes had gone vacant, pupils unfocused—clearly her mind had broken.
Hans glanced at her but didn't respond.
"Take everyone. Hand them over to Garcia for disposal."
The private soldiers began wrapping up, dragging people off the ground one by one and stuffing them into vehicles.
When Howard was dragged across the gravel path, the wound on his thigh scraped against the ground. He rolled around in pain, but barely had the strength left to scream.
Even now, he couldn't figure out how just saying a few words in a mall had led to this. How had a convict he looked down on become someone even Garcia had to kneel to?
The agreement in the fire pit had burned to ash. When the wind blew, the paper ash scattered in the air above the estate.
Hans took one last look at the estate that had been smashed beyond recognition, bit down on his cigar, and turned to get in the car.
The convoy started their engines, rolling over the gravel and debris in the estate's front yard, filing out through the gate one by one.
The estate fell completely silent.
Broken glass was everywhere, along with shattered furniture and bloodstains on the ground that hadn't been cleaned up yet.
And at this moment, in the deepest part of West Port, at the end of an inconspicuous underground passage, there was a safe room isolated by three steel doors.
Inside there were no windows, only cold white lights and a row of communication equipment.
On one of the top-secret communicators, a red light suddenly came on.