Yu Zhuyin and Jiang Nanshu exchanged glances.
The opportunity had arrived.
Lao Wu walked in with a gun, the loaded barrel aimed at Yu Zhuyin's head, "Stretch out your hands, and don't try anything."
She was unarmed and powerless, her face darkening as she reluctantly extended her hands. Handcuffs clamped around her wrists, and then the gun was pointed at Jiang Nanshu.
Four burly men stood in front of them, strong and well-prepared.
Suppressing the urge to fight back, Jiang Nanshu calmly asked, "If my hands are cuffed, who will hold this child? Would any of you be willing?"
The men looked disdainfully at the child.
The child was merely bait; now that the captives were secured, she was of no further use to them—except maybe to serve as leverage when the time came to kill Jiang Nanshu. The child's mother would have to be involved then.
They certainly did not want blood on their hands, risking prison time.
But none of them wanted to carry the filthy-looking kid.
