The Seven Sisters and Their Hidden King-Chapter 191: This Is a Real Devil

Instead of taking the token, he said, "You take it first. Let's talk about it after we finish what happened today!"

Peter, though confused, said nothing and obeyed.

At this moment, Bentley, who had been silently observing, was already dumbfounded. His world began to crumble as he stared at the black dragon token. The realization hit him like a thunderstrike—he was finished.

In desperation, he crawled to John's feet, his voice trembling as he begged, "Mr. Lopez, forgive me. I know I was wrong. Please, spare me this time. From now on, I'm yours—I'll do anything you say..."

Slap!

"Are you insulting me?" John spat coldly. "If you work for me, I'd rather kill myself."

Peter, still maintaining a cautious stance, asked, "Mr. Lopez, may I ask what Bentley has done to offend you?"

Bentley was just as confused.

Could it be because of that beautiful reporter? But that incident had been so long ago—it didn't make sense for John to seek revenge now. It was Bentley who had been kicked in the head back then, so if anyone had a reason for revenge, it should be him, not John.

The entire situation felt strange.

When John entered, he didn't say a word but immediately began smashing the tables. Bentley, instead of asking for an explanation, was focused on wanting to kill John the moment Peter arrived. It seemed like the reason didn't even matter to him.

But everything had turned upside down.

Peter didn't help him. Instead, he sided with John, and the worst part—John had taken out the black dragon token.

Bentley knew his end was near.

But even in his panic, he needed to understand why his life was about to end.

John, ever cold, spoke, "You should ask that scum instead of me."

Peter turned to Bentley, his voice cutting through the tension, "Bentley, don't you know what you've done wrong to offend Mr. Lopez?"

Bentley's face darkened. He had done so many terrible things; how could he know which one had angered John?

Was it when he saw John with that reporter?

"Could it be because of the girl...?" Bentley ventured cautiously, trying to buy himself some time. "I shouldn't have caused trouble on purpose?"

John's voice cut through the air, cold and firm. "Break his finger."

It was clear that Bentley had made a grievous mistake.

Peter, following John's orders, stepped forward without hesitation. "Bentley, don't say I'm cruel. You've offended the wrong person. The only thing I can do now is cut swiftly to ease your pain."

Without flinching, he raised the knife.

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Bentley's finger fell to the floor with a sickening thud.

Peter, a man as ruthless as John, didn't even blink as blood splashed onto his face.

"Ah!!!!"

Bentley screamed, his face twisted in unbearable pain.

John remained impassive. "Let him guess again."

Guess again?

Bentley's mind was reeling. If he guessed wrong, another finger would be severed. The fear of further torture kept him silent.

Seeing his hesitation, John ordered coldly, "One more finger."

"Ah!!!!"

The sharp pain coursed through Bentley's body, and he nearly blacked out from the agony.

"Guess again," John commanded, his tone unwavering.

Bentley, barely able to gather his wits through the pain, muttered weakly, "Is it... My car ran over an old man a few days ago... and I found someone to take the blame for me?"

John's cold voice rang out, "One more!"

Another scream tore through the room as Bentley lost consciousness, overwhelmed by the excruciating pain.

"Wake him up and let him guess again," John ordered without a hint of mercy.

Peter, though a man accustomed to violence, couldn't help but tremble at the unrelenting cruelty displayed by John. Bentley's fate seemed sealed.

When Bentley regained consciousness, he looked at John, his eyes wide with fear. "You... You're a devil! A real devil!" he shouted, his voice breaking.

"Cut the crap!" John snapped.

Bentley, now reduced to a quivering wreck, felt a cold dread settle over him. His mind raced, trying to understand why John was torturing him so.

With only one finger left on his hand, Bentley suddenly had an epiphany.

Why had John rushed to the club at this late hour? The pieces began to fit together.

He was horrified as the realization hit him. "Is it because of the student today?"

"You are right," John replied coldly, his eyes narrowing.

Taking a deep breath, John walked towards Bentley with the calm demeanor of a judge. Without a word, he snatched the knife from Peter's hand and slashed it down.

"No!!!!!"

Bentley screamed in horror. "Why did you cut my finger when I got it right?"

John looked at him with icy detachment. "I have OCD. I feel very uncomfortable leaving one there."

Bentley's protests died in his throat. There was no room for argument.

With a cold, indifferent gaze, John coldly uttered, "I just wanted to cut off your fingers. You have no say in the matter."

Bentley, his mind unraveling, did nothing but beg for mercy. "Mr. Lopez, I really didn't know that the college girl had anything to do with you. It's all his fault! Blame that thin monkey. He's the one who brought that student to me!"

Bentley pointed frantically at the thin man lying nearby.

The thin man had been lying motionless on the ground since John had thrown him from the second floor. It wasn't because he was seriously injured, but because it was smarter to pretend to be dead than to risk becoming the next target. He had learned that lesson well.

It worked. John hadn't noticed him at all.

But now, it led straight to the thin man.

The man, terrified, sprang to his feet and bolted for the door.

Bentley's heart raced as he watched the man flee. Could he escape?

The thin man's naivety was his undoing. Before he could even make it to the door, the members of the Black Panther Hall grabbed him and pulled him back. They broke his limbs, leaving him unable to move.

This time, there would be no escape.

John's voice was flat, emotionless. "These two must be buried alive."

Bentley, now fully realizing the depth of his predicament, fainted once again—this time, from sheer fear.

It wasn't until that moment that he truly understood: John hadn't given him a chance to guess. The entire ordeal was nothing more than cruel torture, a methodical display of power.

John was a real devil.