Pampered by My Secret Husband

Chapter 563: Chapter 566: I want to drink water, give me water...

Frank Mitchell was beaten to the ground by the guards. They picked up a nearby bathrobe and covered him with it.

”Miss Cecilia Branford, Dr. Standford’s master and Thomas Shannon have already gone to the rescue. You must leave this place with me immediately. It’s too dangerous to stay here for long.”

Sophie Sullivan nodded. She turned, walked over to Frank Mitchell, and stomped on the back of his hand.

She ground her heel into it.

Frank Mitchell, gasping for breath as he lay on the carpet, lifted his head to glare at her viciously.

A cold smile touched Sophie Sullivan’s lips. ”I told you earlier that you’d regret this.”

”It seems I underestimated you.”

”No, you overestimated yourself.”

Sophie Sullivan turned to the nearby guards. ”Control him. Don’t let him contact the outside world.”

She couldn’t let him contact his own people right now; otherwise, George Stanford might be in danger!

”Yes, Miss Cecilia Branford!”

The guards responded in unison.

Sophie Sullivan withdrew her foot and left with Leo.

「Oil storage warehouse.」

George Stanford had been tied to a chair for several days. His body was covered in bloodstains, and his injured hands were crushed and mangled.

He had passed out from the pain during the last round of beatings. When he slowly regained consciousness, he was extremely thirsty. He forced open his heavy eyelids, his blurry vision focusing on the person in front of him.

”Water... give me water.”

”What did you say?” A man grabbed his hair, yanking his head back.

George Stanford’s scalp prickled. He gasped painfully, ”I need water... Give me water...”

He was starving and parched. If not for sheer willpower, George Stanford would have succumbed long ago.

”Hear that? The old man wants some water,” the man yelled to his accomplices behind him, laughing loudly.

His accomplices roared with laughter. ”We don’t have water. Only piss. Want some?”

The man lowered his head, a wicked grin on his face. ”Well, old man? Want a drink?”

George Stanford had never suffered such humiliation in his life. Hearing this, he was so enraged he spat forcefully in the man’s face.

The man’s smile froze. He backhanded George Stanford across the face. ”You damned old fool! Tired of living, are you? Beat him!”

His companions swarmed forward, punching and kicking George Stanford.

THUD.

George Stanford, still tied to the chair, crashed to the ground. He let out a faint, agonized groan, his breath coming in wheezes.

Truly, he could neither live nor die.

Just as he was about to slip into darkness, the sound of footsteps reached him.

The men punching and kicking him simultaneously turned their heads toward the doorway.

They saw two groups of well-trained men advance simultaneously, swiftly surrounding them.

The man—likely the leader of the captors—realized things had gone wrong. He immediately pulled out his gun. ”Don’t come any closer! One more step, and I’ll kill him!”

The gun’s muzzle was aimed at George Stanford’s head.

Lucifer whistled. His hands were casually tucked into his suit trouser pockets. His deep blue eyes held a hint of amusement as he watched the profusely sweating man. ”Go ahead,” Lucifer said. ”Kill him.”

”What did you say?” Frank Mitchell’s subordinates thought they had misheard. Weren’t they here to save this old man? What was going on now?

”Don’t let your hand shake. Remember how to hold a gun? Need a demonstration?” Lucifer extended his hand, and a guard behind him immediately handed him a pistol.

Lucifer expertly chambered a round with swift, practiced movements, aiming the gun muzzle at George Stanford. ”Like this,” he said. ”Just squeeze the trigger with your index finger, and you can kill him.”

BANG!

The man flinched violently. He glanced down to check on George Stanford. In that one second of distraction, Lucifer’s bullet struck his temple.