4: 4
4
"Who the hell do you think you're talking to?"
"Say that again if you've got the nerve!"
Dylan blew up like a cat with its tail stepped on.
Rage twisted his face into something ugly.
"You crippled piece of trash, you really think you're something. Today I'm going to teach you a lesson, you good-for-nothing who doesn't know his place!"
He lunged, swinging a fist straight at my face.
Maureen frowned, but this time she didn't move to stop him.
I didn't so much as flinch.
The instant his fist was about to reach me, my hand shot out and clamped down on his wrist, dead on.
Dylan struggled with everything he had.
But he couldn't break free.
He froze, and the question buried in his mind came out before he could stop it.
"Wasn't your hand ruined?"
Even Maureen was staring in surprise at the hand I had locked around Dylan's wrist.
A jagged scar ran across the inside of the wrist.
Maureen knew it well.
It was the mark left the year she personally had my hand tendons cut.
The corner of my mouth curved into a mocking line as I smiled. "Sorry to disappoint you both."
No one knew.
What had I gone through in the past five years?
Every day, aside from ordinary work, I spent nearly all of my time on rehab for that hand.
Five years of treatment and rehab, and my hand was basically back to what it had been.
The one thing I could never get back was the fine control it took to hold a scalpel. That was gone for good.
Once, my greatest dream had been to be the most respected surgeon there was.
And because of Dylan and Maureen, that dream would never happen again.
Hatred surged over me like a tide.
My eyes went cold, my voice colder than something out of hell. "Dylan, you clearly remember the good times and forget the beatings."
"Is your third leg still working?"
"Maybe too much time has passed, long enough that you've forgotten how it felt when it got broken. I don't mind refreshing your memory."
As I spoke, my gaze dropped to between his legs.
In that instant, the force coming off me left everyone stunned, and the whole wedding hall went dead silent.
Something seemed to occur to Dylan, and his pupils shrank all at once.
His legs clamped shut on instinct.
"You— you wouldn't dare!"
"Aren't you afraid Maureen will cut your hand tendons again?"
I gave a cold laugh. "Then let's find out."
Under the horrified, disbelieving eyes of everyone there, I raised my foot and drove it hard between Dylan's legs.
"Ahh—"
A shrill scream tore out of him.
Dylan's face went white as snow, veins bulging at his temples.
Both hands clamped over his crotch, he curled up like a shrimp and dropped to his knees, rolling on the floor in agony.
"Dylan?!"
Maureen went pale with shock.
"Brendan Vance, are you insane?"
She never imagined that after the tendon-cutting revenge five years ago, I would still dare to raise a hand against anyone.
"Brendan Vance, you're dead!"
"I'm the contact personally named and appointed by Deepcloud Capital. You cross me, you cross Deepcloud Capital, and they won't let you off."
Dylan's eyes were red enough to bleed, his face twisted beyond recognition.
We were making too much noise.
Roger, who had been toasting at other tables, hurried over.
He arrived just in time to hear Dylan spit out his threat.
Roger stopped short, frowning at Dylan still writhing on the floor. "Do you even know who you're talking to?"
"He's—"
Roger was the only person who knew my true identity.
Just as he was about to say it out loud, I gave a slight shake of my head.
Now wasn't the time.
I wanted to see for myself exactly who had given Dylan all this nerve.
Right then, a clatter of hurried footsteps came from the doorway.
A crowd swept in around a middle-aged man in a sharp suit.
The moment Dylan saw who it was, his eyes lit up, as if he'd caught sight of his last lifeline.
