93. The Hunter

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At four in the morning, the sky was dim and gloomy.

Palm Tree Avenue.

A car sped down the road and stopped at the steps of residence number 121.

Dressed in a black stand-collar trench coat, with a wide-brimmed black hat shading most of his face, leaving only a smooth chin visible, Dean stepped out. He glanced around, confirming that the surrounding houses were quiet and no one was paying attention.

He got out, carrying a black sports bag large enough to almost fit a person.

With light steps, he climbed the low steps flanked by two bushes.

A god’s-eye view scanned the nearby ten-meter radius.

Bright street lamps, a rusted fire hydrant, a dark brown iron gate ahead, and dense bushes all around.

No surveillance cameras.

Perhaps because of a guilty conscience, criminals usually avoid installing cameras near their homes to prevent leaving evidence.

Behind the gate, a lavishly decorated living room as spacious as a standard suite shimmered with the crystal chandelier’s sparkling light—but it was empty.

The owner was likely in a bedroom deeper inside.

Dean tiptoed to the door and set down the black sports bag.

“Knock, knock, knock.”

Three knocks, then a pause.

“Knock, knock, knock.”

Three more knocks. Dean then silently crouched by the right side of the gate, out of the peephole’s range, pressed against the wall, holding his breath as he used the god’s-eye view to observe inside.

Less than thirty seconds passed.

Tap, tap, tap…

Footsteps approached from afar.

Through the god’s-eye view appeared a familiar face: blonde hair, blue eyes, slender figure—the youngest son of the real estate magnate, Gru Stone.

At four in the morning, when normal people were fast asleep and night owls who had partied all night were about to rest, this wealthy heir showed no trace of fatigue. His eyes glittered with a terrifying hunger and excitement, his nostrils flaring as he took deep breaths, his expression tinged with a sickly greed.

Instead of comfortable pajamas, he wore a strange dark red oversized apron that covered his chest and thighs. The apron was stained with thick, wrinkled unknown grime.

His steps were restless, like ants on a hot pan.

Creak—

Gru opened the door, rubbed his hands excitedly, and hastily lifted the sports bag.

But the instant he touched it, his expression changed drastically.

Too light.

There was no way a person could be inside that bag!

Realizing something was wrong, Gru dropped the bag and tried to shrink inward like an eel.

But he was too slow.

A gust of wind blew.

A massive iron-thick thigh got stuck between the closing iron gate and the frame.

Simultaneously, a silenced pistol pressed against his temple.

A face moved from behind the gate to directly in front of Gru’s eyes, grinning broadly, showing white teeth. The smile was warm and welcoming.

But Gru couldn’t smile back.

“Shh—”

Dean pressed his left index finger to his lips in a hush gesture, his right hand gripping the pistol tightly, pushing Gru inside.

With a backward kick, he pulled the sports bag into the house.

Thud.

The gate slammed shut.

Dean forced Gru behind a genuine leather sofa, making him plop down onto the cold marble floor.

Tossing aside his wide-brimmed hat, Dean’s teasing gaze began to appraise this wealthy heir from head to toe—

Gru tightened his cheeks, sealed his lips, trying his best to maintain calm and composure, but the trembling at the corners of his mouth and fingers betrayed his true feelings.

“Mr. Stone, to thank you for the wonderful gift you sent me this early morning, I have specially come to return the favor.”

Dean mockingly slapped Gru’s face with his hand, watching a humiliating flush rise on his cheeks. The frustration from previous cases overturned instantly vanished.

He couldn’t deal with a wealthy heir through normal means.

But he could ruin him insidiously.

Dean wasn’t planning to let this guy die too easily.

“How do you feel? Surprised, moved, satisfied?” Dean widened his eyes, slowly spinning the gun barrel against Gru’s lush platinum blond hair. “When you descend into hell, remember to give me a ten out of ten.”

Gru’s neck veins bulged.

“I don’t understand what you mean. Are you mistaken?”

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“A mistake?”

Bang!

The pistol traced a violent black line.

Dean swung the gun butt and smashed Gru’s face hard, leaving a ridiculous red mark on his perfect marble-like profile.

The handsome man turned into a comical clown.

But Gru was tough, baring his teeth and swallowing his groan, casting a sidelong glance at Dean.

“Okay, I admit defeat! I hired two people to deal with you… I underestimated your strength, I offended your dignity, and I’m willing to compensate. What do you want? Money, status, or women?”

Gru Stone clasped his knees tightly, staring Dean in the eyes, forcing calm on his face.

“There’s no mortal grudge between us. Spare me this once, name your conditions—I promise you, the Stone family’s power and wealth exceed your imagination.”

“If you worry about retaliation later, I can get you a foreign identity—Canada, Franzistan… Enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your life, so you can disappear.”

Dean looked down on him for a moment, and as his gaze shifted, an involuntary flicker of interest appeared.

“Very tempting, I’ll consider it. But before that, you need to answer a few questions honestly.”

His pupils constricted, radiating a chilling cold light.

“From January to October this year, every month you had Tatio kidnap a living person and bring them to this house. For what purpose? Where did you put those innocent victims?”

Gru swallowed hard, showing an expression of utter disbelief, then his face darkened as he lifted his chin, spitting out a torrent of lies.

“Who told you such falsehoods? Tatio and Cruz? That’s nonsense, slander! No one else besides you has ever been harmed by me!”

“Heh.”

Dean smiled broadly, his right hand lowering.

The gun barrel aimed at the right thigh of Gru and pulled the trigger.

Whizz!

Flesh tore open, blood blossoming on the dark red apron, droplets dripping to the floor.

Hiss—

Gru’s face contorted in pain, veins and tendons writhing beneath his skin like eels.

Yet he gritted his teeth, covering the bleeding wound, letting blood stain his fingers, never uttering a sound of pain.

Even his green eyes flashed a strange excitement.

Damn.

Is this guy a masochist?

A cold glint flashed in Dean’s eyes as he raised the gun barrel to Gru’s forehead.

“Are Stone family members all this tough? Fine, I’ll grant your wish.”

“Stop! Don’t kill me! I’ll talk!”

“I kidnapped ten people. I brought them here and tortured them.”

The man finally broke down, shouting hoarsely, looking at Dean as if he were a madman.

“After I vented, I sold them off to Europe!”

Dean checked his system; the investigation progress jumped from 10% to 15% since entering the door.

Too little, this guy wasn’t being honest.

He sighed, a trace of pity appearing in his eyes.

“If I remember correctly, among those kidnapped was a man over seventy. Are Europeans really that unpicky?”

Whizz—

A bullet tore through Gru’s right leg again. He groaned, trying to cover one wound with one hand, but the blood gushed out uncontrollably, pooling on the floor.

He sobbed, his voice trembling with pain, tears streaming down.

“You win, you madman!”

“They’re in the house, go further inside… but let me bandage this first, I don’t want to bleed to death.”

…

Dean fashioned two crude bandages, letting Gru barely dress the wounds, then pressed the gun to the back of his head, escorting him across the hall toward the kitchen.

At the same time, he activated Ghost Armor to cover his body further, avoiding any traps.

The bright lights revealed a fully equipped, large-scale kitchen comparable to a professional restaurant’s.

Dean sniffed, and on the cutting board by the stove lay a large plate of finely chopped, vibrant parsley, rosemary, black pepper, sage—more than ten kinds of herbs.

They emitted a rich, layered aroma.

Beside the spices were enticing foie gras, caviar, and vegetable salad…

Dean looked oddly at the limping Gru and joked,

“You were cooking gourmet food before? Waiting for me to come have a midnight snack together?”

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“These are just appetizers,” Gru said, clutching his thigh and gasping, regretful, “The main course, I probably will never get to taste.”

……

Dean followed him to the innermost part of the kitchen, before a silver stainless steel door guarding the freezer.

Gru pressed the external switch several times to unlock it, then pulled open the door.

A wave of pale freezing air rushed out, swiftly filling the kitchen, dropping the temperature by several degrees instantly.

Blood loss left Gru shivering all over. He turned, seeking Dean’s approval.

But Dean’s extensive past movie experience told him not to enter an unfamiliar room recklessly.

To rashly rush into the freezer to check?

If Gru Stone shut the door behind him, he’d become frozen meat.

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