Brother Dao Took the Entertainment Industry by Storm, Fans Beg Me Not to Kill Anymore

Chapter 703: No Light Tonight, the Hunt Begins (2)

"Who?"

Moses looked outside with some confusion, a hint of caution rising in his heart, but not much.

The eerie silence outside seemed to have returned to normal. A gentle breeze brushed past the door curtain, stirring only faint ripples without causing any disturbance.

Moses put down what he was holding. His backside remained planted on the small folding stool, but his upper body had already leaned forward, ready to reach out and lift the curtain to see what was going on.

But what he never expected was that with the next gust of wind, as the curtain swayed slightly, a hand suddenly shot through it with lightning speed, grabbing his collar with precision.

The hand was clad in a black leather glove, almost blending into the darkness itself, as if it had materialized out of thin air—no warning, no buffer, not even the owner of the hand showing their face, still concealed within the night.

Yet by the time the fuse lit in Moses's muddled brain and zipped through his thoughts, his clothes had already been yanked tight by the hand's owner. A force he couldn't resist surged forward, directly choking his throat, making every breath a struggle.

The next moment, Moses was yanked out without hesitation. The world before his eyes flipped upside down. The shabby little shop vanished completely, replaced by the approaching underside of a tricycle and the oppressive dark night hanging over his head.

"Bang—"

In the damp, gloomy alley, not even a speck of dust could be stirred up. Moses was slammed hard against the tricycle's floorboard, his face meeting the metal in a brutal, violent kiss.

Then he felt a sharp pain in his nose. His teeth cut into his lips, his whole face contorted wildly, and the thick, coppery taste of blood filled his nose and mouth.

Pain, pain, pain—

Moses finally let out a bloodcurdling scream: "Ah!!!"

Then his shirt was grabbed again from behind. The gloved hand still showed the outline of long, slender fingers, but it carried explosive power. With just a curl of two fingers and then a spread palm pressing down hard, Moses, already bloodied from the first hit, slammed his head into the floorboard again.

"Bang—"

"Shut it!"

A very proper, cold British accent came from above. Moses hadn't even seen the person clearly, but his mind had already subconsciously conjured the image of an elegant, old-school gangster gentleman. The vicious words completely crushed any will to resist in this man who had always bullied the weak and feared the strong. Finally, he could only raise his arms with difficulty, his head still pressed against the floorboard, his lower body kneeling on the cold ground, frozen in a humiliating and oppressive posture: "OK! OK!"

Who was this?

Which gang was he from?

Deliberately picking a fight?

Or just trying to grab territory?

Moses's mind raced, and for a moment, smoke practically rose from the top of his head.

He wanted to lift his head and see what that person looked like, but the threat still rang in his ears. Based on the strength the man had just shown, Moses knew he was no match for him. So after hesitating for a moment, he still didn't look up, afraid that seeing the other's face would get him silenced for good.

"A few days ago—" The voice behind him was cool, the tone slightly rising, with a hint of husky magnetism. It sounded like the speaker wasn't very old.

"Two brothers came to your turf to lay low. Is that right?"

"Ah, yes, yes!"

Moses had no time to analyze the person's age. In his mind, he was already cursing those two brothers over and over.

Fuck! He shouldn't have let those two bastards onto his turf!

Look at this! They'd gone and dragged him into such a huge mess!

Right now, Moses had completely forgotten that just moments ago, he had been planning to introduce those two brothers to his gang to reap more benefits.

"Did those two offend you? Don't worry! I'll get someone to deal with them right away! I promise!" Moses swallowed the bloody saliva in his mouth, cursing the two brothers dirty to show his resolve, and frantically tried to defend himself. "I knew they were big trouble! Damn it! I should've kicked them out..."

"Tch."

But the mysterious man behind him grew impatient, unwilling to listen to his worthless, low-quality garbage talk.

So the next moment, Moses was yanked up again and slammed hard against the floorboard, another "bang" echoing out.

"Ahhh—"

Moses's cursing stopped. This time, he was sure his nose was broken. The pain, along with the splattering blood, spread from his face through his whole body, making him feel weak and unable to stand straight.

"You talk too much."

The man's tone was eerie.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, waaah..."

Moses apologized frantically, eventually unable to form complete words, only letting out low sobs.

"There's a cameraman... He filmed something he shouldn't have. And I hear that thing has ended up in your hands now—Does your gang have a death wish?"

The man spoke slowly, with a hint of laughter in his tone, but it sent chills down Moses's spine.

Moses finally understood.

Wow! So that was it!

Those two idiots! Stealing things was one thing, but how did they manage to mess up so badly, provoking someone they shouldn't have, and dragging him into the fire?

But how did they find him? He'd already checked the stolen goods, turned off all the trackers, and the device was still powered off. Logically, there was no way these people could have tracked it to him...

"Sorry, sorry, I had no idea, and I have nothing to do with that cameraman!" Moses defended himself desperately, terrified that the man would suspect him and take his life. "When those two came to me to fence the goods, I formatted everything directly. I swear I didn't see anything!"

"Go check."

He heard the young man's voice give a low command.

Then he vaguely heard the footsteps of a second person nearby.

The tricycle he was lying on shook slightly, dipping down noticeably as someone else climbed into his shabby little "shop."

During all this, the entire space fell silent.

Moses swallowed his saliva, barely catching his breath.

But the man holding him down didn't relax at all, though at least he didn't strike again. The person checking the shop's stolen goods was even more silent—impossible to tell gender or age. Their footsteps were steady enough, but as they moved around his broken-down tricycle, the floorboard creaked loudly, and the canopy scraped overhead. Moses guessed this person must be very tall.

Compared to that, he was probably just a bodyguard or something...

Moses thought grimly, trying to find some comfort.

He wondered which gang's young master this was. If he was already this strong, why did he still need a bodyguard to go out?

"The memory card is gone."

Then he heard another, rougher voice report.

"Hm?"

The young man's tone rose slightly, a noncommittal sound escaping his nose.

Moses felt himself being yanked up again.

"It's, it's in the tin box over there!"

Moses shouted loudly, trying to save his nose.

But what he didn't expect was that the man behind him just let out a light laugh, and then his words suddenly carried murderous intent, laced with the sharp, biting cold of a blizzard: "Who told you to format it?"

Did he know how long his young assistant had tirelessly followed him to take photos?

Did he know how long his team had been running around for this all day?

No. You didn't.

Xiao He thought blankly, while his hand had already started moving honestly, slamming Moses's head against the floorboard again.

"Bang!"

"Ahhh—"

Yet another scream.