Five Finger Mountain
Before long, a huge crowd of men came rushing over, armed with knives of every size and all kinds of sharp weapons.
There was only one place in the camp with that many sharp tools: the kitchen.
Judging by their clothes, they were obviously local cooks, brought over by someone.
They were locals, and one of their own had been bullied. They weren't about to let that go. The oil men in this little region were nothing if not close-knit; one shout could bring a whole crowd running.
But when they saw exactly who Abdullah's servant had pointed out, they all abruptly ground to a halt without warning. They stared at one another, then suddenly shouted, dropped their weapons, and turned to flee.
A person's reputation cast a long shadow. The cooks had heard the terrifying stories of the monsters' appetite—how could they not run when they saw one?
They were afraid they'd be eaten too if they didn't get away fast enough.
Bahrain Island was tiny, and with the internet, a rumor could spread from one person to ten, then ten to a hundred. In just one night, the story had spread throughout the entire local cooking community.
The moment the cooks and kitchen porters came charging over from the kitchen and saw a face exactly like the one in the photo warning all their fellow workers, they were scared out of their wits.
Damn, she's here!
I quit, all right?!
The crowd scattered like startled birds and beasts, leaving only one of Abdullah's servants standing there, dazed and utterly at a loss.
Hadn't they agreed to stand up for their master and beat that hateful woman up? Why had everyone run the moment they saw her?!
The Bengal tiger bared its enormous jaws, then cautiously