The chubby man had thought that Nathaniel York wouldn't dare to hit him. Seeing the car coming, he screamed and turned to run, but how could his two legs outrun four wheels?
Nathaniel York's cold eyes stared at him calmly, pressing the accelerator methodically with only one hand gripping the steering wheel and the other casually draped over the co-pilot seat's backrest.
Nathaniel York's expression remained calm, as if doing something completely normal; yes, just a minor matter.
With a loud bang, the chubby man was hit and flew more than a meter, convulsing and screaming in pain on the ground.
He wasn't dead, but he couldn't get up. His leg was probably broken, and so were his ribs, most likely.
The thin man still gripping Matilda Jenkins was stunned by the scene before him. He trembled and yelled, "Murder, murder... Help...!"
