Spirit Hunting Union

Right away, one of Jett's lackeys walked closer to Quinn.

Quinn just hoped this one doesn't do too much. Otherwise, he might resort to something far more brutal than he had thought of doing.

He held a straight face as the guy neared him. And Jett? He was quiet, just staring from a distance.

The guy mumbled as he got closer,

"How many nerves might you have got to come here alone? That's some boldness there, my dear friend."

His hand travelled towards Quinn's shoulder. Probably to give him a rude pat. But before he could, Quinn stepped aside and brushed past him.

He said over his shoulder,

"I'm not here for you, kid."

The guy smirked aloud, turning in Quinn's way immediately.

"Wow. You're such a nuthead, aren't you?!"

He sounded a little excited. Also slightly slipping off sanity.

Quinn said back,

"I don't talk to the underlings. It's the boss that matters."

He got close to the couch. About to sit. That was when one tall, bulky SOB blocked his way. Glaring at him like Quinn spat on his bloodline.

Quinn stared up at him nonetheless. He smiled.

"Move."

But the bastard wouldn't move.

Quinn's chest raced in excitement.

God, why hadn't he come here before now? It's all shaping up to be something really fun!

"Oh-oh, you won't…?"

At that moment, Jett's gentle voice came through,

"Move out of his way, Jordan."

The guy grunted, but he later did so.

Quinn walked in and sat on the couch afterwards. He locked eyes with Jett.

Leaning back in his seat, Jett mumbled,

"Luke here says you're Quinn Vale's brother. Is that right?" He slowly sipped his wine.

Quinn made a tut, leaning back as well.

"You don't even offer me wine?"

Immediately, one of the other guys yelled at him,

"Answer the damn question!"

It wasn't long after that before Jett added too.

"He's right. Answer the question. If you're just a poor guy who came here to eat, I'll let you have my leftovers."

Quinn turned his head down, laughing non-stop while shaking his head.

Always wanting to sound cool, Jett Cross indeed.

As Quinn looked up, he asked,

"Do I get paid thousands for cleaning your shoes then?"

An arrogant smirk spread across Jett's face.

That's much like it! This is the side that Quinn knew. And that he liked!

Jett responded,

"I'll give you a penny for the hard work."

The other guys laughed all of a sudden. Quinn joined them too. Because… why not? That was so funny!

A penny for cleaning a billionaire son's shoes. What a generosity!

Soon, a frank question came from Jett:

"I'm guessing you came here to avenge your brother. What are you then? An MMA fighter? A boxer? Don't tell me you're just an average college student who takes job shifts at night."

Quinn threw the words at him without much thought,

"I'm not a boxer. Not a wrestler. Not even a swordsman. But… heh, even at that…" he grinned with his teeth, his eyeballs focused, "... I'm not leaving here without your eye. The pain of a purged eye fully goes away in months. In years. That would be enough ground to take you for all you have done. You just don't have any other choices than that. At least, I'm not killing you."

The room tightened with silence, every lackey waiting for Jett's move. Quinn hoped they'd be stupid enough to try.

Jett stared at him profusely.

And Quinn could have sworn he saw some red in his slightly watery eyes.

Quinn chuckled in excitement.

"You scared?"

Luke groaned,

"Geez… I hate this guy."

At that moment, he noticed Jett signalling to someone. That must be one of the guys behind him.

Quinn smirked.

"You better do."

The bulky guy's hand reached for his shoulder.

In a matter of seconds, Quinn had already vanished from the couch. Causing the guy's eyes to widen in shock. But before he knew it, Quinn had got to his side.

His fist sank deep into his gut. The guy's eyes bulged before he collapsed, sprawled flat on his back.

Everyone jerked back in shock and surprise.

Jett had even jumped onto the couch.

Quinn smirked—what a scaredy cat.

"I'm still coming for you when I'm done…"

In the blink of an eye, a shadow closed in on him from the side. Grabbing him by his neck. And pinning him against the wall with a loud bang.

Quinn winced slightly.

He then laughed non-stop.

"How strong!"

The person was another bulky, bald guy with mad muscles. And a tight necklace.

He tried to strangle Quinn. But sadly, there was not even a chance.

Thus, Quinn slammed his fist against the guy's arm joint. He could have sworn he heard the sound of bone breaking. The idiot cried and just let go of him.

He bent, crying and nurturing his broken joint.

Quinn giggled. He grabbed him by the neck and drove his head forward.

The lackey's bald head slammed hard into the wall, which knocked him out.

That was when something clicked.

Quinn looked across the ceiling. But there was no camera.

He chuckled.

"If you had got CCTV in here, then you might have been able to report me. But now, you did yourself dirty. HAHA. VIP my ass, man."

But at that moment, Jett got off the couch.

For a moment, Quinn was taken aback by his sudden boldness. But soon, he recalled this was Mr Cross after all.

He would rather die than lose his cool.

Quinn gave him that.

Jett, after taking a deep breath, smirked. He crossed his arms.

"You must be a boxer after all. Those punches were sick; I won't lie…"

Quinn tilted his head.

And?

"... But do you think that's enough to handle the five of us together? Tch, you'll be dead before you realise it, motherfucker!"

Quinn's expression tightened. Frank.

He nodded, clenching his fists.

"Alright. I will show you how."

One came. Then down.

Another. Same thing.

The others couldn't dare any longer and ran out of the room.

That left Quinn alone with Jett.

The guy trembled as he stepped backwards.

Even though Quinn didn't want to admit it, a kind of warmth enveloped his chest. Just by thinking he had a full decision on what happened to this guy.

He sighed.

Then mumbled,

"Daggero."