Chapter 4: Slaughter The Ungrateful

For a heartbeat, every eye locked on Taylor. Was he begging to die for daring to threaten the Wokeys on their turf? Enzo's brows knitted as he glanced over. He kept quiet, wanting to see how his son would handle this fool. The Wokey family ran Nettle now; his son could do whatever he wanted. After a brief silence, Kenneth burst out laughing. "Ha! Mad now, Mr. Jauncy? Fine, fine. Didn't you want to see Jacqueline?" He waved a hand. "Bring that bitch out!" "Let's see that bloodbath at Worldview Estate you were talking about." Moments later, two henchmen dragged a young girl into the banquet hall. She couldn't have been more than nineteen, slim and graceful, but she was soaked in blood that dripped from the ends of her hair. Slash marks cut across her once-bright face. It was a brutal sight. "She's right there. Want to take her?" Kenneth jutted his chin and smirked. The instant Taylor saw Jacqueline's condition, rage exploded inside him. His eyes went wide. He spun his wheelchair to rush forward, but Kenneth blocked him with a raised foot. "Not so fast. You think you can just walk in here and walk out?" He shot a look at one of his guys. The man got the message, snatched up a cake knife from the table, and strode toward Taylor. "Leave two fingers. Then you can take her." Kenneth's eyes narrowed, cold. The Jauncy family used to be on top, and the Wokeys bowed and scraped. Kenneth had grovelled like a lapdog every time he saw Taylor. Now the Wokeys ran things. Of course he'd grind Taylor under his heel. Again, all eyes turned to Taylor. They knew the second that blade dropped, it'd mean the end of the Jauncys in Nettle. And to send a message, the Wokeys would never let Taylor walk out alive. Enzo smirked. "To do big things, you've got to be more ruthless than most. Good work, Kenneth." Taylor took the cake knife, looked Kenneth in the eye, and asked, "Which hand did you use to hit Jacqueline?" At that, the room froze. Was he brain-damaged? Which hand? The Wokeys run Nettle; they can use whatever hand they want. They thought him an idiot for daring to act tough now. Kenneth cocked a brow and lifted both hands with a grin. "Both. Got a problem? Now I..." Swish! The knife flashed from Taylor's fingers, silver gleaming. Slash! Kenneth's hands were cut clean off at the wrists. Blood sprayed in two jets, shooting for the ceiling. "Aaah!" Kenneth crashed to the floor, screaming like a stuck pig, tears streaming down his face. "How dare you! You bastard, you laid a hand on my son? I'll flay you alive, piece by piece!" Enzo's roar cut through the chaos as he shoved through the crowd, eyes blazing. He'd planned to sit back and see what his son would do, and in a blink, both hands were gone. No way was he letting that slide. Taylor looked at him, icy. "He hurt Jacqueline. I took his hands. Got a problem with that?" "Bullshit! My son's a golden boy. Even if he'd killed her, so what?" Veins bulged in Enzo's neck as he bellowed, "Grab this mangy mutt! Tonight I'm wiping out the Jauncy family, every last one of them!" A dozen black-clad bodyguards rushed forward, blades swinging for Taylor. Taylor's eyes sharpened. His wheelchair shot forward, a blur, straight into their charge. Thud! Thud! Thud! Three muffled impacts, and the guards went flying, spitting blood, painting the floor red. In a heartbeat, Taylor slid to a stop in front of Enzo. "'Root and branch,' huh? Big talk from the Wokeys." "You dare..." Before Enzo could finish, Taylor's fist slammed into his chest with savage force. The blow punched right through. Enzo's eyes glazed; his knees buckled and he collapsed before Taylor. Behind him, Kenneth and the rest stared at the gaping hole blooming in Enzo's back. Blood fountained out like a busted hydrant. Taylor raised his gore-slick hand and backhanded him, taking Enzo's head clean off. Pfft! Blood sprayed. The body toppled. "Dad..." Kenneth's cry broke, ragged with disbelief. Taylor was wheelchair-bound. Where did this power come from? He'd tossed aside a squad of guards and killed Enzo like swatting a fly. That wasn't human strength. Taylor wheeled over to Jacqueline. With a casual lift of his hand, the two Wokey henchmen collapsed, dead where they stood. "M-Mr. Jauncy..." Jacqueline breathed, summoning the last of her strength. The sound cut through Taylor like a blade. "Don't be afraid, Jacqueline. I'm here. It's over." He gently swept the tangled hair from her face. At the sight of her ruined features, a storm raged in his chest. Bang! The floor seemed to shake with the crash. An instant later, two figures landed in front of Kenneth. "Kenneth, what happened?" Kenneth latched onto them like a drowning man grabbing a life raft. The two were the personal disciples of Nettle's top fighter, Seth. Sullivan and Levi. "He killed my dad. Hurry, kill him!" Sullivan gave Taylor a cold look. "Messing with the Wokeys is a slap at my master. Kid, you deserve to die for that." Taylor held his head high, voice steady. "The Wokeys got where they are thanks to the Jauncys. Instead of showing gratitude, you stabbed us in the back. Death would be letting you off easy." "Today I'm wiping out every ungrateful bastard. Who the hell are you to stand in my way?" The weight of his presence made Sullivan and Levi's hearts pound. How could a guy in a wheelchair have this kind of force? They exchanged a look and nodded. In the next moment, they split left and right, charging. Two heavy punches came in from both sides, gusts rippling ahead, the mark of bone-crushing power. "Hah, idiots. With those two stepping in, he's as good as dead." "What a pity. He is the last of the Jauncys." "Watch your mouth. This is Wokey turf." But in the next instant, every jaw dropped. Taylor was still in his wheelchair. He raised both hands to meet them. At the moment of contact, flesh and bone exploded; their fists shattered to pulp. Taylor didn't hesitate. He grabbed both men by the wrists, swung his arms, and hurled them like rag dolls. Bang! Bang! They smashed into opposite walls of the banquet hall. Their bodies crunched as bones shattered. Blood poured from noses and mouths. He dropped them both in one go. The hall went dead silent that you could hear a pin drop. It was terrifying. They'd been Seth's personal disciples, right on the cusp of Inner Strength. In the Underground Boxing Market, they could've run the place. Yet, Taylor had flung them to their deaths without ever leaving his chair. As Taylor rolled closer, Kenneth's eyes bulged. He backed away, step by step. The rest stared, stunned.  Taylor had been in a wheelchair for three years; everyone in Nettle knew it. How had he become so vicious? Suddenly, slow, unhurried footsteps echoed. With every step, the whole estate seemed to tremble. Along with the footsteps came a pressure that words couldn't capture, pouring into the hall like a storm. Every face turned to the doors, stricken. Thud! The last heavy step landed. A middle-aged man in a black jacket stood on the threshold. Sharp brows and fierce, piercing eyes, hair slicked straight back, a scar ridging his dark face. It was Seth, one of Nettle's top fighters. "To wreck a Wokey banquet and kill my two disciples? You're dead today, kid." Seth's gaze was flat as he looked at Taylor in the wheelchair, his tone as cold and casual as a judge passing sentence.