The Hand of Death

Chapter 6

The next morning, Roman sat beside Baby’s bed, watching her sleep.

Soon, the door opened, and he turned to see Jonas quietly stepping inside.

Roman had suddenly asked him to come over before ten in the morning.

“I need to get us some clothes. Keep an eye on Baby while I’m gone. I’ll be back soon.”

Jonas’ heart skipped a beat.

On his way out of the hotel yesterday, he had spotted several of Aaron’s men waiting outside.

Some had even checked into rooms on the same floor as Roman to keep a closer eye on him.

If they saw Roman leaving his room now…

“I drove here. She can sleep in the back seat while I drive you.”

Roman picked up his jacket from the edge of the bed and put it on without looking at him.

Turning toward Jonas, he smiled faintly. “Clearly, I don’t want that.”

With that, he strode past him.

Jonas’s hands trembled, and his face twitched with guilt.

Today was the day Roman would die.

After Roman withdrew from the underworld, Jonas had barely enjoyed his new position for a few hours before news reached him that Aaron Hale had stormed their headquarters, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

By the time Jonas arrived, Aaron had already killed 323 core members who had refused to accept him as the new Hand of Death.

To save himself, Jonas had no choice but to submit to Aaron and surrender his position.

However, Aaron remained worried that Roman might return someday, so he ordered Jonas to search for him. Jonas spent the next seven years trying to locate his former boss.

Three days ago, he finally discovered Roman’s whereabouts, but rather than reveal the information, he stopped digging and fled.

Aaron eventually caught up with him.

He took the families of Jonas’ men hostage and forced Jonas to tell him everything.

It didn’t matter who Roman had once been.

Aaron was in charge now, and he was willing to use as many men as necessary to kill him. He had also managed to turn every ally Roman once had into an enemy.

Jonas’ shoulders slumped as he lowered his head in defeat.

“Please. Take her with you.”

Roman remained silent until he reached the door. Then he stopped and glanced back, a flicker of emotion crossing his eyes.

“I know you have business to attend to. I’ll only be gone for an hour. Two hours at most.”

With that, he stepped out and closed the door behind him.

Jonas sank to his knees, clutching his chest as despair washed over him.

…

Roman left the hotel and took out his phone. He raised it toward the sunlight, squinting as he tried to read the screen.

His debit card might have expired, but he could still use his USSD codes to transfer money from his bank account.

After confirming that his balance still had several zeros, he stepped into the first clothing store he came across.

His eyebrows rose when he noticed there was no security guard at the entrance.

Even more strangely, there were no shopping assistants or cashiers inside.

This was a busy area. Who would open a shop here without hiring anyone to run it?

“What makes you so special? Why’s there a fifty-million-dollar bounty on your head?”

An impatient, raspy voice came from behind him.

Roman turned, his expression hardening as he took in the men standing there.

He counted fifty-five men carrying sticks and batons. The only one without a weapon was a lean man with an eye patch, who sat watching him.

The man wore a matching silk shirt and trousers. His shirt was unbuttoned at the chest, revealing a large sun tattoo.

Roman pressed his lips together.

He knew what it felt like to be judged by his appearance. Just because these men had tattoos, carried weapons, and looked intimidating didn’t necessarily mean they were bad people.

So he simply turned back toward the clothes and began pointing at different sections.

“I want this entire row, along with about half of the clothes at the back, up to the middle section.”

The man with the sun tattoo rubbed the side of his nose before turning to the young man beside him. A baton rested on the younger man’s shoulder.

Pointing at Roman, the boss scoffed.

“Look at this suicidal bastard. He’s looking at us like we’re customer service.”

His second-in-command bowed slightly, never taking his eyes off Roman.

“Boss, should I tear his tongue out first or break his kneecaps so he’ll learn how to show respect?”

The boss sighed and leaned back in his seat.

When he heard that fifty million dollars was being offered for someone’s head, he had expected a frightening giant of a man.

He had even gotten excited at the thought of killing someone like that and adding to his reputation.

Instead, he found a man who looked like an easy target.

His interest vanished.

He waved a hand at his second-in-command.

“Whatever. Do as you like.”

A crazed look flashed across the younger man’s face.

He placed the baton between his teeth and cracked his knuckles before taking it in his hand again.

Then he pointed it at Roman’s head and sneered.

“Kneel down and press your forehead against the floor. Maybe, just maybe, we’ll leave you with one good arm.”

Roman watched him silently before letting his hand fall to his side.

Seeing that Roman hadn’t moved an inch, the second-in-command grew even more confident.

“You really have no survival instincts, do you? Even street dogs know when to cower!”

He raised the baton and swung it toward Roman’s head.

But before it could land, Roman caught it with one hand.

CRACK!

The baton snapped in two.

The man’s eyes widened.

Roman grabbed him by the neck with his other hand and drove the broken end of the baton into his abdomen.

“Good thing I’m not a street dog.”

Blood trickled from the corner of the man’s mouth as he stared at Roman in disbelief.

Roman clicked his tongue and shoved him aside.

Then he slipped his phone into his pocket and looked at the remaining men, beckoning them forward with a lazy wave of his hand.

“Let’s hurry. I don’t have all day.”