Chapter 278

Eric’s preferences were like those of most men—he liked them young, pretty, and well-shaped.

He always referred to himself as a “hunter.” But more often than not, he wasn’t truly a hunter, because a real hunter doesn’t need to pay to eat meat.

He either used his money or relied on his special status to get what he wanted. So, by strict definition, he wasn’t a hunter at all—yet he liked calling himself one anyway.

Now that he needed an outlet, he became a “pure hunter,” seeking out prey that suited his taste.

“Alone?” Eric asked, approaching a girl with a glass of wine in hand. He liked the side profile of her face, the way her hair fell—there was a kind of fragmented beauty in it.

He had been watching her for a while. She had rejected several people and just sat alone in the corner, sipping her drink, seemingly troubled.

That made people curious. What was it that made her brows knit like that? It made one want to either solve her mystery—or make her sing in agony.

He couldn’t quite describe the feeling she gave him. Like a delicate white flower falling into a vat of dye—so out of place here, yet slowly being consumed by the surroundings.

He knew how this “white flower” would end up. He could save her, but instead, he had the twisted urge to destroy her completely.

Humans are complicated, even fools are.
People hate seeing good things—especially when they can’t have them.
If they can’t have it, they want to destroy it.
And even when they do get it—they still want to destroy it.

He walked up to the girl, swirling his drink. She glanced at him sideways, then turned away.

That human desire for conquest started to flare, and with his so-called “hunter’s pride,” Eric wasn’t willing to give up.

He circled to the other side of the table—the side she was facing—and said, “Let me buy you a real drink.”

The girl looked at him and replied, “Has no one ever told you you’re utterly vulgar?”

Eric was momentarily stunned. His brow twitched. He didn’t like words like that.

He was sensitive—because of who he was.

He hated adjectives that hinted at low-class, at trashiness. It reminded him of the pitiful truth of his current situation.

And it only deepened his desire to destroy her.
He wanted to see if she could still say that to him hours later. If she still had the strength to speak at all.

He licked his lips, the tension on his face relaxing into a roguish grin. “How much?”

The girl blinked, clearly not following. “What did you say?”

“I asked, how much?” he repeated.

When she still didn’t react, he raised his voice, “How much to f*** you?”

She threw her drink at him. But he dodged it—he was already prepared for that.

“Shameless bastard!”

“Hah!” Eric didn’t mind in the least. After all, the real fun was just about to begin.

“Girls who come to bars at night alone? They’re all doing the same thing. Do you really think a ‘good girl’ would sit here by herself drinking?”

“Drop the act. You’re just waiting for someone who can afford your price. And lucky you—I’ve got money.”

“Name it.”

He liked to use these filthy, degrading words to defile women who seemed respectable. These sharp, cutting words were like a scythe—he wanted blood.
Only then could he prove he was a true predator.

The girl tried to walk away. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into his chest.

“One hundred—how about that?”

“Two hundred?”

She struggled and slapped him—not hard, but enough to piss him off.
“Three hundred?” he sneered.

Gripping her hands, he growled, “I’ll give you five hundred. Right now!”

“I’ll call the police!” she screamed.

By now, others had started to gather, but Eric’s cronies chased them off. Even the bar’s security only stood guard to keep others away.

Whatever Young Master Eric did—it was always “right.”
The folks from Fides knew very well: even if Eric told you to kneel and play horsey for him, you’d better do it.

That was his privilege.

At this point, Eric resembled one of those grotesque villains from an opera—oozing pus from head to toe. When the girl threatened to call the cops, he didn’t show even a flicker of fear.

He even mocked her, “The police chief, John? He’s just my family’s dog. If you don’t have his number, I can give it to you!”

Seeing the disbelief in the girl’s eyes gave Eric an immense sense of satisfaction.

He touched her face. The softness, the bounce—it made him feel like he was floating.
He wasn’t interested in drinking anymore. He wanted her. Now.

She looked around, desperate, on the verge of crying for help. Eric stopped her.

“If you say that word out loud—someone else is going to join you.”

“Every time you scream, another one joins in.”

He even stepped back. “Go on—scream.”

The girl couldn’t tell if he was bluffing. But the way the bar security was shielding him made her realize—she had no way out.

She stood frozen, staring at him, defiant tears rolling down her cheeks. There was hatred in her eyes, and just a bit of fear.

And that expression gave Eric an unmatched high.

His psychological issues had never fully healed.
But his therapist had concluded that Eric didn’t need professional intervention anymore.
What he needed was release.

To vent his fear in his own way.
And only someone like Eric could afford that luxury.
Because no one else had the means.

Lance had left a massive scar on him. Subconsciously, Eric wanted to become someone like Lance—but clearly, he had turned that cruelty toward the wrong targets.

The more the girl cried, the more excited he got. He felt like he was going to explode.

His breathing turned rapid.
He dragged her out the bar’s back door, knowing full well not to cause trouble for the bar.

His lackeys had already brought the car around.

Panting, he said, “Take me to the nearest hotel…”

He couldn’t wait to get home. He needed her now.

There are many hotels in the Starlight District. After all, it is also one of the “tourist attractions” of Golden Port City, with rich supporting facilities.

The car didn’t go far before stopping in front of a hotel. Eric dragged the girl inside and stood at the front desk. “I’m Eric. Give me a suite,” he said.

The female receptionist looked a bit flustered. She glanced at the girl beside Eric, then looked toward the manager on duty.

The manager stepped forward on his own. “Give Mr. Eric a set of keys—our best suite!”

The receptionist took a set of keys and handed them over. “Have a pleasant—”

Before she could finish, Eric had already impatiently yanked the girl toward the elevator.

The receptionist looked at the manager, as if asking, “Is this really okay?” The girl clearly looked like she was being forced.

But the manager just calmly shook his head. “You’re always asking me what you should learn. Today, I’ll teach you the most important thing—”

“Don’t stick your nose into other people’s business.”

He returned to his seat and closed his eyes for a nap.

Eric tossed the girl onto the bed like a wild beast. Ignoring her cries, he tore at his clothes. He was venting all his rage and fear through violence.

It had to be said—at that moment, he felt terrifyingly powerful.

This emotional outburst lasted for quite a while. When he finally released part of his fear with a roar, his whole body relaxed.

Looking at the mess in the room, he smiled with satisfaction. He glanced at the girl, who had been completely wrecked by his hands. His destructive urges had been fully unleashed.

He went to the bathroom, took a hot shower, drank some alcohol, did some physical exercise—and now, the comfort of the hot water made him start to yawn.

He moved to another room and lay down on a clean bed, his mind completely blank.
A night without thinking about anything… how nice.

Unknowingly, he fell asleep.

He didn’t know that the girl, meanwhile, had silently stood up with a calm expression on her face.

She put on a robe, walked to the door, and opened it without hesitation.

Erwin, now dressed as a hotel staff member, pushed in a service cart. The girl lit a cigarette and tilted her head toward him. “He’s in the guest room.”

Erwin nodded slightly. “Thanks again. Do you want to go to the hospital?”

Though she couldn’t see well, she could tell the girl had probably been beaten.

The girl looked indifferent. “He’s just an amateur. Not even that, really. These injuries are nothing.”

She hesitated for a moment. “Can I ask what you plan to do with him?”

Erwin was silent for a while.

Suddenly, the girl said, “Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

Erwin gave her an approving look. “Too late now. He’s going to be front-page news. But don’t worry we promised that you won’t be hurt.”

“What about the others?”

In fact, the bar wasn’t just a trap for her. Several other girls were also fishing for Eric.

Erwin had spoken with them if they helped lure Eric to the hotel, the family would help them fix their identity papers. In other words, they’d become legal Federal citizens. Then, with the money Lances gave them, they could start new lives.

There was a condition though, they could never appear in Likalai State again. If they were discovered back there—

They’d face total destruction.

Several girls had agreed without hesitation.

It wasn’t really about the money. What they truly cared about was legal status.

Right now, 70% of the girls working in the sex trade in the Imperial District were illegal immigrants.

If they had come legally, they wouldn’t be rich, but at least they wouldn’t be so poor they had to sell their bodies.

So these girls had a lot of problems to solve. But legal identity was the most urgent one.

If immigration authorities decided to round them up, they’d be deported. So having legal status was essential.

As for money? That wasn’t a big deal. They already knew how to make money lying down.

They had gotten used to life in the Federation. Returning to the dull environment of the Empire was something they couldn’t accept.

And legal identity meant safety, in a way.

Erwin pushed the cart into the guest room and closed the door. “The others will get what they want too,” he said.

Fifteen minutes later, under the effects of powerful sedatives and painkillers, Eric was loaded into the service cart without resistance. Erwin quietly wheeled him out of the hotel.

Despite the mayor putting pressure on the Five Great Families, they still hadn’t lashed back—something Lances didn’t want to see. So if they wouldn’t act, he’d stir the pot himself.

That morning, the mayor got out of his car, straightened his suit, grabbed his briefcase, and walked into City Hall.

John had been doing a good job. This greedy dog was very useful. And he had made the right choice.

The Port Substation was now basically on John’s side, which meant it was on the mayor’s side.

If the mayor could control a few more regional substations, then he’d hold the key power.

Taking down the Five Families would be much easier. Then he could find a way to get rid of Senator Wade or Senator Williams. after all, they’d been local politicians all their lives. Getting transferred to be mayors elsewhere before retirement wasn’t unreasonable.

Then the only stubborn holdout in the city would be one last guy. And the mayor could deal with him at his leisure and finally turning Golden Port City into his own.

That’s why he seemed so high-spirited lately. Investors from Fides and elsewhere were looking at the city again, and many were calling to ask if the New Bay Area and New Port Zone projects could resume.

He was excited at the prospect of success.

If he secured Golden Port, the state government, the legislature, even capital with connections in Congress could flow in. The road to higher office would be much smoother.

Just after sitting down, his personal secretary came over with a basket which contained files and letters delivered overnight and this morning.

The secretary sorted through them briefly and brought them over. Before the mayor could even begin looking, a loud gasp came from outside the door.

“Oh my God, this is terrifying!”

The personal secretary rushed out, then returned holding a box.

Inside was a dead cat. Written on the lid in what appeared to be cat’s blood was a warning:
“Don’t keep going down the wrong path!”

The exclamation point was bold and strong, revealing how emotionally agitated the writer must have been.

The mayor gave a dismissive sneer. “Throw it in the trash.”

He then resumed opening files. One brown envelope seemed to contain something hard. He poured it out—two bullets.

The golden bullets clinked onto the desk. The personal secretary glanced over.

“Bullets?”

The mayor nodded. “Handgun rounds. These gangsters still use the same scare tactics they did ten years ago.”

Both men laughed. These things weren’t a threat to the mayor at all.

“They’re getting desperate,” the secretary said with a smile.

The mayor used tweezers to place the bullets back into the envelope. “Give this to John—there should be fingerprints on them. Have him find out who sent it.”

He paused. “Desperation leads to mistakes. That’s exactly what I want.”

“I heard Senator Wade is trying to convince the legislature to impeach you.”

Without even looking up, the mayor said casually, “Forget him. There are more people trying to reach into this city than trying to kick me out.”

After sorting through a few files, he found another envelope that felt oddly empty.

Instead of fear, his expression was filled with curiosity. “Let’s see what tricks they’re up to now.”

He opened it. A single sheet of paper fell out—no ordinary paper.

It was covered in words and letters cut out from newspapers, pieced together into a message: “Eric is in my hands. If you don’t want anything to happen to him, do exactly what I say.”

The mayor’s face changed. He immediately picked up the phone and called Eric’s villa.

“Is Eric home? …Call everyone in. Now!”

Ten minutes later, Eric’s lackeys showed up in the mayor’s office. “Where did Eric go?”

They all shook their heads. One person mentioned what had happened last night.

The mayor’s face darkened. No one had told him Eric would do something like that—it was humiliating.

He picked up the phone and called John. “Eric’s missing. Go investigate…”

After everyone left, the mayor pulled out the note again. It demanded his resignation.

He remained calm. “Who do you think did this?”

The secretary studied the note carefully. “I don’t know. At this point, it could be anyone.”

“And they’re demanding something you obviously won’t agree to, so…”

The mayor leaned back, rubbing his temples. “They never planned to return Eric.”

There was no doubt that he wouldn’t resign over a ransom note. Which meant they might kill Eric, and throw a dirty water at him — that power was more important to him than blood.

It gave him a headache. The Federation was full of awful parents and children, but those same people still deeply valued family ties.

The more public the figure, the more people scrutinized their relationships.

If this got out—that the mayor let his son die to hold onto power, it might not be a technical scandal, but it’d still be a disastrous blow.

Who would want a man who values power over family?

But if he gave in to the demands, then six years of patience, and all his work would go to waste.

A difficult dilemma.

(End of Chapter)

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