Walking Away While Pregnant: Dear Ex-Husband, I Don't Love You Anymore novel Chapter 143

Chapter 143: Chapter 143

In an abandoned stone processing plant on the outskirts of Rainport.

The blonde, blue-eyed man had his hands and feet bound, hung high in mid-air from an overhead crane. His lower leg was broken, and he had several other injuries across his body, though none were fatal.

Sam and James were keeping watch over him, squatting by the entrance of the factory floor.

Sam pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Have one to wake yourself up."

James slipped a cigarette out. "Where’s the lighter?"

"Dropped it."

James fell silent for a moment. "...Then how am I supposed to smoke this?"

Sam chuckled. "I thought you had one."

"I dropped it while I was tackling that son of a bitch."

"Ah, so that’s why. No wonder you went so brutal on him just now!"

James sneered. "He deserved it. Imagine trying to murder a pregnant woman. He’ll literally do anything for money."

"You think everyone has a conscience like us?" Sam looked over at him. "James, how do you actually do it?"

James looked bewildered. "Do what?"

"You spent five years in the military, surviving on the absolute front lines. How is your heart still so pure?"

It took James a few seconds to process the words before he shoved Sam with his elbow. "Stop insulting me in a roundabout way. It’s the pot calling the kettle black. I haven’t seen your emotional intelligence or wits improve a bit either. Lucky for you I pull you back every single time, otherwise a guy with your lack of tact would’ve offended half the world by now!"

"Like hell I—"

Before Sam could finish, a pair of headlights cut through the darkness, blinding them. James and Sam immediately snapped to their feet, dropping into a defensive stance.

The sound of the engine grew closer.

"It’s the Boss!" Sam recognized the car instantly.

James let out a breath of relief. "Thank god. I thought it was backup coming to rescue this bastard."

Sam tucked his cigarette behind his ear and stepped forward to greet Dylan.

Dylan pushed open the driver’s side door and stepped out of the car.

"Boss."

"Boss."

Dylan shut the door, scanned the factory layout in front of him, and locked his eyes onto Sam. "Where is he?"

"Inside the main floor," Sam replied.

The two men led Dylan inside. The air in the factory floor was thick with dust, and the ground bore the scuffed marks of the foreigner’s earlier struggle. The foreigner hung from his bound wrists like a slab of meat in a slaughterhouse.

Dylan stopped walking and gave a subtle nod. Sam immediately pulled out a remote control and operated the crane.

The stranger was lowered to the ground. The exact second his feet touched the floor, a piercing agony shot through his fractured leg.

"Ah—!"

A blood-curdling scream echoed through the hollow factory.

"I don’t know anything! I just take the cash and do the job... Just kill me if you’re going to, give it to me straight!" The man ranted and cursed in a foreign language.

Looking at him, he didn’t seem to be lying.

Dylan stepped forward, lifted his foot, and pressed it directly down onto the man’s broken leg.

"Ah—!"

The man shrieked in agony once more, completely losing his ability to speak.

Dylan looked down, his eyes entirely devoid of emotion, as if staring at a dead object. After a long moment, he eased the pressure slightly, giving the man room to breathe. "Do you know who you were sent to kill?"

The man was drenched in sweat, his face twisting into a grotesque grimace from the sheer pain. He shook his head. "I only execute the assignment... The higher-ups just give me a location and a photo of the target..."

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