Before the others could fully react and give chase, Arthur had already lunged forward. In the blink of an eye, he was right in front of Finley, his sudden presence reflected in Finley’s wide, panic-stricken eyes. Arthur’s hand clamped down around Finley’s throat like a vice, his gaze sharp and menacing as he glared at the rest of the group. "Nobody move!" Arthur roared. "One more step and I’ll snap his neck!" Everyone instantly froze in place. They had already gotten a taste of Arthur’s strength during the fight. The longer they fought him, the more terrified they became. Back in school, they had only managed to get the upper hand because Arthur had been distracted. But now, even with all of them attacking at once, he was still holding his own without faltering. His endurance was beyond anything they had expected. Arthur’s strength was downright terrifying. None of them doubted for a second that he had the raw power to crush Finley’s neck with nothing but his bare hands. Nobody dared to make a move. Finley wasn’t just their leader—he was the one they answered to. And behind him was the head of the Tremo family. If Finley died under their watch, they might as well be dead too. The head of the Tremo family wasn’t known for his kindness. Just the thought of his cold, ruthless eyes sent a chill through their bones. Taylor stayed glued to Arthur’s back, his pulse racing. He had never experienced anything this exhilarating in his entire life! His legs trembled uncontrollably, and if not for Arthur’s presence keeping him grounded, he probably would’ve collapsed right then and there. Gritting his teeth, he fought the urge to scream. The last thing he wanted was to break Arthur’s focus. I just need to stay out of his way—that was the only thing that mattered right now. Finley was seconds away from losing control of his bladder.Arthur had broken through their formation and grabbed him by the throat in an instant—so fast that he hadn’t even had time to process what was happening. His legs shook violently, far worse than Taylor’s. Arthur’s grip was like an iron clamp—he could barely get any air. Panicked, Finley waved frantically at his men, choking out the words, "Back up! Move back now!" The moment they heard his desperate command, no one dared to budge an inch. Arthur’s grip on Finley’s throat was like a steel clamp. He kept a sharp eye on the people in front of him while demanding, "Where’s the exit? Speak!" Finley gasped, his hands flailing as he tried to pry Arthur’s fingers away. But Arthur’s grip was unyielding. No matter how much strength Finley mustered, he couldn’t loosen it even slightly. As Finley’s face darkened to a bluish-purple, the group hesitated no longer. Their leader blurted out, "Let him go first! I’ll tell you where the exit is!" Arthur sneered. "Do I look that gullible to you?" His face was battered, fresh blood streaking the corner of his lips. With that sinister smirk, he looked less like a man and more like a demon from the depths of hell. Even these hardened fighters felt a chill crawl up their spines. Arthur’s fingers clenched even tighter. "If you don’t start talking now, I’ll break his neck." Finley’s vision blurred, his arms flailing weakly as he struggled to make them understand—someone needed to tell Arthur where the exit was. But no words came. All he could produce were rasping, choked noises—"Hhh... hhh..."—his throat was completely locked up. A deep, gut-wrenching terror seized him, something he had never felt before. The crushing sensation spread through his entire body. He had never been this close to dying. Arthur—he wasn’t bluffing. He would actually do it. He was insane. No—he was even more unhinged than Finley himself. Just as darkness was about to swallow him whole, just as he was certain Arthur would strangle him to death, the grip on his throat finally eased.A rush of air slipped into Finley’s nose, and without thinking, he sucked in deep lungfuls of it—even if it was stale and thick with dust. For the first time, he realized just how precious something as simple as air could be. For the first time, he felt, deep in his bones, how much he needed it. He gasped for breath, inhaling the warehouse’s musty stench like it was the purest oxygen. Arthur’s hand still clamped around his throat, but the pressure had lessened enough for him to keep breathing. After several frantic gulps of air, his vision finally sharpened. His eyes locked onto the bodyguards in front of him. He didn’t care that Arthur’s hand was still at his throat—he jabbed a shaking finger at them and roared. "You just stood there! Were you really going to let me die? You watched him choke the life out of me and did nothing! Is this how you treat the man you serve?" The men stood there, dumbfounded by the sudden yelling, their brains momentarily freezing. Then, all at once, the same thought hit them—We're screwed!