Wyatt Hawthorne ignored Zane Shelby's words. With a lift of his hand, the men inside more than ten cars disembarked in unison.
In an instant, dozens of men in black Tang suits were standing behind Wyatt Hawthorne, an imposing and formidable sight.
These were no ordinary men; they were all retired mercenaries. Every one of them had eyes like a falcon—sharp, ruthless, and poised to strike.
"Hand over Faye Vaughn." Wyatt Hawthorne spoke slowly, his dark eyes narrowing as they swept over the cargo ship behind Zane Shelby.
He didn't mention Liam Linden.
Zane Shelby let out a sneer. "Don't tell me you've actually fallen for such a naive little girl. To go through all this trouble, chasing her all the way out here, just to get her back."
Wyatt Hawthorne also let out a sneer. "You haven't gotten any more capable these past few years, but you've certainly learned to talk more nonsense. All this babbling about love. Is that all you're good for?"
