Andrew simply stared at him, his expression unchanging. "Is there another fatty around here that I'm missing?"
Elon's face twisted into a vicious grin, his laughter growing louder and more menacing. "You've got some nerve, kid, talking to me like that. Fine, I'll give you one chance. Listen carefully."
He puffed out his chest, clearly enjoying the sound of his own voice. "I am Elon Golding, the eldest son of the Golding family from Blumedale. Remember that."
After his grand speech, Elon paused, looking down at Andrew with disdain, expecting him to be awestruck and drop to his knees in submission.
Instead, Andrew responded with one word, "Idiot."
Kenny exploded in rage. "Elon, do you see now? This little punk won't learn until he's crushed. Just take him out already!"
Elon was seething. He had just announced his prestigious background, and this nobody, Andrew, had the audacity to call him an idiot. It was clear—Andrew was asking for death.
"Kill him!" Elon barked, stepping back into the protective circle of his bodyguards. He crossed his arms, ready to watch the show.
Over 100 elite bodyguards, all former special forces operatives, turned their cold, predatory gazes toward Andrew. They were ready to strike. Elon had booked the entire hotel for this very purpose—to give his men the space to deal with Andrew without interference.
Up on the second floor of the hotel lobby, two figures watched the scene unfold.
Jameson and Tiana stood silently, their expressions grim.
Elon was furious, his voice a low growl. "Andrew, do you really have a death wish? Let him go, and I'll make sure your death is quick."
Andrew smirked. "Big talk, fatty. But I'm not letting him go. What are you gonna do about it? If you give the order, Michael dies first."
With that, Andrew pressed the knife harder, and a thin line of blood appeared on Michael's neck.
Michael screamed, his voice trembling with fear. "Elon, listen to him! Do what he says! This guy's a maniac—he'll kill me if you push him. I don't want to die!"
Elon pointed a shaking finger at Andrew, his voice rising to a roar. "You little bastard, you might not realize this, but your woman is in my hands right now. Let Michael go and cut off your own arms and legs. If you don't, I'll have Francesca killed!"
Comments
The readers' comments on the novel: Rising from the Ashes (Andrew and Lauren)