The Ex-Con Who Conquered the World novel Chapter 24

"That mouth of yours deserves to be slapped."

The words were still hanging in the air when Stefan's figure blurred. In the next instant, he materialized directly before Simon. His hands shot out—left, right, left—in a series of crisp, brutal slaps.

"Crack! Crack! Crack!" Simon's face erupted in red, swelling instantly into a distorted, puffy mask. Blood and spit sprayed from his lips. Several teeth, dislodged by the force, skittered across the floor, trailing crimson threads. He looked broken and pathetic.

"Wasn't it you," Stefan asked, his smile disarmingly bright, "who said you'd smash my mouth? I'm just returning the gesture."

"You... you're finished..." Simon choked out, words slurred by swelling and blood. "The Prescott family... you have no idea what you've done... My father will have you shredded... he will!"

Humiliation burned through him like a fever. He was the one who delivered pain, not received it. No one had ever dared strike him—let alone reduce him to this.

Shhk—

Stefan's hand closed around Simon's throat. A cold, lethal intent flickered in his eyes.

Stefan operated by a simple rule—either stay out completely, a spectator on the sidelines; or step in and finish it. No loose ends.

But right then—

Crash! Thud!

The office door burst inward. A tide of men poured through—thirty, forty, more—armed with knives, pipes, makeshift weapons. They flooded the space, encircling Stefan in a tight, bristling ring.

The remaining black-suited enforcers already inside closed ranks, sealing the trap.

Korbin's doing, clearly.

He'd seen the turn, and quietly called in every thug in the building.

"So you're a Transformed Sect Grandmaster." Korbin's voice cut through from behind the wall of muscle. "What of it? You can't fight a whole army. Let Mr. Prescott go. Now. Or we'll chop you into bait."

Stefan's expression didn't change. Only his eyes turned wintry.

He tossed Simon aside like a sack of rags—Simon hit the floor gasping—and turned to face the enclosing circle. A faint, derisive smile touched his lips. "Korbin. Do you really think numbers mean anything here?"

"A Grandmaster is still flesh and blood!" Korbin shot back, voice sharp with contempt. "You can bleed. You can tire. I'll drown you in bodies if I have to."

Simon had crawled behind Korbin by now. His face was a mask of pure, spitting hatred. "Kill him! Cut him apart! I want him in pieces! How dare he touch me—I'll wipe out his whole bloodline!"

"He won't leave this room, Mr. Prescott," Korbin said flatly. From inside his jacket, he drew a matte-black pistol. The muzzle rose, steady and unwavering, aimed at Stefan's center mass.

Korbin's decision was made. A Grandmaster this young was too dangerous to let live. If Stefan walked out, Korbin would never sleep soundly again.

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