116. Lake District, license plate number DR-4539

In the dead of night, two cars trailing far apart sped along a desolate road for half an hour, exiting the Las Vegas city limits and arriving at the edge of a rugged cliff overlooking Lake Mead.

Paquay threw the bound prisoner onto the dirt. Dean stepped out of the car immediately, while Rust followed cautiously behind, bringing up the rear.

"Man, isn't it bad if that guy sees us? Shouldn't we take some precautions, like wearing masks or something?" Rust asked. Whether from the biting night cold or sheer nerves, his body shook uncontrollably, his breath hissing through his teeth.

"No need!" Dean turned back and gave him a knowing smile. "Relax. You're this tense now, but there’s something even more exciting waiting for you later."

Rust paused in his tracks as he watched the massive, six-foot-three man’s terrifying hand descend from the air, striking with brutal force.

*Smack!*

A sharp, ringing slap tore through the silence of the night.

Tegan Fran shuddered and rolled across the ground. Paquay casually opened a bottle of water and poured it over his head.

The cold wind bit into him. The man gasped, his eyes snapping open.

"Mm-mm... mm-mm..."

"Ha! Welcome to hell!" Paquay leaned his face close to the man’s, grinning hideously as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a Colt M1911. "The rules of hell: we ask, you answer."

"If you hesitate or lie... you’ll enjoy VIP-level torture."

*Click!*

The slide locked back. He pressed the muzzle against the scarred forehead of the man, whose face was so vicious that the aura of a desperado seemed etched into his very skin.

"Nod if you understand."

*Mm-mm-mm!*

The man’s eyes widened, and he nodded frantically like a chicken pecking at grain.

Dean watched the scene with keen interest, a sudden realization dawning on him: his uncle had definitely done his fair share of dirty work—whether as a bodyguard or a cleaner.

Rust, meanwhile, stood frozen, holding his breath, a terrifying thought looping in his mind: *This is a blatant kidnapping!* Once this leaked, nothing awaited them but prison.

Paquay ripped the tape off the scarred man’s mouth. The captive’s agile gaze darted quickly toward the expressionless figures of Dean and Rust behind the big man. When he caught sight of Rust’s familiar face in the dim moonlight, a flicker of recognition flashed in his eyes, and he suddenly understood everything.

He voluntarily lowered his head, burying his face in the sand, and muttered in a muffled voice, "Gentlemen, I’ve never crossed you. You’ve definitely got the wrong idea. Let me go, how about that? I don’t know anything, I didn't see anything!"

His voice was raspy and laced with a hint of sycophancy, yet unexpectedly calm.

"Shut up!"

*Smack!*

Another slap, another body hitting the dirt.

Tegan was knocked down by Paquay again, a clear handprint blooming on his face. Rust’s gaze flicked between Paquay and Dean—these two were definitely related; they both loved slapping people.

"What did we say? I ask, you answer! One more word of nonsense and I’ll blow your head off!"

Tegan nodded laboriously.

"Now, let’s start from the beginning," Paquay asked slowly. "You set a trap for Grace Spencer, making her rack up a massive gambling debt, didn't you?"

"Grace? The pretty redhead, the hotel clerk? I remember her. She visited the Royal Casino. But what do you mean by a 'trap'? I don’t understand!" Tegan took a deep breath, explaining, "The Royal Casino operates normally. Grace lost money and owed a debt—it was all legal and above board!"

"I was just doing my job trying to collect that debt!"

*Thud!*

A boot slammed into the man’s stomach. He instantly turned beet red, curling into a ball like a boiled shrimp.

"Legal, my ass," Dean pulled his foot back. "Do you take me for a fool? Were you inviting that drunk beauty to a hotel room in the casino?"

"You prey on drunks and newcomers, rigging games to leave them confused and drowning in debt, ruining their families! You call that legal?" Dean’s eyes narrowed into slits, his teeth bared in a white, predatory grin. "How about I give you a legal and legitimate trip to hell, then?"

Though his face was young, the malice and killing intent radiating from him were even heavier than that of the fierce Native American man.

"No! Don't kill me!" Tegan’s body twitched. He couldn’t figure out how he’d provoked two such lunatics, especially when Grace only had a goofy high school son. "I admit it! When Grace was drunk, I brought her into the casino. She was worried about saving for her son’s college tuition, so I talked her into it."

Rust nodded, his expression pained.

Tegan continued, "But it wasn't just the Royal Casino; fifty percent of the casinos are playing the same game! I was forced into it too, because I owed a massive debt and the casino controlled me. If I didn't join them or follow orders, I’d be dead!"

He lay on his side, his battered face contorted into a pitiful, teary-eyed mask of misery. "I’m a victim too!"

"Playing the innocent? You think we’re idiots? You swindled Grace, you forced her to sell her jewelry," Rust stepped out from behind Dean, his eyes burning with fury as he stared at the man, gritting his teeth as if he wanted to tear him apart. "And from January to February, you forced her to quit her job!"

"I didn't force her! Grace quit on her own. She had to pay back the debt; she needed a higher-paying job."

"What job was that?" Rust felt a sudden, inexplicable dread.

"She joined us too," Tegan’s eyes shifted as he panicked to explain. "She teamed up with me to lure other guests into the games. The more she cheated, the faster she paid off her debt!"

"Impossible!" Rust stepped back, as if struck. He turned to Dean, "Grace isn't that kind of person. She would never cheat or swindle, or get in bed with a guy like this!"

"Calm down, I believe you," Dean nodded at his pleading companion. "Grace is a good mother, a kind woman."

Dean raised his foot and stomped down hard on Tegan’s face, driving his head into the sand. The man’s face turned crimson as he hissed in pain, reduced to a pile of wreckage.

"You insulted her! You dare to lie? Do you think I can't tell? Do you think I’m a fool?"

*Thud! Thud!*

Two more kicks to the lower back. Tegan heard the grinding of his vertebrae; he felt as if his spine were about to snap.

"I’ll tell you! You’re right! Grace refused to help me scam people!" He gasped for air, struggling to rephrase his words until he felt the pressure lift slightly. "Grace chose another job... she helped the casino entertain guests, providing private services."

The air at the edge of the cliff went silent for a few seconds. The night wind whistled past.

"What... entertain guests?" Rust stood rooted to the spot, stunned as if by a lightning bolt.

"At the casino, besides gambling, there’s sex," Tegan whispered.

Dean’s expression remained unchanged—he had already suspected this possibility. He looked at Rust with concern.

"No wonder she started showering so much more often... she was trying to wash away that filth..."

Rust’s low growl choked in his throat; his trembling hands clenched into fists.

Paquay sighed and put an arm around his shoulders. "Your mother, Grace, is a good woman, a kind person. She’d rather suffer and be insulted herself than deceive or exploit others."

Rust lowered his head, shivering.

A crushing sense of humiliation, a feeling worse than death, tangled in his heart, eventually giving way to a deep, agonizing pity. There was no doubt that his only family, during a period when he was completely unaware, had endured immense suffering and torment.

But she had borne it all with strength, unwilling to let Rust be distracted for her sake. The one at fault wasn't Grace—it wasn't her!

"It’s all your fault!"

"I’m going to kill you!"

Rust went mad, kicking and punching Tegan. Dean spat on Tegan, walked back to the car, and grabbed a crowbar, tossing it to Rust. Rust went at it even harder, the shadow of the bar flailing in the air.

*Aaaargh!*

The shrill, agonizing wail echoed in the night for a long time, vibrating even against the vast, dark surface of the lake below the cliff.

"Stop for a second. We still have questions."

Dean stopped Rust and crouched down, patting Tegan’s swollen, beaten face. "If you want to live, answer honestly: where in California did Grace drive?"

"I don’t know. All the guests paid in cash, their identities were hidden. Nobody in the casino knows."

Tegan’s voice was so weak it sounded like he was about to draw his last breath.

"Then what use are you?"

Dean grabbed Tegan by the feet, lifting him like a skinned wild dog, and dangled him over the edge of the cliff, swinging him in the open air.

The cold, high-altitude wind roared. Dangled upside down, Tegan’s hair whipped wildly. The freezing air snapped him out of his dazed, semi-conscious state.

He stared down with wide eyes. The ink-black surface of Lake Mead looked like a giant abyss with its jaws wide open.

"Say 'no' once," Dean’s tone was chillingly calm.

"And I’ll let go. You’ll free-fall. From this height, the water is as hard as concrete."

"And guess what? Your head will go 'pop' when it hits. Your brains will spill into the water, and you’ll descend into hell in a daze of agony."

*To hell...* The sound echoed along the cliff. Tegan shivered violently.

"GOD, don't let go!" he screamed like a madman.

"Speak! Where did Grace go?" Three pairs of eyes stared at him like a pack of hungry wolves in the dark.

Dean swung his arms, and Tegan, hanging upside down, became a pendulum once more.

"A guest ordered her services and told her to drive to a designated location in California," Tegan shrieked. Then, with a rush of air, he was hoisted back onto the solid ground. His chest heaved violently, cold sweat dripping from his trembling lips. "Grace refused to go that far at first... so I used some methods."

"You hired three thugs to beat me up?" Rust said coldly.

"Yeah. Your mother couldn't bear to see you hurt, so she accepted the order..."

"Where in California?"

"She drove into California, circled around, and then returned to Las Vegas."

*What the hell?*

Surprise dawned on all three of them. What kind of bizarre operation was this?

"She came back? Then why didn't the LVPD find any surveillance of her driving back?"

"She changed cars. The guest picked her up at the designated spot in California and brought her back to Las Vegas in his own vehicle."

"Fuck, so the guest lives in Las Vegas! Why didn't he just have Grace come over directly? Why go through all the trouble of making her cross state lines and circle around? Is he bored to the point of insanity?!"

"..."

"Don't let go, please! I can only tell you my guess. I think the guest was creating a false trail for the LVPD, making it look like Grace disappeared outside of Nevada... and in my experience, cross-state disappearances are likely to be delayed indefinitely and eventually forgotten."

Rust froze for a moment, his voice trembling. "If he was just doing it for fun, he wouldn't go to such lengths to deceive the police. Where exactly is he taking Grace?"

"We never ask about the guests' motives. I don’t know."

"GOD! I haven't finished, don't let go! I couldn't resist my curiosity once and secretly followed him. I saw the guest’s license plate and saw him drive back to the Lake Las Vegas area with someone. I was too scared to keep following."

*Lake Las Vegas!*

Location locked. The system progress jumped to fifty percent.

Dean and Paquay exchanged a look. Dean asked, "What do you mean by 'once'? Besides Grace, has this mysterious guest ordered other poor women?"

"Yes, he’s placed orders multiple times. He pays ten times the amount of a normal order, and every time, he requires that trip out of state—sometimes California, sometimes Utah, Iowa, or Arizona."

"Where are those women?" Dean pressed.

"None of the women he’s ordered have ever returned. They just vanished into thin air. I assumed this guest paid a high price to buy them outright!"

Dean’s eyes grew cold as ice.

This guy first set a trap to drain Grace’s money, then forced her to lose her dignity working for the casino, and finally sold her off to squeeze out the last bit of value.

He didn't leave anyone a way out.

"Scum, animal, a heartless demon! Why did you hurt her like this! You should be shot, put in the electric chair! I’m going to kill you, I’ll kill you!" Rust went berserk, kicking the man’s upside-down head.

"Stop... *ugh*... spare my life. I’ll tell you the guest’s car and license plate number."

"If you don't want to die, speak!"

"License plate DR-4539... a black SUV."

"Repeat that..."

"License plate DR-4539, a black SUV, entered the Lake Las Vegas area."

"Repeat!"

Tegan frantically repeated it five times. The investigation progress jumped to sixty percent.

Dean handed the crowbar to Rust, letting him vent his rage. Rust pummeled Tegan until his bones were shattered and he finally lost consciousness.

Rust dropped the bloodstained crowbar, his frame swaying. He clenched and unclenched his fists, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the man. A tearful, incoherent whisper spilled from his throat:

"No one ever came back."

"No one could come back..."

"Grace has only been missing for three days. There’s still time—she might still be alive!" Dean patted his face. "If we find this mysterious guest, we can save her!"

"Right, the lake area is right next to Lake Mead. We’ll find that SUV!"

A flicker of hope reignited in Rust’s eyes.

"Gentlemen, before we set off, we need to make preparations and clean up our tracks," Paquay looked at the unconscious Tegan on the ground, a cold light in his eyes. "This guy knows too much, and he’s seen our faces. If we don't want to go to prison, we have to deal with him."

He looked at Dean. Dean nodded, pulled out a pistol, disengaged the safety, chambered a round, and handed it to Rust. He looked him in the eye and said firmly, "Do it."

Dean turned toward the dark water beneath the cliff.

"Let Lake Mead keep our secret forever."

Rust snatched the gun and aimed it at Tegan’s head. His young, handsome face was streaked with tears—hate, humiliation, and sorrow twisted his features. He hesitated, his finger hovering over the trigger.

"Forget what he did to Grace! He made her suffer humiliation, and then sold her to a pervert! He is unforgivable. He deserves to die!"

Dean roared at his companion, his face flushed red, eyes burning with fire.

"Pull the trigger!"

*Bang!*

The shot rang out. Blood splattered.

Gunpowder smoke drifted into the air. Rust lowered the gun, the hesitation in his eyes replaced by resolve.