Chapter 91

Bernard sat in the car with his eyes closed, contemplating his next move. Deep down, he had an insatiable desire for wealth and benefits, akin to someone with an unrelenting pursuit of success. In his world, there were no small strategies, only winners and losers, and he believed Tang Dao was destined for failure.

Suddenly, a deafening noise pierced the tranquility.

Before Bernard could react, the bearded driver, sporting sunglasses, exclaimed, "RPG! RPG!" He swerved the car violently to the left, narrowly avoiding the rocket-propelled grenade. Unfortunately, the Audi car behind them wasn't as fortunate. It exploded, tearing the heavy vehicle in half, instantly claiming the lives of the four bodyguards inside.

Wide-eyed and drenched in cold sweat, Bernard peered backward in terror.

"We have a roadblock ahead!" yelled the co-pilot's bodyguard, pulling a lever urgently. The driver clenched his teeth and floored the accelerator, knowing that they were under attack. Stopping meant certain death, so they had no choice but to push through.

However, their luck took a sour turn.

Upon colliding with the roadblock, there was a tremendous explosion, the car's front disintegrated, and its tires somersaulted before crashing to the ground. They had hit a landmine.

At that moment, nearby buildings with concealed occupants burst open, and a gang of armed thugs poured out. Dressed haphazardly and wielding various weapons, they moved swiftly and without coordination, clamoring to scavenge the fallen.

They dragged the lifeless bodyguards out of the wreckage, stripping them of sunglasses and any salvageable clothing.

Bernard panted heavily as blood trickled down his forehead and into his eyes. He struggled to open his eyes but found it an arduous task. His neck refused to move.

"Mr. Bernard?" He was roused by a refined English voice. Gritting his teeth, he managed to force his eyes open to see a pair of leather shoes adorned with butterfly patterns on the socks.

"How pathetic, you're like a wounded dog," remarked Robert, clicking his tongue twice. He raised his foot and pressed it against Bernard's face. "My boss instructed me to send regards to your father and to welcome you as our guest. Do you appreciate this kind of reception?"

With a sudden surge of strength, Bernard let out a guttural scream.

A military knife protruded from his shoulder.

"Don't drift into unconsciousness. I've set an alarm for you," Robert snapped his fingers, then straightened up, adjusting his pockets. "Take him away."

Two of his subordinates approached, grasping Bernard by the hair, and dragged him to a waiting pickup truck. Agony coursed through his body, nearly causing him to lose consciousness.

"Boss, is he going to make it?" one of the subordinates inquired, glancing back at the motionless Bernard.

"If he lives, he lives. We didn't cause this. Looks like General Aidid's men are responsible," Robert replied, crossing his legs and retrieving a Swiss candy from his pocket, savoring the taste.

The two subordinates exchanged glances and wisely held their tongues.

...

Bernard's eyelids quivered, and a bead of sweat mixed with blood ran down his temple, finally seeping into his parched lips. He strained to open his eyes, the effort accompanied by a piercing pain. Slowly, he adjusted to the glaring light. His bloodshot eyes gradually regained clarity.

Tang Dao was seated at a table bearing Western-style steaks. The chair opposite him remained vacant. Several employees stood nearby, carefully tending to the steaks. Tang Dao wielded a knife and fork, slicing through the steak's tender, bloody interior. He relished the medium-rare texture, the taste of blood tantalizing his palate.

Bernard, at last, comprehended his current predicament.

His hands were bound, and he dangled from a rope. An iron stool lay beneath his feet, the air still reeking of diesel.

"N... Nicholas? Are you planning to kill me?" His words emerged as feeble murmurs, his strength depleted.

"I despise injustice the most. My men rescued you from a gang of thugs chasing you down. That's all. But it seems your memory is fading, Mr. Nader," Tang Dao remarked, smiling. "Think, Robert, my associate here."

Robert acknowledged and approached. His leather shoes clacked on the floor as he advanced, exuding an air of impending doom. It felt like a game to him, a slaughter.

Drawing near, Robert retrieved a box of matches, his expression still benign. "Sir, I promise you'll find this quite intriguing."

Sizzle...

The match soared towards the diesel-soaked wooden stool beneath Bernard. Unseen by him due to the angle, the top was drenched in diesel fuel, igniting instantly upon contact.

Iron conducts heat swiftly. Bernard's feet seared, and he screamed in agony. He raised his feet instinctively, but the rope above tightened, causing pain in his armpits and threatening to tear his arms from their sockets. When he lowered his feet, the pain surged again, as if he were dancing on coals.

"Let's put on some music, Elvis Presley's 'Can't Help Falling in Love,'" Tang Dao instructed.

An employee stepped forward, inserted a videotape, and started the tape recorder. Elvis Presley's voice enveloped the room:

Wise men say only fools rush in

But I can't help falling in love with you

Bernard recalled hearing this song at a Stanford school party. His cheeks flushed as he danced with female classmates, feeling the butterflies in his stomach.

Bernard exhibited an unexpected talent for music. Despite his screams and stomping, he maintained a rhythm that impressed everyone.

As the song concluded, Tang Dao set aside his knife and fork, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and stood. An employee promptly removed the stool.

"Do you remember now, Mr. Bernard?" Tang Dao inquired, a smile playing on his lips. "This is a form of teppanyaki, quite rare. You probably haven't experienced it before. It's also the first time I've witnessed a living being seared."

"Fake squid!" Bernard managed to utter through the excruciating pain.

Tang Dao, unfazed by the insult, casually patted Bernard's face. "I must say, I admire your tenacity. Give him a bit more spice," he instructed.

Osborn approached, lifting Bernard's feet, generously coating the stool with chili oil. A sly grin crept across Osborn's face as he dipped his finger into the oil, then nonchalantly sucked on it, causing his lips to tingle from the fiery heat.

Bernard's feet were already raw and agonized, and now they were being smothered in pepper!

Aware of his impending torment, Bernard couldn't help but unleash a guttural scream as the fiery pain intensified.

"You scoundrel, what do you think you're doing!"

"Oh, me?" Tang Dao chuckled, thoroughly amused. "I happen to enjoy watching a good performance, and it appears you're up next." He clapped his hands and turned to his employees. "Let's give him a warm round of applause to welcome the show."

Special skill: Floating over the fire on the iron plate.