Milf Hunter: Seducing And Taming Beauties

Arturo's face twisted in disgust, his fingers clenching the armrests of his chair so tightly his knuckles whitened. His voice dripped with mocking arrogance, the kind only a man drunk on decades of unchecked power could muster.

"Do you think I'm lying?" I asked, my voice calm, almost amused, but my eyes burned with something feral, something that promised pain.

Arturo scoffed, his lips twisting into a sneer. "Mr. Jack…" he spat, his voice laced with condescension, "I think even bragging needs to be… in limit." He leaned forward, his gaze sharp, mocking.

"You think I'm an idiot?" His voice rose, cold, venomous. "Why would those underworld scum listen to a nobody like you—some foreign boy with just a little money?" His lips curled in disdain.

"Do you think I believe you have reached only in Mexico?" He laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Even if your net worth exceeds $100 billion—" His eyes gleamed with mockery. "It's nothing compared to the empire I've built."

I stared at him, unblinking, unmoved. This man was blinded by power, drunk on the illusion of control. He thought he was untouchable.

He was wrong.

I turned to Lorena, my voice cold, final. "Our contract is invalid." My eyes burned into hers, dark, possessive, but there was no anger—only disappointment. "You and I… no connection anymore."

Then, I looked back at Arturo, my lips curving into a smirk so dark it promised ruin. "It won't be long, Arturo," I said, my voice low, dangerous, each word a knife waiting to plunge. "Before you'll be begging for me… on your knees." My eyes gleamed with something wild, something that spoke of broken men and shattered kingdoms. "This is my promise."

Arturo's face twisted in rage, his body trembling with fury. "You are lawless, right?" he snarled, his voice a growl, spittle flying from his lips. "I will show you what lawlessness is!" His fingers slammed onto the armrests, his knuckles white.

"Beat this bastard to death!" he roared, his fingers white-knuckled around the armrests of his chair, spittle flying from his lips. "I'd like to see how this bastard dares to threaten me!"

Lorena's voice sliced through the tension, desperate, pleading. "No, Dad—!" she cried, her eyes flicking between the guards storming forward. "Jack—quickly—apologize to Dad—!"

I didn't move.

I didn't speak.

I didn't flinch.

I waited.

The first guard charged, a hulking brute with arms like steel cables and a face twisted in bloodlust. His fist swung toward my face, fast, heavy, meant to crush bone. I didn't dodge. I didn't block.

I stepped into it.

My left hand shot out, intercepting his wrist with a grip like a vice, halting his momentum mid-air. My right hand clamped onto his shoulder, fingers digging into the pressure points of his nerve clusters. He grunted, pain flashing across his face—confusion, then terror.

"You should've stayed back," I murmured, my voice a dark purr, almost gentle, as if I were soothing a child.

Then, I twisted.

A sharp, wet crack echoed through the room—his elbow snapping like a dry twig under my grip. His scream bubbled in his throat, choked off as I pivoted, my foot driving into his knee with precise, brutal force. The joint shattered, ligaments tearing like rotten cloth. He collapsed, howling, but I didn't let him fall.

I gripped his head, my fingers tangling in his hair, yanking it back until his throat stretched, exposed, vulnerable. His eyes bulged, tears streaming, snot bubbling from his nose.

"A lesson," I whispered, my breath hot against his ear.

Then, I snapped his neck.

One.

His body crumpled, limp, lifeless, hitting the marble floor with a dull, wet thud. The room froze. The other guards hesitated, their eyes wide, disbelieving.

I didn't stop.

The second guard lunged, roaring, his fist a blurred arc of fury. I sidestepped, gripping his wrist mid-swing, using his momentum to flip him over my hip. He crashed onto his back, the air exploding from his lungs in choked gasps. Before he could recover, I dropped onto him, my knee crushing his sternum. Bone cracked. He gagged, choking, clawing at his chest.

I gripped his head, twisting it sharply to the side. His neck popped like an overripe fruit.

Two.

The third guard swung a baton, aiming for my skull. I caught it, ripping it from his grip and smashing it over his knee. Cartilage shattered. He staggered, dazed, and I drove my elbow into his throat, crushing his windpipe. He gagged, clawing at his neck, but I didn't let him suffocate.

I gripped his chin, forcing his head back, and slammed my forehead into his nose. Cartilage crunched. Blood sprayed across the floor. Then, I twisted his neck like a ragdoll's.

Three.

The fourth guard pulled a knife, his hand shaking. I let him come. When he lunged, I grabbed his wrist, twisting until the knife clattered to the floor. Then, I drove my fingers into his eyes. He screamed, blind, stumbling, and I gripped his skull, snapping his neck with a single, fluid motion.

Four.

The fifth guard tried to tackle me. I caught him, driving my fingers into his pressure points, paralyzing his arms. He staggered, helpless, as I gripped his head between my hands.

"You die for a man who doesn't care if you live or die," I growled.

Snap.

Five.

The sixth guard grabbed a vase, smashing it over my shoulder. Porcelain shattered. I didn't flinch. I gripped his throat with one hand, lifting him off the ground. His feet kicked uselessly, his face turning purple. I leaned in, my voice a whisper.

"You chose the wrong master," I hissed.

Then, I squeezed.

His neck crushed under my grip, bones splintering like glass. I dropped him, his body hitting the floor with a wet thud.

Six.

The seventh guard tried to flee. I caught him by the hair, yanking him back. His scream was cut short as I drove my knee into his spine, shattering vertebrae. Then, I gripped his chin, snapping his neck before he could hit the ground.

Seven.

The eighth guard swung a chair at me. I caught it, ripping it from his hands and smashing it over his skull. Wood splintered. He staggered, dazed, and I gripped his head, twisting it until his neck gave with a sickening pop.

Eight.

The ninth guard pulled a gun. I moved faster. My hand closed around his wrist, crushing bone. The gun clattered away. I drove my fingers into his throat, ripping out his voice before snapping his neck.

Nine.

The tenth guard grabbed me from behind. I flipped him over my shoulder, driving him headfirst into the marble floor. His skull cracked. I stomped on his neck, finishing him.

Ten.