Chapter 280 Enough
When William walked out of the villa, he was still holding the dog leash in his hand.
He dragged Juniper along, then suddenly started running cheerfully, as if he'd turned young again.
Just like a little kid playing with his own pet.
Before getting in the car, he turned to look at that small tent.
He watched Ambrose hiding in a place the sunlight couldn't reach, curled up in the tent's shadow.
He shook his head.
"This guy is really stubborn."
"I don't want to kill him, but he wants to take my life first."
A bitter smile appeared at the corner of William's mouth.
He remembered how Isabella used to plead for Ambrose when she was still alive.
Back then, Isabella was so obedient—whatever he said, she would do.
William couldn't help thinking how charming Isabella had been back then.
She was like the most fragrant and beautiful flower in the world, attracting so many butterflies to circle around her.
William stepped on Juniper's back to get into the car, then pulled on the chain. Juniper crawled up using both hands and feet, lying down at his feet.
He looked at Juniper lying at his feet, his eyes showing a satisfied smile.
But in the end, he was the one who had plucked that flower.
William no longer felt inferior.
Ever since he passed out that day, he had forgotten what inferiority felt like.
The wound on his left hand, hidden under his thick suit, was still festering. When he sat down, his left hand would shake uncontrollably.
But William was very good at enduring. He kept trying hard to control it.
So to outsiders, his left hand just looked like he was casually moving his fingers.
Even Dylan hadn't noticed this.
Every time he opened his eyes, William could feel a sense of weakness, as if all his strength had been drained, hanging over him.
But after leaving that door, he would immediately make himself act like a normal person.
The car slowly drove away. William looked in the rearview mirror.
He saw the person hiding in the tent finally come out, look toward the villa, then follow in the direction the car was going.
William watched silently. He didn't believe human legs could really outrun a four-wheeled car.
He looked away and closed his eyes to rest.
When they arrived under the overpass, he found Dylan had been right—this place looked just like a small refugee camp.
Not only were there several more tents, but the air also smelled of alcohol.
William looked at those dirty men and unhooked Juniper's leash.
Juniper, wearing that collar, crawled toward the homeless men on her own.
She already knew what she was supposed to do.
When she crawled on all fours, those homeless men immediately let out cheers.
"Look, that bitch is here again."
"This whore's pussy is all worn out."
"Be grateful you've got something to fuck, stop being picky."
One of the homeless men suddenly climbed onto Juniper's back, one hand grabbing the collar around her neck, the other hand slapping her butt.
"Run! Run!"
"Stop!"
His ridiculous actions immediately drew roars of laughter.
Even William, standing in the distance watching quietly, showed a smile at the corner of his mouth.
William waved his hand behind him.
One of his men handed over a briefcase. When the black briefcase opened, it was full of neatly arranged bills.
Each stack of bills had 100 notes, exactly ten thousand dollars.
William pulled out two stacks and handed them to another subordinate.
The man immediately understood William's intention, took those two stacks of bills, walked up quickly, and handed them to the homeless man.
After taking the money, the man held up one stack in each hand. Still riding on Juniper's back, he laughed loudly.
"Wow, didn't expect to get paid for this."
"You little bitch, I like you more and more."
The rest of the homeless men all rushed forward, scrambling to ride Juniper, this "little mare."
William just watched quietly, having Dylan personally film everything.
He had someone set up a chair on top of the car with an umbrella for shade. Holding a wine glass, he closed his eyes and took a sip.
When he opened his eyes again, he saw the chaos in the distance still hadn't stopped.
His brow furrowed slightly.
With just one look from him, one of his men immediately pulled out a gun and fired three shots into the sky.
Dylan, holding the camera, shouted loudly, "Hurry up and get to business, Mr. Spencer's time is valuable."
Those newly arrived homeless men had even stronger desire in their eyes than the others.
William even suspected that, even without paying them, they'd still be willing to take this job.
His left hand swayed gently, four fingers also shaking, covering up the traces of his arm twitching.
William's left hand looked like it was keeping time, or just moving meaninglessly.
Just then, a gunshot rang out on his right.
William turned his head to look—it was Ambrose.
His eyes were as cold as stone, showing no human emotion.
But those eyes kept staring at William.
He stepped forward, walking toward the car step by step, but one of the men fired a shot at his feet.
Ambrose finally paused for a moment, looking down at his own feet.
Both legs were intact—that bullet had shot deep into the ground.
He raised his head again and continued walking forward with the same blank expression.
William's man fired another shot.
But this time the gun had lost its power to intimidate.
Ambrose didn't even blink; his feet didn't stop; he kept walking forward.
Seven or eight bodyguards blocked the front of the car with their bodies, forming a human wall.
The man who fired the gun looked sideways at William.
With just one word from William, Ambrose would be shot dead.
But William didn't give the order. The gun just hung in the air.
He could only watch as Ambrose walked up to them step by step.
One of them punched Ambrose in the stomach.
Ambrose grunted, bent over, holding his breath. Slowly, he raised his head again and continued staring at William.
Seeing that William showed no reaction, those subordinates became a bit bolder.
They wouldn't kill Ambrose, but they definitely wouldn't let him challenge their professional standards.
Soon Ambrose's clothes were covered with many footprints. He was kicked to the ground and couldn't get up.
He covered his head with both hands, curled up like a shrimp.
When those bodyguards stopped, Ambrose wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth.
He pushed himself up from the ground and started walking forward again.
But soon those bodyguards' fists and feet came down on him like rain again.
When he fell to the ground the second time, he was barely breathing.
Ambrose's hands pressed against the ground. He tried several times before he could barely stand up.
He hunched over, his body swaying—just a gust of wind could have knocked him down.
Ambrose walked forward again. Before those bodyguards could attack a third time, William's expression finally changed.
"Enough!"