Chapter 24.2

The cars swerved in front of Geoffrey’s vehicle, cutting off its escape route before launching a fierce attack. Although his car was the primary target, it sustained only a minor scratch. With a screech, the built-in weapons fired back, effectively suppressing the attackers.

However, when heavy weaponry appeared, Geoffrey had no choice but to open the car door. Under the protection of his bodyguards, he and Mo Zimu swiftly exited the vehicle.

They hadn’t gone far when a loud “boom” erupted, and Geoffrey’s car caught fire, burning like a fireball. However, the car didn’t explode in the usual sense. While the interior was engulfed in flames, it didn’t detonate, allowing Geoffrey and Mo Zimu to slip away under its cover.

Geoffrey turned and immediately ordered his men to counterattack. As reinforcements arrived, the attackers quickly retreated. Though most were wiped out, their well-coordinated withdrawal hinted at professional training.

Mo Zimu had been handcuffed with his hands behind his back and placed behind Geoffrey. But when the battle ended, all that remained on the ground was an empty pair of handcuffs. Mo Zimu was gone.

He roared, “Get that person back immediately!”

At the same time, Jude, the one-eyed man, was also missing. He had taken advantage of the chaos to escape, but Geoffrey had no time to deal with that now.

—

The British Bugger King wasn’t particularly known for its fried chicken, but because it was a local fast food joint, it had its loyal patrons. However, in the afternoon, the place was nearly empty. A few students sat by the window, eating fried onions, chatting, and flipping through books as if working on a group project.

The glass door swung open, and a refined young man walked in. The students were excited and whispered, “Such a classy Asian guy!”

Mo Zimu ordered a portion of fries, dipping them in ketchup as he ate. When the door opened again, his hand paused for a moment, but he continued to eat calmly.

This time, the person who walked in was a one-eyed man wearing an eye patch. He was young and handsome, wearing a knitted hat and tucked into a jacket, giving off a dark and cold vibe.

Jude entered, scanned the room, and then smiled at the few students. The students immediately started whispering among themselves, commenting how cool he was. One person said, while the other two students stuck out their tongues.

Like Mo Zimu, Jude also ordered a portion of fries. He bit into one while his eyes intensely fixed on Mo Zimu’s back.

The street outside was chaotic, but Geoffrey’s men seemed to have never considered that Mo Zimu wasn’t running away. Instead, he sat calmly in a fast food restaurant in the busy city center, eating.

Mo Zimu didn’t finish his fries. He picked up the remaining fries in his hand, grabbed his coat, and walked toward the door. Jude immediately spat out the fry in his mouth and followed.

The students watched curiously at the strange pair, whispering and speculating about their relationship.

They saw the refined young man turn around and say something to the one-eyed man before leaving. The one-eyed man sneered, quickening his pace to catch up.

The two seemed to bump into each other, and then something unexpected happened.

The refined young man turned around, his face covered in blood. Passersby screamed, and the police, who had already been running around, blew their whistles and rushed over. The one-eyed man seemed startled but had no choice but to retreat quickly, running faster and faster, with more people chasing him.

The students were shocked and quickly stood up to watch. They saw the police help the young man who had bent down. He stood up, took out a handkerchief, and wiped the blood from his face. He smiled and said something to the police. After saying it, the police seemed a little dazed.

Mo Zimu said, “Sorry, that gentleman bumped into me earlier and spilled the ketchup on my face.” After apologizing again, he nodded and quickly left.

The police officer turned around and called out a couple of times, blowing his whistle repeatedly, but he couldn’t stop his colleagues, who were getting caught up in the excitement. Realizing his attempts were futile, he had no choice but to walk toward them.

Cardiff, though a capital city, was still a small town at heart. When violence suddenly broke out on the street, police swarmed the area almost instantly.

Geoffrey’s men were forced to withdraw from key streets. Meanwhile, Mo Zimu, wrapped in a scarf, hopped onto a bus. As it slowly pulled out of the station, he gazed through the glass window, a faint smile on his lips, before leaning back against the seat. The bus bumped lightly, and a wave of fatigue washed over him.

He really wanted to sleep, but what would happen after he woke up? Maybe he would end up in someone’s hands. He thought that once he escaped from Mammon, he would no longer be a prey, but in reality, it seemed like he had always been on the run from pursuers.

The bus came to a sudden stop at a checkpoint. By now, it was getting late, and the streetlights on the highway cast a yellow glow. The usually empty British highways seemed to have become congested.

Mo Zimu opened his eyes and looked out through the window. Ahead, there was a barrier, and a few police officers appeared to be walking toward them.

A black Rolls-Royce Cadillac was parked by the roadside, and a man in black was speaking to one of the police officers.

“Kiefer!”

In that instant, Mo Zimu’s heart skipped a beat. He recognized Kiefer’s pale, sickly face all too well.

Their first meeting had been casual, with Kiefer approaching him with a cocktail in hand, introducing himself lightly. Their second encounter involved a check sent by Kiefer’s men. Then things became blurry, with Kiefer pressing down on him, forcing himself on him. Then came the tear-streaked face, sobbing and pleading. And finally, the twisted snarl, the furious screams threatening to tear him apart.

Among all those hunting him down, Mo Zimu knew Kiefer was the one person who would never give him a chance to survive.

He glanced around, just about to stand when the approaching police officers cut off his escape.

Mo Zimu had no choice but to sit back down. He shifted from the window seat to the aisle, his ears filled with the pounding of his own heartbeat.

The officers began checking everyone’s IDs, apologizing as they carefully examined their faces, growing closer with each passing second.

One of the police officers stopped in front of him and said, “Sorry… sir, may I see your identification?”

Mo Zimu calmly took out his ID and handed it to the officer. Just as he did, a van suddenly crashed through the barricade, causing an immediate commotion among the officers.

The whistle blew again, and the officers in the van quickly glanced at Mo Zimu’s ID before rushing out of the bus.

Mo Zimu let out a deep breath. The air was filled with the sound of whistling. There was probably no one in the world who loved blowing whistles more than British police.

Police cars roared after the fleeing van, and even Kiefer jumped into one, joining the chase. As the bus doors shut, it resumed its journey as if nothing had happened.

The bus eventually stopped at New York Station. Stepping through the station’s entrance, Mo Zimu kept his head down, walking quickly. He tried to stay in the shadows as much as possible. The station seemed filled with shifty-eyed figures lurking in every corner.

As he neared the bright exit and the bustling crowd, a sense of unease crept over him. He hesitated for a moment, then, just as he lifted his foot to step forward, a strong hand yanked him back.

A huge man clamped a hand over his mouth. In the dim light, his features were barely visible. Mo Zimu’s first instinct was to fight back. His knee shot up in defense, but the man anticipated the move, blocking it with a light tap.

“Baby, it’s me!”

“Ivan!”

“That’s right.” A passing bus rumbled by, its headlights briefly illuminating them. Finally, Mo Zimu got a clear look at the huge man. It really was Ivan.

“You… dressed like this?!” Despite the dire situation, Mo Zimu couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh… do you like it?”

Mo Zimu turned his head away and asked, “How did you find me?”

“Baby, I’ve been chasing after you all the way. I even happened to see Jude racing against the Welsh police. I caught up to you at the bus station, but unfortunately, the bus had already left. I had no choice but to hire a car to follow, but halfway through, Sticks wanted to race. So, I had to let him have the car and hire another one. I drove nearly 200 miles an hour just to catch up with you.”

Mo Zimu knew Ivan had actually helped him out. He wanted to say thanks, but in the end, he didn’t. Instead, he simply asked, “Did Jude get caught?”

Ivan frowned and said, “Not sure, but it doesn’t seem like it.”

Mo Zimu furrowed his brows slightly and said, “He’s pissed off Geoffrey. He won’t be able to stay in the UK for long.”

Ivan smiled. “I’m afraid that applies to us too.”

Mo Zimu sneered, “Aren’t you and the Geoffrey family birds of a feather?”

Ivan clicked his tongue and gave Mo Zimu a hard kiss. “Your temper makes me want to fuck you until you cry,” he said casually. Then, with a faint tone, he added, “Geoffrey seems really interested in you. He’s already had a falling out with his father over the previous matter, and this time, old Geoffrey seems to be at a loss. He actually hinted that I could get a cut of the deal in exchange for handing you over… but after thinking it over, I find your moans a bit more appealing.”

“Nice price,” Mo Zimu replied coolly. “You’re always good with business.”

“Losing money once in a while isn’t a big deal.” Ivan pulled out a set of clothes from his travel bag and said, “If you still want to go to Vienna and be a musician, and you don’t want Kiefer to turn you into a sieve or old Geoffrey to gift-wrap you for his son, put these on.”

Mo Zimu looked down and saw a small dress, a velvet shawl, a beautiful embroidered handbag, and a black netted hat. Ivan smiled, “Madam, go ahead and put it on!”

He knew Ivan was half-joking, half-messing with him, but given the situation, he had no choice. He let out a deep breath and started changing. Ivan stood right in front of him, as solid as a natural screen. Combined with two well-placed vending machines, there was no risk of being exposed.

Piece by piece, Mo Zimu put on the outfit. He slipped into the dress, pulled on the stockings, stepped into the heels, and finally draped the shawl over his shoulders.

He couldn’t help but feel a small sense of gratitude that Ivan hadn’t taken the joke too far. With the shawl, it wasn’t obvious that he had no breasts. If Ivan had gone so far as to make him wear fake ones, he might have actually lost it.

“Done!” He said quietly.

Ivan took a few steps back and turned around. It was only then that Mo Zimu noticed the man had changed into a black suit with a crisp white shirt, looking surprisingly refined, almost like a gentleman.

Ivan was also taking in the sight of Mo Zimu before breaking into a grin. “You look beautiful, Seven.”

And so, with their arms linked, the two of them strolled out of the train station like any ordinary upper-middle-class British couple, drawing admiring glances from passersby.

Ivan chuckled. “Madam, where shall we make love?”

Mo Zimu took a deep breath, suddenly realizing that no matter how polished Ivan looked, deep down, he was still just a thug.