Novel Full Chapter 1138 Captain
Chapter 1138: Chapter 1138 Captain
"We move tonight," one of them said, his voice low but firm, cutting through the tense silence like a blade.
"Isn’t that too soon, boss?" another asked cautiously, shifting uneasily. "You said we’d wait. You said we’d be careful."
"Forget waiting!" the leader snapped, his teeth clenched, eyes flashing with anger. "When I say we move, we move. No discussion. Understood?"
A tense silence followed, but the men didn’t argue.
They knew better than to challenge him when he was like this.
But there was more driving his fury than impatience or recklessness.
Deep inside, the leader’s anger was intertwined with a personal obsession—a silent, gnawing frustration he could barely admit even to himself.
Every time he thought of Sabrina, his control slipped.
She had been a constant image in his mind for weeks: her laugh, her smile, the way she moved.
He had wanted her for himself, and the idea that she might already be close to someone else—someone like Ross—was unbearable.
He could not imagine it. He could not accept it.
His teeth ground together as he imagined her smiling with Ross, laughing at his jokes, walking freely without fear.
The thought twisted something dark and possessive inside him, driving him to act faster, strike harder, and leave nothing to chance.
The men around him, unaware of the full reason behind his fury, only sensed the intensity radiating from their boss.
There was a dangerous edge in his voice, a hunger in his gaze, a storm brewing that they did not fully understand.
Still, they felt it—they felt the energy building, the inevitability of what was about to happen.
Preparations began immediately.
Supplies were gathered, weapons checked, escape routes considered.
They contracted their people outside and contingencies were discussed, but through it all, the leader’s mind remained elsewhere, fixated on a single image: Sabrina.
"Okay, you’re the boss. How do we do this?" one of the men asked nervously, shifting from foot to foot.
The dim light of the evening cast long shadows across the ground, making the small group look even more sinister.
"First, we need to..." the boss began, his voice low but commanding, as he outlined the plan for the night.
Every detail was precise—who would go where, when to act, and how to ensure no one got caught.
The men nodded along, barely hiding their excitement.
Some muttered under their breath about how reckless it sounded, but no one dared question him.
By the time the sun had fully set, they were ready.
More than a dozen of them appeared in the compound, each carrying crates of beer, bottles of hard liquor, and snacks they had scavenged from outside.
The weight of their supplies made them grunt, but they walked with exaggerated bravado, trying to make it look like a celebration rather than a raid.
"Look, it’s Wilson and his men!" someone whispered among the onlookers.
"They brought so much! Wow!" another added.
"Did they go out and get all that loot? Nice!"
People watching from a distance were amused.
Dinner had already been served, and now, with drinks arriving in such abundance, it felt like the perfect timing.
Some even clapped or cheered quietly, thinking it was just a spontaneous party.
At the center of the gathered men, Wilson laughed loudly, slapping a crate of beers with pride.
"Ross! Look what I found!" He gestured to his men as they stacked the drinks carefully in the middle.
Ross turned his head casually, a faint smile on his lips but eyes sharp as a blade.
"Did you go out earlier, Wilson? Not bad. Do you really plan to drink all of that?"
"Yes, Ross! But it won’t be complete without our big boss here. Please, join us!" Wilson’s grin widened.
"Ross!"
"Ross!"
"Ross!"
The men around Wilson began chanting in unison, clapping and stomping in a display of forced enthusiasm.
They tried to create an atmosphere of camaraderie, attempting to apply peer pressure to coax Ross into joining them.
From their perspective, it was a harmless ritual, a way to assert their dominance and inclusion.
But Ross wasn’t fooled.
He could see through their smiles, their eagerness, and the flicker of tension in their eyes.
Every movement, every cheer, every word they shouted revealed the same truth: they were overconfident and careless.
They had no idea the danger they had invited into their midst.
Ross’s grin widened further, stretching into something more chilling.
These men—loud, arrogant, and oblivious—were dead men walking. He welcomed their foolishness.
If tonight was the night they wanted to test their luck, he would gladly oblige.
"Fine," he said finally, stepping forward.
He took one of the bottles, cracked it open with a deliberate twist, and took a long swig.
The sound of the cap popping echoed lightly, drawing the attention of the group, who erupted in cheers, thinking he was joining the party wholeheartedly.
Ross let them believe it. Let them revel in their sense of victory.
Every cheer, every chant, every careless laugh added to the tension building quietly in his mind.
Each one of them was walking willingly toward their own end, and Ross’s patience, like a coiled spring, tightened.
As he took another drink, the light cast long shadows across the gathering, elongating the shapes of the men around Wilson, making them appear larger, more confident than they were.
They had no idea how quickly that illusion would shatter.
Food and drinks kept arriving, carried in by Wilson’s men with loud laughter and exaggerated effort.
They had scouted and collected supplies from outside, bringing meat, preserved goods, and bottles of alcohol, carefully stacking them in the center of the supermarket.
They could have simply stolen food from Ross—they had considered it—but they had already witnessed how meticulous and strict he was with every supply.
Anyone caught trying to take something would face consequences, and no one dared test him directly.
Instead, they opted to use their own resources, cooking over small makeshift stoves they had brought along, and preparing what they pretended would be a celebratory meal for all.