The Heir's Return

Chapter 8

The peaceful silence of the garden shattered instantly. From behind the bushes and trees, a dozen grim-faced men appeared, moving with threatening purpose. They formed a tight circle, cutting off all escape routes. In their hands, the glint of steel pipes and daggers caught the afternoon light.

"Who are you?" Sherly called out, her voice trembling though she fought hard to sound steady.

Javon didn't answer. He simply moved to stand slightly in front of Sherly's wheelchair, his body becoming a living shield. His calm eyes were now cold and sharp, scanning every threat with the efficiency of a predator.

"Don't be afraid," Javon whispered to Sherly. "They're here for me."

"Your business is my business now!" Sherly retorted quickly, her hands gripping the armrests of her wheelchair. "I won't let them touch you!"

The scarred man who had been thrown earlier now got back up, grinning as he spat out blood. "Hear that? The cripple wants to be a hero."

Harsh laughter erupted from the mob.

"If your legs are already broken, you should just stay at home, sweet thing."

"If I were you, I'd have bashed my head against a wall until I was dead!"

The taunts were piercing and cruel. They stared at Sherly with hungry eyes, appraising her still-beautiful body despite her being in a wheelchair. The scarred man took a deep drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke into Sherly's face. "But if you're willing to entertain all of us, maybe we'll consider letting your boyfriend go."

"Bastards!" Sherly snapped, her anger finally overcoming her fear. Her face flushed red.

Javon's expression changed. The warmth he had shown Sherly vanished, replaced by a lethal chill. "If you still want to use your mouth to eat," he hissed, each word sounding like a death threat, "I suggest you shut it now."

The aura radiating from Javon was so palpable that the lewd smile on the scarred man's face froze. He subconsciously took a step back. But seeing the number of his men, his arrogance returned.

"Who are you pretending to be?" he sneered. "You think you're still a Young Master Forger? You're a stray dog being hounded by debt collectors! You're not even worthy of licking my shoes!"

"Stray dog!"

"Ex-con!"

"Trash!"

The insults flew from all sides. Javon actually laughed, a cold laugh that held not a trace of amusement. "I'm going to make every one of you regret being born."

Just as he was about to move, a hand grabbed his arm. Sherly shook her head worriedly. "Don't, Javon! You just got out!"

"This is self-defense," Javon replied softly. "Look at their waists."

Sherly narrowed her eyes and her breath caught. Tucked behind the jackets of several men, she could see the handles of firearms. They weren't ordinary thugs.

"How dare you!" Sherly shouted, trying another tactic. "You think the Edelweiss family can be trifled with? This place isn't far from our villa!"

The scarred man roared with laughter. "What a stupid woman. The Edelweiss family would never offend our boss just for a cripple like you." He gestured with his chin. "I'm going to break this man's legs too, so you two can truly be a matching pair!"

With a battle cry, he charged forward, his steel pipe swinging violently toward Javon's head.

"Watch out!" Sherly screamed.

"Courting death," Javon scoffed.

His movement was an illusion. His body shifted slightly to the side, allowing the steel pipe to whistle past, mere inches from his shoulder. In that same split second, his hand shot out like a snake, not to block, but to seize the attacker's wrist.

"With such pathetic strength," Javon whispered, "You want to be a thug?"

KRAK!

The sound of breaking bones was horrifying. The scarred man let out a high-pitched squeal like a slaughtered pig, his arm hanging at an unnatural angle. Before his scream was finished, a solid kick from Javon slammed into his chest, sending him flying backward to land with a sickening thud.

THUD!

"Get him!"

The remaining mob swarmed him at once. Steel pipes and daggers glinted in the air. Sherly squeezed her eyes shut, unable to watch.

All she heard was a rapid and brutal series of sounds.

THUD!

Crack!

Thud!

"Aarrgh!"

Thud!

It was all over in less than fifteen seconds.

Hesitantly, Sherly opened her eyes. The scene before her made her hold her breath. A dozen burly men were strewn across the ground in various painful positions, groaning in agony. And in the middle of them all, Javon stood tall, his shirt not even wrinkled.

He walked slowly toward the scarred man, who was now lying like a dying dog. "Tell me," Javon commanded, his voice calm but deadly. "Who sent you?"

The man stammered, looking at Javon in terror. "Nocturnal... Nocturnal Hall! Our boss is Miss Charoline!"

Javon's expression changed instantly. "Nocturnal?" he repeated, his tone dangerous.

"Y-yes, that's right!"

SLAP!

A hard slap landed on the man's face. Javon grabbed his hair, yanking his head up to meet his eyes.

"Nocturnal Hall is my Elder Sister's territory," Javon hissed, and in his eyes was a flash of genuine killing intent. "How dare you use her name to lie to me? It seems you're truly tired of living."