usatvline Chapter 30 Who is Tom? Tom is lost.
Chapter 30 Who is Tom? Tom is lost.
"It was agreed that we would only stop when we had earned 30 million." The man's voice was like sandpaper rubbing against wood.
"This deal, ten million. The target is here." A file folder was tossed across the table, landing in front of the man. "And this, your family member, we've found them."
The man paused almost imperceptibly.
He didn't turn around, but simply reached out and steadily picked up the bag, his knuckles turning white from the force.
Open it, and a photo slides out.
In the photo, a smiling young couple holds a little girl, and a little boy stands beside them; the four of them exude dazzling happiness.
"My name?" the man asked in a deep voice.
"Tom," the middle-aged man uttered the name, as if discarding a chewed tobacco. "Back then, he wasn't just thrown away, he was lost. Your parents were very busy in a foreign land."
"After this job, I'm retiring." His voice carried the harshness of a desert wind. "Going to Singapore."
---
restaurant.
The greasy air was mixed with the smell of cheap tobacco.
The man pulled out a chair and naturally sat down opposite an old man who was engrossed in eating.
His hand slid silently under the table and gripped the gun handle, his livelihood.
The next second, his expression changed drastically!
The gun barrel is empty!
The "old man" opposite suddenly looked up, revealing a face that was excessively young and had a mocking expression.
The young man was holding several gleaming yellow bullets in his hand.
The man's pupils suddenly contracted!
boom!
Tom woke up with a start and sat bolt upright!
He scanned his surroundings like a wolf, only to find the boundless wilderness swallowing the night, with only a campfire beside him stubbornly crackling and burning in the inky darkness.
The loach lay by the fire, its glassy eyes, illuminated by the firelight, staring intently at Tom, filled with an inappropriate confusion and curiosity.
"It's nothing." Tom's voice was hoarse from being startled awake. He rubbed his face. "Go back to sleep."
The loach's gaze swept over him for a moment before it lowered its head back down, and in the blink of an eye, its soft snores blended into the crackling of the firewood.
Tom didn't lie down again.
He sat by the campfire, his knees drawn up to his chest, the flickering flames flashing in his eyes.
"Tom, I didn't expect that name would come along too!"
At this time, he had a family: his father was James Dutton, his mother was Margaret Dutton, his sister was Elsa Dutton, and his youngest brother was John Dutton.
And he is Tom Dutton!
A distant and icy aura slowly crept up from the depths of his memory, silently enveloping him.
Singapore.
The air conditioning in the upscale apartment hissed loudly.
A middle-aged man was bending over, stuffing gold bars and banknotes into a safe in the corner.
Suddenly, a chill ran down his spine, and he whirled around!
A figure leaned against the doorway, and that face was so familiar that it made his blood freeze instantly!
"Wenqiang!" he exclaimed in shock, as if he had seen a ghost.
"Wen Qiang is dead." The man at the door spoke in a cold voice, sharper than the air conditioning in Singapore. "Did you choose him, idol?"
"You think I had a choice!" the middle-aged man roared, veins bulging on his forehead. "My gun's out of bullets! Falling into their hands is worse than death!"
"Really?" The man slowly raised his hand, the dark muzzle of the gun pointing steadily at him. "Then guess, is there a bullet in this gun?"
boom! boom! boom!
The middle-aged man fell like a piece of rotten wood, smashing open the half-closed safe door.
Deep inside the cabinet, an inconspicuous kraft paper document bag was revealed.
The man squinted, a hint of curiosity tinged with blood, and bent down to pick it up.
Two photos drifted to the ground.
One of the photos shows the young couple holding a little girl.
The other one is of that little boy.
.......
Under the blazing sun, the intense sunlight scorched the earth!
A mule covered in mud carried a thin boy of about fifteen or sixteen years old, wandering aimlessly in the wilderness.
Snapped!
With a sharp crack, a dry twig struck the mud-covered rump of the loach.
"Ugh—!"
The loach suddenly jolted, letting out a shrill, distorted scream that pierced the sweltering sky and startled several lizards hiding in the sparse bushes.
"Keep pretending! Keep pretending!"
Fueled by pent-up anger.
He cursed as he almost violently pulled a leather water bag, which was also covered in mud and shriveled up, from his waist, uncorked it, and greedily took a big gulp.
The cool water brought a brief moment of comfort as it slid down his throat, but seeing the water bag visibly deflate, a deeper sense of irritation instantly gripped him.
They should have been shadows, their bodies dumped in the wilderness, their traces erased, and their silent departures!
Who the hell could have imagined that we'd all be screwed over by this stupid mule!
The mule named Loach immediately turned its head, revealing its tired yet still clear, glassy eyes.
They stared longingly at the rapidly deflated water bag in Tom's hand.
Its rough tongue hung long at the corner of its mouth, constantly dripping thick saliva, its dry nostrils flared rapidly, and its entire mule face was filled with the most primal desires.
Tom's nameless anger suddenly flared up even higher.
He swung his hand back, without even looking, and with another sharp "smack," a vicious slap, accompanied by the whoosh of wind, landed heavily on the mudfish's sweaty neck, leaving several clear red marks.
"Drink my ass!" He shoved the stopper of the water bag back in and roughly tucked it behind his back.
On his face, beneath skin reddened by the scorching sun, anger surged like boiling magma.
"Open your mule eyes and look around!" He suddenly pointed around, his voice rising with excitement, almost a roar, "Where is this? It's a godforsaken wasteland! Not a blade of grass grows! Even the fucking rats are dying of thirst! What's wrong with you? What are you running around for? Huh!"
Tom's roar made the clumps of weeds at his feet tremble.
"I'm fucking lost!"
At this moment, anxiety filled my entire body!
He suddenly pushed off the mule's back, his movement carrying a fierce and brute force as he flipped off, his feet slamming heavily onto the scorching ground, kicking up a small cloud of dust.
He rushed to the loach's side and began to punch and kick its sturdy ribs and hindquarters!
The fists and kicks landed on flesh with dull "thud" sounds.
"Just a fucking wild mare!!"
"Look at you, you're worse than an animal! Your eyes are glued to that person's ass! You're chasing after them like crazy! Huh?"
"Where is the road?"
He kicked and roared, spittle and sweat flying everywhere.
"Neigh—!!!"
A sudden, piercing neigh of a horse abruptly interrupted him!
Tom turned around abruptly.
The end of the field of vision.
The wild mare stood there, towering!
It is not still, but stands tall with its head held high in a majestic posture!
His body was covered in jagged muscles, which, under the scorching sun, outlined a rock-hard, angular silhouette, with every line containing explosive power.
The thick, dark mane, as stiff as steel wire, did not flutter in the wind, but rather seemed to have a life of its own, wildly twisting and flying in the scorching sandstorm!
The most striking feature was the four enormous hooves, bare of any horseshoes, their hard, obsidian-like horns exposed, digging deeply into the scalding, cracked red earth beneath their feet with an almost ferocious intensity!
Standing there, it was like a taut, menacing steel tendon stretched across this wasteland!
Its amber eyes, across the scorching air hundreds of meters away, coldly locked onto Tom and the loach!