At the old train station, inside a dilapidated warehouse.
Several men, their bodies covered in tattoos and heads donned with black masks, were riddled with scars, clearly indicating they were not to be trificked with. At this moment, they were armed with guns and some exquisitely crafted Flying Daggers.
Two of them were sipping liquor and chatting casually.
"Big brother, do you really think Wang Tianshan will shell out a billion to save his daughter?" Zhao Cheng was uncertain.
After all, that was a whole billion.
For mercenaries like them, who risked their lives overseas, even after toiling for forty years, they would at most amass a fortune of about ten million.
That was only possible for those at the top of the game: for the average mercenary, such sums were outright unthinkable.
Gao Zan sneered, "He'll pay. Even if not for his daughter, he will still lay out the cash."
Gao Zan lit a cigarette and said with a cold voice, "The reason is simple."
