Chapter 841: Chevrolet 2

Chapter 841 -9: Chevrolet 2

Seeing the group’s figures disappear completely into the bar, Ronald excitedly patted his pant pocket—

In fact, he still had a spare car key.

Now that this bunch of punks was gone, it was the perfect chance to take his car back.

As long as he had the car, he could drive from Prescott to Stonehaven, get his money there, contact his ex-wife, find some friends to help, maybe even hire some retired soldiers to do some work for him…

Just seeing the car gave him hope. Clenching both fists, Ronald gripped the car key in his pocket tight—it was his lifeline.

Getting up from the motel’s entrance, he slipped past a few pickups, cautiously approaching his car.

Everything went smoothly along the way.

No one noticed him, and the bastards who’d ducked into the bar didn’t come out again.

Ten meters, five meters, three meters…

Ronald’s heart was pounding like crazy. When he finally got to the car and took out the key to unlock the door, he was shocked to see that there was actually someone lying in the backseat—

It was a red-haired girl around eighteen or nineteen, shirtless, only a bra and tiny shorts on, hair scattered over her shoulders.

Maybe Ronald’s footsteps woke her, or maybe she’d just sobered up from a hangover.

As Ronald leaned in to peer inside, the girl sat up right at that moment. Their eyes met. The moment Ronald saw her open her mouth as if to scream, he instantly sensed trouble.

Right now, all hope rested on this car—this was do or die.

After suffering so much failure in just two or three days, Ronald wasn’t going to back down this time.

He flung open the back door as fast as he could and, face fierce, clamped his hand over the girl’s mouth.

“Don’t make a sound, or I’ll kill you!”

No one knew where he found the nerve—Ronald’s threat came out in a ferocity that didn’t sound like him at all.

Maybe it was because she was being overpowered, or maybe she just didn’t have much courage, or maybe she was still groggy from the booze. After having her mouth covered, the girl really didn’t make a sound or struggle—she only stared wide-eyed at something behind Ronald.

A little suspicious, Ronald kept his hand on her mouth and turned around.

Then he saw the last thing he wanted to see—

In just that little bit of time, those gang members had already bought their drinks and left the bar.

They parked their car right at the bar’s entrance—there was no cover at all. With Ronald halfway inside the car, he was immediately spotted by them.

Now, these guys—who were up for any kind of bad business—were walking straight toward Ronald. One of them even grabbed a thick wooden stick from a trash can by the door, eyes gleaming with malice.

“I’m screwed,”

Ronald thought.

Look, maybe the car was his, but once it was stolen, it was someone else’s.

Trying to take it back wasn’t “restoring property”—it was robbery. If they caught him, they’d beat him half to death for sure.

“Only option—run.”

Without hesitation, Ronald let go and bolted away from his car.

Strangely, the gang members didn’t chase him—they just let him run onto the highway.

Thinking he’d gotten lucky again and cheated death, Ronald was secretly elated—until the sound of an engine roared behind him. His Chevrolet surged onto the street, catching up to him in a flash.

All the windows were down, the roar of the engine blending with devilish laughter from the gangsters inside.

Ronald was out of shape—no way he could outrun a car. So he ran ahead of it, panting, like a donkey being whipped.

The Chevrolet trailed him, not too fast, not too slow. Whenever Ronald slowed down, someone in the back would reach out a stick and smack his back hard.

The pain would force Ronald to pick up speed, but he’d quickly slow down again—and the abuse continued.

No telling how far he ran—painful and exhausted, Ronald finally collapsed on the ground.

The car behind him finally stopped, too. Four vicious-looking gangsters got out.

They didn’t seem satisfied with sticks, either—so from the trunk, they pulled out a couple of crowbars.

Meanwhile, the red-haired girl didn’t say a word, didn’t cry out, didn’t get out. She just sat in the backseat, watching Ronald curl up on the ground, a few meters away, her eyes full of pity—yet she could do nothing.

…

Utterly down-and-out, Ronald felt the light around him dim—a sign he was being surrounded. He curled up even tighter.

Pedestrians passing by gave the scene a wide berth as if avoiding vipers or scorpions.

These days, in the United States, gang activity was rampant—some gangs even had connections in politics, others were full of ruthless youngsters. Mess with them, and even Hollywood movie stars couldn’t get away clean.

And you never knew if they were packing heat—for cops, this bunch was a headache, let alone average people just hoping for a peaceful life.

If Ronald were a familiar face, maybe someone would call the police or try to help out.

But he was new in town—a stranger. No one wanted extra trouble. No one would help.

Just as Ronald was about to get a savage beating—maybe even lose his life—someone came walking down the opposite side of the street. A homeless man, head wrapped in rags, hunched in a heavy coat, eyes on the ground.

This guy was huge—despite his slouched posture and bowed head, he was still half a head taller than ordinary men.

He acted like he didn’t see a thing, moving along as if drunk. Before any of the gangsters could strike with their crowbars, he bumped into one of them from behind.

To most, the homeless guy seemed slow—like he barely tried. No way he used much force.

But to the gangster he hit, it was a whole different story—

In that instant, he didn’t feel like a person had bumped into him but more like a car or a wild bull.

That terrifying, abrupt force launched him forward—he tried desperately to stay upright but failed. In a flash, he went down face first, like a dog diving for scraps.

He couldn’t even shake off that force—when he used his hands to brace himself, there was a crisp crack as the bones in his palm snapped.

The pain made the gangster scream bloody murder. Only then did his buddies react, swinging their crowbars at the homeless man.

The heavy black iron rods came down hard—but the homeless guy didn’t dodge or flinch.

The instant the attacker thought there was something wrong with the bum’s mind, he felt his crowbar tighten, being yanked away.

That was the kind of overwhelming force that left no room for resistance. A jolt of pain shot up his hands, and the crowbar ended up, who knew how, in the bum’s grasp.

Then everything went blurry—just a flash, but the two guys who’d been right beside him were both on the ground, hugging their knees. Their legs were bent at horrifying angles—just a glance showed those injuries were serious.

“I…”

The situation flipped in an instant. In less than five seconds, there was only one of the four gang members left standing.

He looked at the flayed skin on his palms, at his groaning friends, and felt his legs go weak. Forget attacking—he could barely stand.

“Take it back.”

Chen Zhou casually tossed the crowbar back at the last man, grabbed Ronald by the collar, and hauled him straight up off the ground.

That last gang member, almost instinctively reaching to catch the crowbar, felt like he was trying to grab a cannonball fresh out of the barrel.

With a force unlike anything he’d ever felt in his life, his hands went numb, and the flying crowbar launched him several meters back, slamming him against a wall before he slid down to sit in a daze.