Given to You

The modifications were going more slowly than Donnie had expected. Carrying a bottle, Old Bartender demanded several tens of thousands of dollars from Donnie in one breath. He wanted the best parts, the best alloys, the best converters. He wanted to build a war motorcycle.

The two of them spent lavishly, throwing money around without batting an eye. Seeing an opportunity for profit, someone came over hoping to swindle some money from them, but Old Bartender quickly saw through him. Then Donnie stepped in and beat the man half to death.

The screams drew plenty of attention. Some people with criminal backgrounds looked indifferent, while others were impatient.

"This is Irish gang territory. Who dares cause trouble here?" A burly man with a vicious face began reaching for his gun. By the rules, he could shoot these clueless rookies dead.

Another person quickly stopped him and quietly told him that the young man doing the beating was The Mechanic, who had recently risen to prominence.

"Don't let his youth and ignorance fool you. If he gets a chance to make a move, he always goes for the kill. Quite a few people have died at his hands lately."

People whispered among themselves, and many cast wary, fearful looks at Donnie. Those who had been considering making a move quietly put their guns away, not daring to reveal the slightest hint of intent. Who would dare challenge this Mutant without some real skills? Rumors said that unless they lured this Mutant into some remote wilderness, wherever he went could very well be his home ground.

This Mutant seemed capable of endlessly producing mechanical soldiers. No one knew where his limit lay.

Many people backed down and dropped the matter, but there were also daredevils who approached him, seemingly hoping to speak with Donnie. This drew plenty of curious eyes.

A very strange person came before Donnie. He was wrapped from head to toe in a thick black custom-made outfit, with a hood over his head that let in no light.

"Is this guy trying to provoke him? Or make friends with him?"

"I bet he'll be sent packing in three sentences. What organization other than a major one could recruit that Mutant?"

People discussed it one after another, waiting to see the man leave with his tail between his legs.

The strange man walked straight up to Donnie, met his gaze, and showed no fear.

"Mr. Donnie." The strange man smiled, revealing his fangs as if deliberately letting Donnie see them. "I bring you greetings on behalf of the Thompson Family."

Old Bartender's crouched body suddenly trembled. He then continued installing parts as if nothing had happened, though his legs had begun to shake, and he fumbled with a clasp for ages without managing to fasten it.

Donnie's expression remained blank. "I don't think I have anything to exchange greetings about with things like you."

"Don't say that." The strange man spoke courteously. "You wiped out one of our Thompson Family's strongholds last night quite magnificently. Your name has spread throughout the underground world, and you have thoroughly humiliated our family. Also, my name is John Thompson."

"So you came to declare war? You want to wage war against me in broad daylight?" Donnie smiled without smiling.

Vampires could not withstand sunlight. Seeing it meant certain death.

John neither confirmed nor denied it. He proposed taking Old Bartender back with him, after which their grudges would be wiped clean. He guaranteed that no one would trouble Donnie again.

"This man was originally a Ha-Ghost Clan follower of our family. It took us many years to find him," John explained.

"He's Ha-Ghost Clan? That's the first I've heard of it. But this man is useful to me, so I can't hand him over." Donnie refused, lying through his teeth and pretending to know nothing. He said there was no way he would hand Old Bartender over.

John Thompson's smile stiffened somewhat. He did not believe Donnie could be such a "gentleman," abducting someone for no reason and not even fucking interrogating him.

Just look at that old slickster beside him, nodding and bowing like he wanted to spill his guts. It would be a miracle if this Mutant truly knew nothing.

Old Bartender's acting was flawless. That loyal expression could fool anyone. Even an Oscar winner would have to admit defeat. Old Bartender had honed his acting over the years; he spoke like a man to men and like a ghost to ghosts.

Donnie glanced at Old Bartender, suppressing the urge to kick him, then stepped forward and looked down at the Vampire. "He is extremely useful to me. I will not hand him over to you."

The words disgusted Donnie beyond measure. He wanted nothing more than to kick Old Bartender to death. Then he suddenly thought, Why not just hand Old Bartender over and have a real fight with the Vampires?

John Thompson smiled again. He straightened his back and remained courteous. Despite his ugly attire, he still carried the noble air unique to a pureblood. He told Donnie that the Thompson Family did not wish to damage their relationship with him over a Ha-Ghost Clan member. If Donnie insisted on refusing, he would likely make enemies of the Thompson Family and its affiliated minor families.

Several more strange people dressed the same way emerged and surrounded Donnie. Nearby workers wanted to come over and break things up, but one glare from the red eyes of these strange people sent them fleeing. They did not dare come back to court death.

"Mr. Donnie, please consider this one last time. Don't ruin yourself." John Thompson gave Donnie one final warning, his tone threatening. Yet inwardly, he was calculating that the timing was about right. He had completed the task that person had assigned him. It was time to leave.

Donnie remained silent for a long time. Seeing John about to leave, he narrowed his eyes and suddenly spoke. "Fine. I give in. I'll do as you say."

"What?!" John froze in place, staring at Donnie in disbelief. There had been nothing like this in his script. This was completely different from what that person had instructed.

"Mr. Donnie, what did you say... You're willing to hand this old man over to me?" John was tense. Despite the physique of a pureblood, sweat actually appeared on his forehead. His tongue tied itself, and he suddenly had no idea what to say next.

"Yes, he's yours." Donnie sighed and grabbed Old Bartender with a look of utter disgust, telling John that he could take him away.

John was stunned. So was Old Bartender. What kind of thought process did this young man have? How could he sell Old Bartender off so easily?

Donnie spread his hands, signaling his innocence. He said he completely despised this old slickster and feared the Thompson Family's might even more. If the nobles truly wanted him, Donnie had decided to cooperate fully.

"The Thompson Family? What happened before was a misunderstanding, all of it. From now on, our grudges are wiped clean. You said that yourself." Donnie looked as if he had settled their past grievances with a smile and become quite close to the other party.

Cold sweat poured from John. Forcing himself to continue, he said, "Have you really made up your mind? Won't you think it over again?" He still wanted to struggle one last time. Maybe there was still hope.

Donnie nodded firmly, hoping to reconcile with the Thompson Family.

The onlookers had been driven away by the strange people the whole time and looked quite miserable. They urged John to hurry up, take the man, and get lost. He should not make a scene here and interfere with their share.

"This is Irish gang property. If you don't want trouble, leave now."

"Exactly. Didn't he already compromise? What are you doing? Take your man and go."

People urged John one after another not to be so determined to make things difficult for himself.

Even Old Bartender's eyes rolled shrewdly. Seeing what was going on, he simply lay down on the ground and told the Vampires to carry him away quickly. "I can't eat well or sleep warmly with this guy. Hurry and rescue me. The old days were better."

John trembled with rage, utterly awkward and embarrassed. He had an urge to kill this old slickster and all these gawking bystanders with a single palm strike.