Master of Lust

Chapter - 242

The door swung open with a heavy thud, revealing seven men standing in the doorway, their presence instantly shifting the atmosphere in the room. Each of them carried an aura of raw power and danger, their eyes locking onto Rick with predatory intent.

The first three were mountains of muscle, their broad frames nearly filling the doorway. Their sheer size was intimidating, with arms that looked capable of bending steel. One of them had a long, jagged scar slicing down his face, disappearing into a tangled beard—a trophy from a fight that left its mark. Another's arm was a canvas of dark, swirling tattoos.

The third, bald and brawny, cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing through the room like the prelude to something brutal.

Behind these giants were two men who, while not as large, were every bit as formidable. Their bodies were chiselled and fit, the result of relentless training and countless battles. One had a deep scar running along his neck, a wicked grin on his face that hinted at the sadistic pleasure he took in his work.

The other, with cold, calculating eyes, moved with the precision of a seasoned killer, every step measured, every motion deliberate.

The last two henchmen, though leaner, exuded a different kind of menace. They moved with the quiet confidence of men who had faced death and walked away. There was a coldness in their demeanour, an unsettling calm that suggested they thrived on being underestimated.

All seven of them wore the same menacing grin, their eyes flicking between Zack and Rick, eager for the moment when the dogs would be unleashed on him. The men acted like they were a pack of wolves, waiting for their leader's command to strike.

But Rick knew better.

With his lips curling up in a smirk, Rick's gaze swept over them, taking in the sheer numbers of dogs ready to bite him.

On the other hand, looking at the state of the room, and old man Graves situation, the tension in the room tightened, like a wire drawn taut, as the henchmen stood ready, poised to erupt into violence at Zack's signal.

Rick took another sip of his beer, completely unfazed by the imposing figures now crowding the room. His eyes flicked over each of the henchmen, but there was no sign of concern, no hint of fear. Instead, he seemed almost amused, as if he were watching a particularly dull scene in a movie, he had seen a dozen times before.

The tension in the air, the anticipation of violence—it all seemed to wash over him like a gentle breeze.

The largest of the henchmen, a brute with a scarred face and arms like tree trunks, stepped forward, his heavy boots thudding against the floor. He turned to Zack, a sneer twisting his lips.

"Boss, you didn't need to call all of us for this little insect," he said, his voice a deep rumble that filled the room. His eyes flicked disdainfully toward Rick, who remained seated, still savoring his drink. "Just because he got the better of old man Graves doesn't make him anything special. Looks like age is catching up to Graves, and he's getting rusty.

But me?" He pounded a fist into his open palm, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "I'm more than enough to squash this bug. I'll crush him easily."

The other henchmen grinned in agreement, their eyes glinting with cruel anticipation. But Rick's expression didn't change. He took another slow sip, letting the beer's coolness wash over his tongue, completely ignoring the brute's words. It was as if the hulking man's presence didn't matter at all—as if the entire group was beneath his notice.

Rick's calmness was unnerving, a quiet confidence that spoke volumes without him needing to say a word.

The large henchman, clearly irritated by Rick's lack of response, clenched his fists, ready to make good on his threat. But Rick remained in his seat, his eyes finally meeting the brute's with a gaze so cold, it could have frozen fire.

Rick took a long, unhurried sip from his beer, his eyes flicking casually between the seven men standing before the door. A smirk played on his lips. The tension in the room was palpable, but Rick seemed utterly unfazed, almost amused by the sight of Zach's reinforcements.

"Well, well, well," Rick drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. "Zach, you must be getting desperate. First, you bring this old man to do your dirty work," he said, nodding toward the still-struggling Graves on the floor. "And now, you've brought in the whole circus."

"Seven of you, huh?" Rick continued, his tone light, almost conversational. "I guess you must be thinking that the odds are finally in your favour."

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head in mock pity. "Did you really think numbers would make a difference? I mean, it's adorable that you're still trying, but we both know how this is going to end."

Rick's gaze shifted to each of the henchmen, his smirk growing wider with every glance. "Look at you, group of miserable clowns, trying so hard to look tough. But let me tell you something—you're not the first group of idiots trying to fight me, and you sure as hell won't be the last."

The large henchman, clearly irritated by Rick, decided he had enough of the game. His muscles tensed as he stepped forward, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. Without a word, he lifted his leg, aiming a powerful kick directly at Rick's chest, intending to send him crashing to the ground.

The sheer force behind the kick would have been enough to knock any man off his feet, especially one sitting down.

But Rick in a flash of moments, moved swiftly. He didn't flinch or spill a drop of his beer. Instead, his free hand shot up with precise timing, catching the henchman's leg just as it was about to make contact. With a swift, fluid motion, Rick deflected the leg to the side, using the henchman's momentum against him.

The brute, caught off guard by the sudden counter, lost his balance. His eyes widened in shock as his leg was pushed past its intended target. Unable to stop himself, the henchman stumbled forward, his massive frame tilting dangerously. In a split second, Rick pushed the leg further, adding just the right amount of force to send the hulking man crashing to the floor.

The sound of the impact was like thunder, the brute's body hitting the ground with a heavy thud that echoed through the room. Rick, still seated, took another leisurely sip of his beer, his expression unchanging. He glanced down at the fallen henchman, who was groaning in pain and embarrassment, struggling to push himself back up.

Rick finally spoke, his voice as cool as ever, "I'd suggest you stay down. Wouldn't want to spill my drink now, would we?"

As the large henchman groaned on the floor, another of his companions—furious at the sight of his friend's defeat—couldn't contain his rage. With a roar of anger, he charged at Rick, his eyes blazing with vengeance.

Rick hurled the beer bottle towards the charging man. The bottle soared through the air, spinning, before crashing directly into the attacking henchman's head.

The impact was sharp and decisive. The charging bull was stopped that easily. The broken shards of the bottle scattered around him, and the henchman lay sprawled, clearly out of the fight.

He glanced at the two downed henchmen and remarked with a smirk, "Seems like the beer was finished anyway. At least the bottle did some good."

Seeing the state of his men, Zach's face contorted with a mix of rage and frustration. His confidence, which had been so assured just moments ago, was now beginning to crumble before his eyes. His hands clenched into tight fists, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to keep his composure.

"Enough!" Zach roared, his voice laced with both fury and desperation. His eyes burned with anger as he looked at the remaining men, who were hesitating, thrown off by Rick's easy victories. "Don't you get it? You're not dealing with some punk! Attack him together—now! Do you want to end up like the rest of them?"

The men, realizing the gravity of the situation and the intensity of Zach's command, steeled themselves, determination flickering in their eyes. But even as they began to move, forming a tight circle around Rick, there was an undercurrent of fear, a dawning awareness that this fight was far more dangerous than they had anticipated.

Rick, still seated, let out a low, taunting laugh, seemingly unfazed by their sudden unity. He looked up at the men encircling him and then at Zach, his grin widening. "Thanks for the advice, Zach. Saves me the trouble of picking you off one by one. It will be quicker this way! Now, let's get this over with, shall we?"

His laughter, soft yet resonant, echoed through the room, a chilling counterpoint to the mounting tension.