Bride of Retribution: Aloof Billionaire's Dominant Game

With a swish, a splash of blood flew out, and the king looked incredulously at the girl whose moves were unbelievably agile. Is she with Rogers’ gang?

So it has been calculated long ago, is that so? No wonder she seemed a bit different, she shouldn’t be in A District.

In this place, fighting, brawling, and even gun battles are common things, so the few people scattered in the bar didn’t find it strange; they just finished their drinks and left.

After all, knives and guns don’t have eyes. If they don’t leave, they might be waiting for someone to come and collect the corpses.

Looking at the situation, it seems quite serious.

The empty bar counter was deserted, with even the bartender gone, leaving only one man sitting there.

He turned his head and took off his hat, revealing a deeply chiseled face.

”My daughter, where is she?” His sharp lips curled into a dazzling and sarcastic arc, a father’s pride was evident.

When he said ”my daughter,” he really seemed immensely proud, as if he possessed the entire world.

”Are you Atlas Hallow?” The king hesitated for a moment, a bloodstained streak was clearly visible on his hand, with flesh turning outward, yet it’s as if he felt no pain, as though he’s an anomaly, as if the pain nerves in his body have disappeared.

Atlas Hallow, after all, is no ordinary person. Having heard of or seen photographs of him in magazines was not surprising.

”Where’s my daughter? Return her to me.” Atlas Hallow stood up, a powerful and boundless aura filling the entire rundown bar space, seemingly unable to contain, about to explode.

Intense murderous intent spread like alcohol, and around Atlas Hallow, it’s as if he’s a bottle filled with strong liquor, each drop emanating from his body.

Even Rogers was a bit astonished; plainly a successful businessman, yet at this moment, he’s fearsome like a Beast?

Really like a Beast, ready to pounce and tear someone apart at any moment.

”I won’t meddle in your family’s affairs, but if you harm a single hair on her head, I’ll make you my burial accompaniment.” With each step Atlas Hallow took forward, the danger increased.

”What, relying on numbers?” The king’s gray hair under the light appeared strangely eerie, like his entire demeanor; tall and robust as if trained, standing like a robot.

”If you lose, hand over my daughter immediately; if I lose, I’ll give you the Hallow Clan.” Atlas Hallow pointed to a piece of clear ground in front of the bar, which seemed like an abandoned boxing ring; years ago, many might have battled there, even with some dim bloodstains surrounding it.

Hallow Clan? That’s quite a good deal.

The king sneered and nodded, considering it a deal. He hadn’t expected that little girl to have such a significant background, being Atlas Hallow’s daughter, yet thinking about it, she really bears resemblance, her features like an intricate print.

He knew the little girl couldn’t be Roger’s child but could never have thought she’d be Atlas Hallow’s.

How could a woman abandon Atlas Hallow and marry Rogers? Truly unimaginable.

The two stepped onto the boxing ring, even Oliver Baird got down from the car, while those on the rooftop were already set up, sniper rifles ready to aim at the king’s heart, just waiting for Atlas Hallow’s command, yet he insisted on this fight.

Atlas Hallow removed those electrician-style overalls, revealing a black shirt and trousers underneath, with dark ink-like, stern-and-killing-intent eyes devoid of any expression, holding a sharp short knife in his hand, standing under the moonlight like a mysterious black shadow, sharp murderous intent dispersed from the shadow, entering the air, even the barking of dogs quieted a lot.

The king was holding a knife too, a long military knife, he enjoyed such deadly battles, the kind without regard for life; this knife has tasted the blood of too many people, every kill he’d try the taste of blood on the blade tip to stimulate his long numb nerves.

The king wasn’t much shorter than Atlas Hallow, and his muscles were more robust; when he wielded that military knife rushing forward, Atlas Hallow’s body slightly twisted, gracefully avoiding it, while his fists and feet carried vicious power, every strike seeming life-threatening, targeting to strike deadly, while the sharp blade cutting through air made piercing whistling sounds...