Chapter 15: Burning the Boats

The bodyguards looked at each other, confused, but not daring to disobey their employer’s command, they all bent down to unlace their boots, took off their socks, and placed them on the rear of the Ferrari.

In the scorching heat, the sour stench of muscular men’s feet swathed in thick boots all day was simply indescribable.

Even in the open air with a breeze, the foul smell of the eight stinky socks still burrowed into nostrils, making people want to keep their distance.

“Your chance is gone. Your brothers are destined to climb higher and farther than you, and you will soon no longer be qualified to call them brothers.”

Marcus said to the profligate, still maintaining a serious expression.

“Unless you stuff these few pairs of socks into your mouth and apologize to me.”

Everyone was dumbfounded, thinking the idea utterly ridiculous while simultaneously admiring the audacity of it in their minds.

The swindler’s brain is just too clever. How come I never thought of such a unique method of messing with someone? It’s simply ... ugh. Disgusting.

The profligate’s face turned shades of red and white, then he cursed, “You motherf—”

Marcus flicked his wrist, and a stinky sock from the back of the Ferrari flew into the profligate’s mouth.

“Ptooey, ptooey, ptooey ... ugh ... Dammit! You wait, I ... ugh...”

The profligate covered his mouth and ran toward a corner, while everyone around stepped aside as if he reeked unbearably.

Serena laughed heartlessly, clearly indicating his relationship with the profligate wasn’t very close.

Suddenly his laughter stopped and he looked disgustedly at the entrance of the parking lot, spitting. “Damn it, an even more nauseating bastard has arrived.”

Everyone turned their heads and saw a black Rolls-Royce Ghost slowly driving into the parking lot. Among a sea of supercars and performance vehicles, it might not have been the most expensive, but it definitely had the strongest presence.

The Ghost came to a halt in front of the Ferrari. The rear window rolled down, and Blake Calloway was seen with his arm around a woman who looked like a young wife. He first gave Marcus a gloomy glance, then smiled and asked, “Serena Blake, how much money do you plan to gift the young master tonight?”

Serena’s face instantly darkened.

As the two richest heirs of Westlake’s business dynasties, they had always been at odds, and they nearly always bet against each other every time they met on Serpent Ridge.

But for some reason, whether it was Serena’s bad luck or something else, he would lose seven or eight times out of ten.

So far, he had already lost five or six million to Blake Calloway.

Looking at Marcus, who stood next to him with a calm expression, Serena clenched his teeth and sneered, “Cut the crap. I’m here to turn the tables today, and I won’t write my surname backward unless you lose everything but your underwear.”