Chapter 81
At the entrance to the Maple Avenue factory, Lucinda hung up the phone, slipped it into her pocket, and stood by the roadside.
Just then, she suddenly felt a hostile gaze on her back.
She turned around.
A large group of people stood clustered at the entrance to the alley.
Pearl stood at the front, still in that magenta bodycon dress, but the hem was smeared with dirt, her knees still bleeding from where they'd been scraped, her hair a mess.
Her face hadn't been pretty to begin with, and now half of it was swollen. She looked utterly ridiculous.
Behind her stood a man in his thirties, dressed garishly, a gold chain as thick as a pinky finger visible at his collar.
His features bore some resemblance to Pearl's. This was Pearl's brother, Kevin Fisher.
Behind Kevin, a dozen or so thugs filed out from the alley in a dark mass.
Lucinda raised an eyebrow, slipped her phone into her pocket, and the corner of her mouth curved slightly. "Your wounds aren't even healed yet and you're already back? Haven't had enough slaps?"
Pearl was completely infuriated by her attitude. Her entire face twisted. "Who the hell do you think you are? What right do you have to meddle in our family business? I'm telling you—today, if I don't strip you naked and throw you on this street, my name isn't Pearl!"
She spat as she cursed, but Lucinda just stood there, hands in her pockets, her gaze as calm as if she were watching a clown perform.
"Kevin! It's her!" Pearl tugged at Kevin's sleeve. "She's the one who hit me! You have to teach her a lesson! Ruin her face for me!"
Kevin shook off Pearl's hand and stepped forward. His gaze slid from Lucinda's brow and eyes all the way down to her waistline, then to her long, straight legs. The smile at the corner of his mouth grew more and more vile. "Such a pretty woman. But quite the temper."
He took another step forward, reaching out, his fingertips nearly touching Lucinda's chin. "Sweetheart, you crossed my sister. That's not easy to fix. But… if you behave and come back with me, serve me well, I'll let it slide."
Lucinda's gaze turned cold. "You're asking for it."
Before Kevin could react, Lucinda's hand shot out and slapped him across the face.
His head whipped to the side. He staggered back several steps, clutching his face, staring at Lucinda in disbelief.
He'd been the young master of the Fisher family for years. Everywhere he went, people flattered him, indulged him. This was the first time a woman had slapped him in public.
"Damn it, playing hard to get, huh?" He roared in fury and waved his hand at the men behind him. "Get her! Take her down! Send her to my bed tonight!"
A dozen thugs surged forward at his command.
Baseball bats dragged across the ground with a harsh scraping sound. Someone flicked a cigarette butt to the ground and crushed it underfoot. The lead thug cracked his neck—two sharp pops—and charged forward first.
Lucinda stood her ground. She didn't retreat a single step.
The lead thug rushed at her, swinging the bat down at her head. She didn't dodge. Instead, she sidestepped the swing, her left hand catching his wrist and pressing it down, her right elbow slamming into his jaw.
His face snapped upward. He crashed to the ground with a thud.
The second man's fist was already swinging toward her ear. Without looking back, she raised her hand to deflect it, pivoted on her foot, and delivered a spinning kick square to his chest. He staggered backward and toppled over a trash can.
The third, the fourth, the fifth—
She moved through the men, all a head taller than her, every punch landing on the most vulnerable joint, every kick precise and efficient, not a single wasted motion.
Fiona stood a short distance away, already on the phone with the police.
Baseball bats clattered across the ground. The thugs lay sprawled everywhere—some clutching their arms, others holding their stomachs, groans rising and falling.
The entire sequence was as swift as a gust of wind.
Kevin lay on the ground, a purple-red mark across his nose bridge—scraped against the cement when Lucinda's final kick had pinned him down.
He cursed incoherently, struggling to get up. Lucinda lifted her foot and pressed him back to the ground.
He let out a muffled grunt, his face pressed against the cold cement. All his bravado was gone.
Then she lifted her gaze, sweeping over the wreckage on the ground, and settled it on Pearl.
Pearl stood at the entrance to the alley, her legs trembling, all the arrogance on her face shattered to dust.
She stared at the woman in front of her—who hadn't even unbuttoned a single button on her coat—and nausea churned in her stomach, mixed with fear.
What kind of monster had she provoked?
Lucinda took a step forward.
Pearl jerked backward, her heel splashing into a puddle, spattering mud all over her legs.
She didn't even bother helping her brother off the ground. She turned and bolted into the alley, her heels clattering in the puddles, her escape utterly pathetic.
The thugs behind her scattered like startled birds, crawling and stumbling into the night.
Kevin struggled to his feet, clutching his still-bleeding nose, and staggered after them without daring to look back.
The street fell silent, except for the distant barking of dogs and Fiona's voice behind her on the phone, giving her statement.
After the police took everyone away, a pair of headlights turned the corner. The black Maybach pulled up smoothly in front of Lucinda.
Reginald got out, walked around to her side to open the door, and his gaze landed on the back of her hand. He froze.
There was a small scrape there—not deep, but the skin was broken, a tiny bead of blood forming. Probably from a thug's nail grazing her as he fell.
His brow furrowed sharply. His eyes darkened. "What happened?"
Lucinda glanced down at the back of her hand and casually wiped it on the hem of her coat. "Nothing. Just a scratch."
Reginald didn't ask further, but after opening the door, he didn't immediately go back to the driver's seat.
He pulled a mini first-aid kit from the glove compartment, tore open a disinfectant wipe, took her hand, and carefully, gently cleaned the wound.
After disinfecting it, he applied ointment and covered it with a bandage before finally releasing her hand.
"Get in."
He buckled her seatbelt, closed the door, walked back around to the driver's seat, and started the car.
He never once asked what had happened, but after gripping the steering wheel, he glanced at the rearview mirror—
The dim street grew smaller and smaller in the mirror. His gaze was cold as ice.
He dropped Lucinda off in front of Ridgeway Tech. She pushed open the door and said, "Pick me up tonight," then walked into the building without looking back.
Reginald watched her figure disappear through the revolving door. The temperature inside the car seemed to plummet as if someone had flipped a switch.
"Look into it." His voice returned to that emotionless coldness. "Find out exactly what happened on that street. Who made the move. Who's behind it."
The assistant turned from the front seat, met his boss's ice-cold eyes, felt his heart sink, and immediately pulled out his phone to make the call.
In less than ten minutes, several blurry street surveillance clips and fragmented witness accounts pieced together the full picture. Even Kevin and Pearl's backgrounds had been dug up.
Reginald leaned back in his seat, his fingers tapping lightly on his knee. Once. Twice.
The car was silent for a few seconds. Then he spoke, his voice low, but every word like a blade dipped in ice. "Handle it as it should be handled. I don't want to see them on the streets again. And those people who laid hands on Lucinda—hand them to the legal team. Let them think long and hard about sentencing."