Mr. Holt gestured at him, "Feel free."
Lucas Shaw lifted a hand to rub at the injury on his face. He didn't need a mirror to know it was swollen, and his lips were still bleeding.
He glanced down at his disheveled shirt, sneering as his lips curved slightly. "You didn't come all the way here just to test my skills, did you?"
"And if I said I did?" Mr. Holt regarded him with a meaningful look.
Lucas froze mid-step, a dark and unpredictable glint flashing in his deep eyes. "Well, now that you've seen them, you can get lost."
"Don't get so tense. I've always admired capable people, and you didn't disappoint me." Mr. Holt lounged lazily on the sofa, the corners of his lips curling faintly.
His gaze toward Lucas was steeped in appreciation and satisfaction.
But in the next moment, his expression turned icy, and a storm seemed to churn in his pitch-black pupils. "However, I hate being betrayed more than anything."