Chapter 111: The Smell of Blood

Chapter 111 The Smell of Blood

The cold lights automatically flickered on as Anthony walked step by step to a small storage room. Before he even opened the door, he could hear the man inside letting out broken, hoarse roars of rage. "Anthony, just kill me!"

Anthony pushed open the door. The metal door creaked, and the voice-activated lights in the storage room responded with a bright glow. The man inside looked even more haggard than the last time he'd visited—gaunt and skeletal, his eyes bloodshot with hatred as he glared at Anthony, as if he wanted to drag him straight to hell.

Anthony loved seeing him like this—full of resentment yet utterly helpless. A smile played at the corners of his mouth as he picked up a whip from nearby. The dried blood and flesh from previous beatings still clung to it, creating a horrifying sight under the harsh lights. 

The man instinctively flinched when he saw the leather whip.

"Why don't you just kill me, Anthony? What... what kind of man are you! Give me a quick death—at least honor the fact that I once worked for you!"

Anthony shook his head lightly, chuckling. "Death? Death isn't that easy. You're dreaming if you think I'd be that generous. I love watching you suffer, break down, despair." His voice was soft as he spoke, but his eyes held nothing but cold indifference. He raised his hand and viciously lashed the whip across the man's body. The man screamed, his skin splitting open.

"Spare me! Anthony, spare me! I'll do anything you want! Please!"

The six-foot-tall man, pathetically chained, knelt before Anthony. All his previous rage had transformed into humiliation in this moment. The whip had barbs—it hurt too damn much! He couldn't take it anymore. Every time Anthony finished beating him, he had someone bandage his wounds and apply medicine. He couldn't even die if he wanted to!

Anthony let out a cold laugh, madness creeping into his eyes. "Still want to work for me? Too late! I gave you one simple task back then, and look how you screwed it up! Leaving loose ends—do you know how much trouble you've caused me!" 

He lashed down mercilessly, whip after whip. The man could still scream and beg for mercy at first, but eventually only endless whimpers and wails remained.

Anthony didn't stop until his body was drained of strength. He threw the blood-stained whip aside and leaned against the wall, lighting a cigarette. After taking two drags, he looked down coldly at the man sprawled on the ground and suddenly let out a chilling laugh.

"Look at yourself—trash from a mud pile. Your worthless life belongs to me. If I want you to live, you live. If I want you to die, you die."

The man lying on the ground was covered in wounds, blood flowing freely. He whimpered, making a sound that could have been crying or laughing, and croaked, "Mud pile... how are you any better than me..."

Anthony's expression changed instantly. Something that could only be called madness flashed in his cold eyes as he stomped hard on the man's neck, grinding his head forcefully into the dirt. 

Then he crouched down, pressing his lit cigarette against the man's face. The man shuddered from the pain, but compared to the agony he'd just endured, this was nothing—he didn't even cry out.

Anthony extinguished the cigarette on the man's face, then grabbed his collar with a dark expression and hauled him up. The man hung in his grip like a torn rag as Anthony slammed him against the wall. The man screamed once, but before he could struggle, Anthony grabbed his head and smashed it again! Over and over, vicious, bloody, brutal.

Only when the man went completely limp in his hands did Anthony finally stop. The man's skull had cracked open. Disgusted, he carelessly threw the body to the ground. "I was planning to let you live, but you had to seek death. Go regret it on your way to hell."

He slowly wiped his fingers clean with a tissue, his expression dark as he turned and left the basement.

Back in his car, he methodically called Leo, telling him to come clean up, then drove aimlessly. When his car finally stopped, he realized he was outside Arabella's new neighborhood. He knew about this place from when he'd had Alexander investigated earlier—it was one of his properties.

The buildings in this complex were pretty old. He wouldn't even bother investing in a place like this—it was fitting for an insurance salesman. But the woman he'd once kept in luxury was now living such an ordinary life. He didn't believe she was truly content with it.

Anthony pulled out his phone and called Arabella. He'd just changed his number. After dialing, it took half a minute before someone picked up. Arabella's sleepy voice came through the receiver. "Hello, who is this?"

Hearing her voice, Anthony couldn't help but smile slightly. In the past, when he came home late from working overtime, Arabella would often wake up when she heard him and get up to make him a late-night snack, keeping him company. Her voice used to sound just like this—sweet, innocent, endearing. 

Anthony didn't know what he was reminiscing about. After a brief moment of distraction, he spoke. "It's me. Were you sleeping?"

As if anticipating Arabella's next move, he continued, "I'm calling about Molly. Do you have time now? I'm downstairs at your place—I'd like to discuss this with you in person."

In the bedroom, Arabella turned on her bedside lamp. She'd just woken up and was still getting used to Alexander's room. Sitting up against the headboard, she asked, "What happened to Molly?"

Alexander also heard the commotion and sat up, looking at her with silent inquiry. 'What's wrong?' Arabella shook her head at him. Alexander didn't ask further questions. He got up and brought her a glass of warm water.

Arabella took it and sipped, hearing Anthony sigh on the other end of the line. "I really can't explain it over the phone. Come down and see me for a moment—I'm here with good intentions." Arabella was about to refuse, but Anthony's next words stopped her: "This is a matter of life and death, Arabella. Don't just stand by and watch someone die."

Arabella held the phone without speaking. Anthony seemed to sense her hesitation and added, "If you won't help, at least help me think of something. Molly is only ten years old. I don't want to watch her just... disappear."

Only then did Arabella startle slightly. After a moment's hesitation, she made her decision. "I'll come down now." 

"Good, I'll wait for you at the complex entrance."

Arabella hung up. Alexander, leaning against the doorframe, asked, "Calling you this late—is it urgent?" He'd recognized the voice on the other end.

Arabella repeated what Anthony had said on the phone, then pressed her lips together. "Whether what he said is true or not, I have to go down and see. Otherwise I won't be able to live with myself." It was a life at stake—nothing else mattered.

She didn't expect Alexander to understand. He'd never done charity work in mountain villages; he didn't know how those children grew up. Even if Alexander thought she was being a busybody, she was prepared for that.

But unexpectedly, Alexander simply said, "I'll come down with you." Then he took a coat and draped it over her shoulders. "It's gotten cold. The temperature drops at night—you'll be freezing out there. Put on a coat."

Since they were in his bedroom, he'd grabbed his own coat—a black windbreaker. As soon as she put it on, Arabella felt warmth envelop her, and with each breath came a clean, cool scent that smelled amazing. Some indescribable feeling rose from deep in her heart.

She looked up to thank him, but unexpectedly found that Alexander was also looking at her. He was very close, his sculpted features right in front of her—handsome and distinguished. The moment their eyes met, Arabella's heart suddenly began racing, as if something was surging wildly through her bloodstream, leaving her somewhat flustered.

Fortunately, Alexander quickly withdrew his hand and smiled casually. "Let's go."

Arabella followed him out in a daze. When they reached the elevator, she realized he was holding her hand. She felt a bit uncomfortable. Although she rationally knew Alexander was gay and that they were just good friends, even she and Philip had never held hands like this. Philip's explanation had been: only women like holding hands—even gay men don't do such clingy things.

Yet now, Alexander was holding her hand. They'd had physical contact before, and Alexander had pulled her along too, but he'd always grabbed her wrist—maintaining appropriate distance between friends. 

But holding hands... If he were a woman, Arabella wouldn't have worried about it. If he were a straight man, she definitely would have shaken him off without a second thought.

But he happened to be gay. She was afraid that being too direct would hurt his feelings, so she swallowed her words. Her mind raced with confused thoughts, but she let Alexander hold her hand, not pulling away even when they entered the elevator.

Outside the complex, Anthony watched the two figures walking side by side under the streetlights, his expression dark and unreadable. Only when Arabella and Alexander approached did he coldly shift his gaze away from their joined hands.

Looking at Arabella, his tone was far from polite. "I called for you. Why did you bring something else?" As if he didn't consider Alexander a person at all.

Before Arabella could speak, Alexander replied calmly, "My wife running out in the middle of the night—who knows if there are sketchy people out there, or if someone has ulterior motives. Of course I'm worried and need to come along."

Anthony looked at him with disgust. Truly worthy of being a salesman—that mouth really could talk, always leaving him unable to retort. Moreover, Alexander's warning from last time still echoed in his ears. Although he felt those words were mostly hot air, he couldn't help feeling somewhat wary.

He deliberately ignored Alexander, not responding to those words, and looked only at Arabella. "Arabella, Molly was beaten by my mother today—beaten badly. The doctor said if we'd arrived any later, she would have died. Since it happened once, it'll happen again. You know my mother's temper. If Molly stays with the Watson family, her life will definitely be hell. So I wanted to discuss with you—could you take care of Molly?"

He'd come here without any plan, but while waiting for Arabella, he'd figured it out. Neither he nor Cassidy was suitable to raise Molly—Arabella was the right choice. And if he sent Molly to Arabella, it might also improve his relationship with her.

Arabella's refusal was blunt. "You're the ones who took away Molly's custody, not leaving me any chance. Now you want me to take care of her again? Do I owe her something? Or do I owe the Watson family something?"

Anthony frowned, somewhat annoyed. "This is for the child's sake. How can you call it owing? You've been working on adopting Molly and have deep feelings for her. She's in trouble—what's wrong with you taking care of her?"

"Take care of her like how you took care of Cassidy, accidentally ending up in bed together?" Arabella's eyes curved in a smile, but they held nothing but coldness. She'd thought Anthony had called her down for some major emergency, but it was just this. 

Of course Arabella wouldn't kick Molly when she was down if she was having a hard time with the Watson family, but she wasn't a saint either—she couldn't repay evil with kindness.

Arabella glanced at Anthony and added, "Besides, did you get her consent before asking me to take care of her? That child has quite the ambitions. Honestly, I can't handle raising her." After speaking, she pulled Alexander along, preparing to leave.

Anthony quickly called out to stop her. "Wait." 

Arabella turned back. "Something else?"

Anthony nodded. "Yeah, something else." Of course he hadn't come for Molly—Molly was just an excuse he'd come up with on the spot. He didn't really have anything else to say. He didn't even know why he'd come here. But seeing her in the middle of the night, his body instinctively made him unwilling to accept her departure.

"What else is there?" Arabella asked.

Anthony thought for a moment. "I haven't finished telling you about Molly. If you're willing to take care of her, I can arrange a luxury villa for you, plus a car and servants. You'd only need to handle her three meals a day." 

After speaking, he glanced at Alexander, as if worried he might object, and added, "Family members can come too. If you want to bring him, that's fine."

Arabella smiled slightly. "Mr. Watson, why don't you get it? I won't take care of Molly. The connection between Molly and me has run its course. You don't need to come to me—Cassidy adopted her, so Cassidy should be responsible."

Anthony looked troubled. "Cassie is pregnant—it's not convenient."

Arabella nodded. "I see. Well, I'm busy with work, so it's not convenient for me either."

"How busy could you be? What can that joke of a job earn you? Just forget about it," Anthony's tone made no effort to hide his disdain. "Working yourself to death for a month, you still wouldn't make as much as the pocket money I used to give you. You might as well take this job—I'll give you an extra hundred thousand a month."

Arabella's lips twitched. She had no other virtues, but she had enough pride and self-respect. "I wouldn't take care of her even if you gave me a million. I have my own life and people I want to take care of. Please leave."

Arabella didn't stick around any longer and returned to the complex with Alexander.

After they'd walked some distance, Alexander said, "You're not worried about Molly? What he said sounded pretty scary."

Arabella's lips curved slightly. "It's not my place to worry." Her earlier sadness had passed. Now she was truly looking at this objectively—so objectively that she clearly knew that once she agreed, she'd become a thorn in both Jennifer and Cassidy's sides. She didn't want to invite more trouble.

Alexander seemed to ask casually, "Anthony seems to be showing up in front of us more and more lately. I wonder what he's planning. You should be careful not to let him fool you." Seeing Arabella nod, he quietly breathed a sigh of relief.

As they walked, Arabella's expression grew hesitant. "When we were talking to Anthony just now, did you smell... anything?"

Alexander looked puzzled. "What kind of smell?" He'd been standing far away and hadn't smelled anything.

Arabella shook her head. "I'm not sure either. It seemed like there was a smell of blood. I must have been mistaken."

A smell of blood? Alexander beside her suddenly froze.