I Am Your Father

Whether in terms of figure or looks, including temperament, Fire Fox could be ranked among the top-tier beauties. A beauty she was, a goddess indeed, but Russell knew exactly how dangerous she was. Besides, this goddess wasn't his, so he wouldn't go easy on her.

Standing up and looking at the unconscious Fire Fox, Russell picked up the M9 from the tracks and aimed it at her head. Just then, the Character Card's duration expired. He hesitated for a moment, then lowered the gun.

Fire Fox could die, but not by his hand—otherwise Wesley would come at him with everything he had.

Russell thought it over, eyeing her motionless, curvaceous form on the ground. He pulled off his own belt... and tied Fire Fox's hands behind her back.

Then he yanked out Fire Fox's belt... and bound her feet as well.

Russell patted Fire Fox down thoroughly, confirming she had no tracker, before grabbing the belt around her ankles and dragging her over to the pickup truck. He tossed her into the open cargo bed, wrapped her up like a zongzi in a tarp, then clapped his hands and opened the driver's door.

In the rearview mirror, Russell looked at the bruise on his cheek. He opened the system interface, took out the Medicated Alcohol, and dabbed it on. The effect was good—soon he was back to being that handsome, sunny young man.

"Ring~ Ring~ Ring~"

Russell found the phone under the seat. It was Cross calling. He answered directly: "How'd it go? What's the result?"

Cross's voice sounded a bit frustrated: "Pretty bad. I subdued Wesley and told him I'm his father, but he wouldn't listen at all. Said he'd kill me."

Russell raised an eyebrow: "So?"

"I knocked him out. Head back to the factory and wait for me. We'll talk then."

"Alright."

"How about you? Did you shake Fire Fox? Be careful she doesn't tail you."

"No, I captured her alive."

Cross paused for two seconds, then said with some displeasure: "Why take her alive? Too risky. You should've just killed her."

Russell smirked: "It's a long story. Let's just say if I'd killed her, neither you nor Wesley would ever forgive me."

"Why?"

"You might not believe this, but she said she's pregnant with Wesley's child."

"..."

At the machine shop, Russell tied Fire Fox to a secured chair. About two hours later, Cross came back carrying the unconscious Wesley over his shoulder.

Seeing Fire Fox's face swollen like a pig's head, Cross's face twitched. If he remembered right, Fire Fox was carrying Wesley's kid. After that beating, would the baby be hurt?

Russell took Wesley and expertly tied him to a chair. Until Wesley believed Cross was his real father, it was better to keep him restrained.

Wesley woke up feeling a sudden cold on his face and saw Russell standing in front of him, along with the water cup in his hand. In an unfamiliar place, facing a stranger with obvious ill intent, Wesley's first thought was to escape. But his hands and feet were bound; after a few struggles, he gave up.

"Where is this? Who are you?"

The Brotherhood's training had paid off. If this were the loser version of Wesley from two weeks ago, he'd already be crying about having no money and begging to be let go.

Russell didn't answer. He stepped aside, revealing Cross behind him.

Seeing Wesley tied up, Cross's heart softened, and he put on a loving father's face. But the expected tearful father-son reunion didn't happen. Wesley spotted the unconscious Fire Fox nearby and started cursing Cross nonstop, spittle flying all over his face.

"Fuck! You goddamn bastard, I curse you..."

That wasn't Wesley's exact words, but the translation was close enough. Cross was dumbfounded, and even Russell was taken aback by Wesley's ferocity.

No wonder he was the protagonist of the original story—when he got vicious, he didn't even spare himself!

Wesley was in a foul mood. After training with the Brotherhood, he'd thought he'd cut a bloody swath, kill Cross to avenge his father, but instead, Cross had beaten him down on the train.

His curved shots looked utterly childish in front of Cross. After running out of bullets, Cross pinned him to the ground and thrashed him, forcing him to call him "Dad."

Wesley felt an unprecedented humiliation. He fought back, only to get beaten again.

During the fight, Cross used shoes, belts, broomsticks, and a whole arsenal of tools, sending Wesley rolling on the floor in pain. Maybe the father-son bonding felt too real—Cross had only ever seen it in other families. His first taste of it felt pretty good, and he got carried away, landing a few extra belt lashes.

After getting pummeled, Wesley faced Cross's insulting demand to call him "Dad" again. He spat right in Cross's face and got knocked out cold with one punch.

Wesley thought he was dead, that his body would be buried in some wasteland, dug up by archaeologists centuries later, his skull displayed in a museum. But when he woke up, he found himself alive. His goddess Fire Fox was there too, though her face was swollen like a pig's head. If not for her clothes, he wouldn't have recognized her.

Pig head aside, why were her boobs uneven?

Seeing his beloved goddess abused, Wesley flew into a rage and laid into Cross with a torrent of curses. The gist was: take it out on me, what kind of man hits a woman? He'd always been timid and rarely argued, so his insults were repetitive.

Stuff like "May your son be born without a dick," "May your son have no asshole," or "If he does, he'll have two!"

Cross's reaction surprised Wesley again. He expected Cross to fly into a rage and give him the same beating Fire Fox got.

But instead, Cross didn't lay a hand on him. He just stared at Wesley like he was an idiot. Russell, standing nearby, looked at him with admiration and respect, which actually made Wesley a bit embarrassed.

The scene fell silent. Russell poured himself a glass of water and stood off to the side as a spectator, letting the father and son put on their show.

Cross once again lowered the bar for what Russell thought a top-tier assassin could be. For all his cold-blooded, ruthless killing, he turned into a stammering mess in front of his own son. All he could say was "I'm your father," weak and utterly unconvincing.

Wesley was just as stubborn. Convinced that Big Slick was his real dad, he kept cursing Cross, wishing his son had no asshole.

Russell watched for a while, then couldn't help but laugh out loud.

Cross glared at him. How could anyone laugh at such a touching scene? Did you have no humanity?

"Honestly, you're the worst father I've ever seen. Step aside and watch—this is how you handle a rebellious son!"

Russell pushed Cross aside, having given up on the lousy assassin's verbal skills. He decided to take matters into his own hands. He splashed a cup of hot water in Wesley's face, and as Wesley screamed, followed up with a right hook.

Cross's eyelids twitched. He nearly drew his gun and put Russell down, but held back in the end. He decided to watch first—if Russell failed to convince Wesley, he'd return the punch his son had taken.

Russell placed both hands on Wesley's shoulders, his tone genial. "Kid, you're too worked up. That's no good for a friendly chat. If you've calmed down, nod. If not, I'll hit you again until you do. Now tell me—are you calm?"

You're the one who needs to calm down!

Wesley grumbled inwardly. Watching Russell's smiling face, he felt uncertain and nodded to show he was calm.

That's how humans worked—kindness and a gentle manner never earned tolerance or understanding, only made the other party push harder. It took a fierce face and a fist to get someone to listen properly. Summed up in one word: asking for it.

"Listen, I know you're a stubborn guy. You think Big Slick is your father, so no matter what Cross says, you won't believe it."

"Who's Big Slick?"

Russell sighed, flipped the crossed-out photo off the table, and showed it. Wesley's emotions flared again, but when Russell raised his fist, he immediately behaved.

Russell tore up Big Slick's photo. "He's not your father. You're not blood-related. You've been lied to. That weathered, stubbly guy is your real dad."

"Don't try to fool me. He's the one who killed my father!"

Russell gave a contemptuous smirk. "Why do you believe the Brotherhood when they tell you Big Slick is your father, but deny it when I tell you Cross is?"

Wesley frowned. "Isn't that obvious?"

Russell shook his head. "If Big Slick really were your father, then I'd be the one who killed him. What, Sloan didn't tell you? I'm the one who put Big Slick down on the rooftop."

Kneel and beg for support!