He bypassed the ornate main entrance, and relying on his instincts as an infiltration specialist, found the discreet employee entrance at the rear of the club within two breaths. The rusty iron door could not stop a heartbroken phantom. Like a shadow, he passed through a corridor piled high with champagne cases, finally sneaking into the hall, which was so luxurious it was almost decadent.
In the center of the hall, a massive crystal chandelier cast light like crushed diamonds.
Reed hid behind a shadowy pillar, his gaze fixed on the circular sofa in the middle of the hall. There sat the girl he yearned for day and night, and the power he had never touched.
The man in sunglasses laughed wantonly, his hand, adorned with an expensive gold watch, roughly caressing Lila's soft waist and the base of her thighs through the thin silk fabric. Lila didn't resist; she even tilted her head slightly, allowing the cigar smoke exhaled by the man to spray on her face.
That scene tore Reed's heart apart more than stray bullets on the battlefield.
"Lila!"
He could no longer hold back, letting out a suppressed growl, and rushed out of the shadows.
"Hey! Stop! Who's this lunatic?"
Two guards by the corridor reacted instantly, blocking Reed like two iron walls. The confrontation lasted less than two seconds. When one of the guards tried to grab Reed's collar, the "killing machine" within Reed's subconscious awakened. He dodged, grappled, and dislocated a bone, his movements so clean and swift as if he were disassembling parts.
With two "cracks," screams instantly tore through the elegant saxophone music in the hall.
The two guards collapsed on the expensive carpet, which was slick with spilled liquid. Lila stood up in panic, her face as pale as a blank sheet of paper, the champagne glass trembling in her hand, spilling its contents.
The man in sunglasses, however, remained as steady as a rock. He didn't even put out his cigar, but merely tilted his head as if nothing had happened and beckoned to the row of dark cubicles behind him.
In the blink of an eye, seven or eight burly thugs with vicious eyes surrounded them from all directions.
Reed stood in the center of the magnificent hall, surrounded by the frightened gasps of the socialites. He slowly reached behind his waist and pulled out a pair of dark silver brass knuckles from the side of his belt buckle.
They were not ordinary metal; they were the only personal belongings he had taken when he retired, covered with tiny serrations for tearing flesh. He slowly and firmly slipped them onto his knuckles. The cold feeling of metal against skin strangely calmed his agitated heart.
"Take care of him," the man in sunglasses sneered.
The thugs roared and charged.
At that moment, the high-class club in New York disappeared, replaced by the never-ending bloody battle in the Seine Valley. Reed's body began the slaughter before his brain even gave the command.
He dodged a heavy punch, his brass knuckles slashing across the opponent's face like Death's scythe, instantly drawing a spray of blood. He spoke no wasted words; every movement was for maximum destructive efficiency: crushing skulls, breaking ribs, kicking knees.
Relying on the inhuman instincts honed on the battlefield and the grueling physical training he had maintained almost obsessively since his discharge, he became a whirlwind of gray in the center of the hall.
Three minutes.
In just three minutes, the originally magnificent lounge area had been reduced to ruins. Seven or eight strong men lay groaning on the ground like broken puppets. Reed stood at the edge of the blood pool, his suit jacket having lost two buttons, and blood dripped from his brass knuckles, staining the carpet a dazzling red.
He looked up, the murderous aura of the "Shadow Walker" in his eyes directed straight at the man in sunglasses.
"Lila," his voice was no longer hoarse, but carried a chilling calm, "Come with me."