"Swish!"
Steen revealed a cold smile, his right hand swiftly striking out.
"Slap!"
The next moment, under the gaze of some gang lords who couldn't see clearly, Steen caught hold of the African's wrist, sneering, "Are you so eager to die?"
"Let him go; I'll go with you," Chekhov squinted his eyes similar to Chen Fan when he was angry.
"Killing him does indeed soil my hands." After hearing this, Steen smiled a little, let go of his hand, took out a handkerchief and wiped it gently, mocking, "I heard rumors that you're quite clever, seems the rumors were right."
Chekhov didn't utter a word, and the African didn't retreat behind Chekhov, he continued to stare at Steen.
Even though he knew he wasn't Steen's match, the African who had pledged allegiance to Chekhov, possessed a conscientious bodyguard's spirit, always prioritizing Chekhov's life first.
