Chapter 395: A Direct Attack (Part 2)
The sheer power that Jett displayed was startling the employees. None of them had ever seen anything like it before, and the thought stuck in their heads like a cold nail. Had they ever truly dealt with someone this strong? The question repeated itself silently among them, shaking the confidence that normally came with their uniforms.
Through all of their missions, all of their assignments, their work had been about following routine. Escorting high-profile clients. Standing guard over quiet doors. Watching monitors and waiting for signals. If there were ever attacks on the people they were assigned to protect, the attackers were usually amateurs, untrained, reckless, and easily subdued. Their jobs, if they admitted it, were simple. Easy. It was rare they had ever needed to push themselves to the edge. But this, what stood before them now, was different. This was the first time they had run into a wall, and that wall had a name.
One of the employees made the mistake of striking first. He lunged forward and aimed a kick straight at Jett. But Jett caught the man’s foot in one hand as though he were plucking a stone from the ground. His fingers closed tightly, crushing down against the shoe and the trainer wrapped around it until the entire foot felt like soft dough in his palm. The man screamed, but Jett didn’t stop. With a flick of his arm, casual as a child tossing a toy, he hurled the guard behind him. The man’s body hit the floor hard, sliding across the polished tiles.
And the worst part was, it wasn’t only Jett.
The rest of the Black Hounds were fighting too, and they weren’t sloppy. They were wild, yes, but wild in a way that came from experience. They swung their bats and iron bars with no hesitation, no restraint, smashing at full power. One guard staggered when a heavy swing landed directly on his chest. The force made him stumble, his armor bending inward. The protective gear held, just barely doing its job, but even then the blow left him winded and gasping.
The guards weren’t weak. Their training showed, their armor kept them standing, and they struck back with batons and shields. But it was clear which side held the upper hand. Jett’s group wasn’t like ordinary gangsters. They were faster, stronger, and far more ruthless. The guards found themselves losing ground, their advantage slipping.
Then the elevator dinged. The sound echoed in the reception like a bell of hope. The doors slid open and another wave of private security staff stormed out, weapons raised, eyes sharp. Reinforcements had arrived. Their presence doubled the numbers and turned the balance slightly. Now, almost two guards faced every Black Hound. At last, there was a chance.
And yet, even with that new advantage, Jett moved like nothing had changed.
While the battle raged around him, shouts, thuds, and the sound of steel clashing against reinforced armor, Jett walked forward without hesitation. He reached the front desk, pressed his fingers into the polished wood, and leapt. His body cleared the surface in one smooth motion. As he landed, his hand let go, and the reception desk was left scarred. Deep grooves, the shape of his fingers, were etched into the wood as though it had been clay.
"He’s coming right for me... he’s coming right for me, isn’t he?" Sheri’s voice broke into panic. Her chest heaved as she tried to back away.
"Stay behind us!" the guards barked. Every single one of them could see it too. Jett’s eyes hadn’t shifted since the moment he entered the building. His target was Sheri. Their training took over. Protect the client. Form a shield. Delay the threat.
"You two, funnel her off to the right side of the building! Take the elevator up! They’ll protect her up there!"
"Where the hell is Darno?" another snapped, frustration bleeding into his tone. "If he was here, maybe we’d stand a chance!"
But this wasn’t the time to question who was present or who wasn’t. All that mattered was survival. Two of the guards grabbed Sheri and hurried her toward the side, trying to get her away from Jett’s line of sight.
Jett, without even glancing back, reached again for the desk. His hand sank into the wood, his fingers curling and digging deep. The muscles in his arm tensed, and with a savage yank he tore the top straight from its base. The sound of splintering wood cracked through the room like gunfire.
He swung it once, then hurled it. The tabletop flew like a giant projectile, smashing into the two guards who had been leading Sheri away. The impact slammed them against the wall with brutal force. Their armor protected their lives, but not their pain. They crumpled, groaning in agony, barely able to move.
"Because of my grip strength," Jett said, voice loud and even, "some people like to think I’m superhuman." He flexed his fingers as though to show the truth in his words. "But in my eyes, it’s just everyone else who’s weak. Now... are you going to come with me, or am I going to have to grab you with these hands?"
Sheri stood frozen, unable to move, her body trembling from head to toe. Around her, the others were still locked in combat, but none of that seemed to matter anymore. No one could reach her in time. No one could save her like before. She could already see the outcome if Jett laid one hand on her arm. The wood had shattered like paper in his grip, the armor had crumbled like nothing. If he touched her, her bones would snap the same way.
"I’ll... I’ll come with you," she stuttered. Her voice cracked, her throat dry. "But at least... at least everyone else will stop fighting, right?"
"My target is only you," Jett answered, unwavering. His eyes didn’t move from her. But in the back of his head, another thought simmered. Taking her would bring more than just one prize. The red-haired boy would follow, and when he did, everything they wanted would fall into place. Anton would get his revenge.
"The others are meaningless to me. My men are getting hurt for no reason," Jett added sharply. "So hurry!" He stretched his hand out toward her.
Sheri’s hesitation stretched like glass on the verge of shattering. She stared at the hand, wide-eyed, breath shallow. Finally, with no other choice, she lifted her own trembling hand and placed it in his.
The grip closed instantly, and Jett pulled her close. Then, with the ease of a giant, he lifted her under his arm, holding her as though she were weightless, as though she were already his.
"Alright boys, we got what we came for," Jett bellowed, his voice commanding over the chaos. "Let’s wrap it up!"
He turned toward the exit, Sheri held firmly in his grasp.
At that moment, the elevator dinged again. The doors slid open, and a tanned man stepped out, eyes flashing in shock and fury.
"What the f*ck is going on?" Darno demanded.