Master of Lust

Chapter - 244

Zach's frustration boiled over as he watched his henchmen stumble and fail repeatedly. His face flushed with rage; fists clenched tightly. "You call yourselves professionals?" he shouted, his voice dripping with disdain. "My father pays you well, feeds you, and this is what I get in return? A bunch of idiots who can't even take down one guy!"

His eyes burned with fury as he looked at the fallen men. "I don't pay you to flop around like amateurs! You were hired to get results, not embarrass me in front of this clown!"

Rick glanced at Zach with a smirk. "Maybe you should've spent less on their meals and more on their training," he quipped. "I mean, for all the money your daddy's pouring into these guys, they sure fight like they're fresh outta clown school."

The henchmen slowly began to rise, one by one. Their breaths came heavy, laboured from the exertion and the beating they'd taken. Faces bruised, bodies aching, but their determination had not faltered. They wiped sweat from their brows, spit blood from their mouths, and exchanged quick glances with one another—a silent, grim agreement between them. Their eyes turned to Rick, now more focused than ever, and with that shared understanding, they readied themselves.

Two of the henchmen charged at Rick simultaneously, one from the left and the other from the right, their movements aggressive and fast but predictable. Rick watched them closely, ready to react. They came at him with synchronized fury, clearly trying to corner him, but Rick moved with ease, his eyes darting between them, reading their approach like an open book.

The henchman on the left lunged first, throwing a wild punch aimed at Rick's head. Rick ducked under it, then spun around just in time to block the second henchman's kick with his forearm. He twisted the attacker's leg, using the momentum to throw him off balance, sending him stumbling backward.

It was too easy—too clean.

As Rick deflected the second blow, a faint sound caught his attention, just barely in time. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the third henchman, creeping in silently behind him. Unlike the others, this one hadn't rushed in recklessly. His massive arms were raised high, ready to bring them down like a sledgehammer onto Rick's back.

Rick reacted purely on instinct, twisting his body to the side. He barely managed to escape the powerful swing, the brute's arms crashing down with a force that shook the floor beneath them. Rick could feel the rush of air from the near miss as he dropped to the ground, rolling out of the way.

The heavy thud of fists hitting nothing but the hard floor echoed through the room. The third henchman, now realizing his surprise attack had failed, let out a loud sigh of frustration, his breath ragged from the effort, disappointment etched across his face.

Rick, now crouched a few feet away, glanced up with a wry grin. "Guess I'm not as easy to catch as you thought, huh?" he quipped, brushing the dust from his shoulder.

Two henchmen, driven by frustration, decided to act. One, with a determined look, grabbed a large floor lamp, twisting the heavy metal base off the floor, while the other yanked down the long curtains from the window. Their plan was clear: trap Rick between the lamp's reach and the thick, choking fabric of the curtains.

The first goon swung the heavy lamp in a wide arc, aiming for Rick's side with brutal force, while the second one came low, charging with the curtains outstretched like a net, trying to tangle Rick in its folds.

Rick, anticipating the move, swiftly ducked under the swing of the lamp, feeling the rush of air as it narrowly missed his head. Without pausing, he rolled forward, escaping the curtain just as it was about to wrap around his torso.

The two henchmen glared at him, clearly frustrated but now more cautious after their failed attempt.

Rick was engaged with two henchmen. He ducked under a wide swing from one, swiftly countering with a sharp elbow that sent the attacker stumbling back. As he turned to face the second henchman, Rick saw a series of jabs and hooks aimed at his midsection. He ducked and weaved, grabbing the henchman's arm and twisting it behind his back, forcing him to stagger and lose his balance.

Zack, watching from the sidelines, saw Rick grappling with the two attackers and felt a surge of confidence. His eyes burned with a fierce determination as he yelled instructions and encouragement to his henchmen. "Come on! Smash him! He's wide open—now's your chance! Break him!"

While Rick was busy with the two, another one spotted a chance to finish Rick off. He grabbed an empty beer bottle and he threw the bottle towards Rick's head.

But Rick caught the flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Reacting quickly, he ducked to one side, and the bottle whizzed past his ear. The bottle went on towards Zach, who was in that direction.

Graves, saw the bottle and and he himself in front of Zach, taking most of the impact on his shoulder. But the bottle shattered upon contact, spraying shards and a sharp piece of glass cut across Zach's cheek.

Zach was momentarily stunned; his shouting has stopped and his eyes were were wide open in shock and surprise. His eyes teared up. He clutched his face as blood trickled from the cut, and he let out a wailing cry. "Ahhh!" he shouted, tears welling in his eyes as he stumbled back.

In the midst of the chaotic brawl, his pocket began to buzz. The first long ring was almost drowned out by the sounds of the fight, but the vibration in his pocket became unmistakable. Another ring followed, and then a third—someone was calling him. Right after the final ring, a short vibration signalled a message.

Rick threw a punch, knocking one henchman back before darting towards the kitchen. He needed space. Moving swiftly, he dodged an incoming attack and slipped into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him and locking it. The noise outside muffled slightly as he caught his breath and quickly reached into his pocket to check his phone.

Three missed calls. One message.

It was from Jemimah:

"Rick, are you okay? Your father seemed deeply concerned about you for some reason. He was asking if you called or if anyone called about you. Please call him when you have time."

Rick's expression darkened. His father concerned? He knew exactly what that meant. It wasn't concern—it was about the rat poison. The man was only trying to find out if his attempt had succeeded. Rick's jaw clenched as the anger bubbled beneath the surface, the memories of their twisted, complicated relationship flashing in his mind.

Without wasting another moment, Rick quickly typed back:

"I'm fine. I'll be meeting my 'concerned' father soon."

Just as Rick finished sending the message, the door behind him exploded inward with a deafening crack. A powerful kick from one of the brutes had shattered it completely, sending the door flying off its hinges. The force of the blow hit Rick squarely in the side, sending him tumbling back.

Rick staggered for a moment, his body hunched as he tried to regain his breath. The brute stepped through the shattered doorway, his massive frame filling the room as he sneered, clearly pleased with the chaos he had just unleashed. The henchman cracked his knuckles, ready for the next round, while Rick, recovering quickly, wiped the side of his mouth, his eyes narrowing with a mix of pain and anger.

The henchmen poured into the kitchen, grabbing whatever they could find—knives, meat cleavers, even a heavy cast-iron skillet.Graves, looking bruised and battered but still very much in the fight, joined the men, snatching a large carving knife and eyeing Rick with cold intent. Behind them, Zach, still nursing the cut on his cheek, limped into the room, grinning through the pain. He winced with every step but was clearly savouring the moment.

"You think you're clever, huh, Rick?" Zach sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "But now? Now we've got the tools—and the numbers. This is over for you. Let's see how fast you can dodge when you're cornered!"

Rick's eyes scanned the room as the group slowly advanced, weapons in hand. Zach, emboldened by the sheer number of armed men around him, swung a kitchen knife wildly, trying to land a blow. Rick dodged the sloppy attack, but Zach's grin remained, his confidence swelling.

"Come on, Rick! You're not laughing anymore, are you?" Zach taunted, as the others circled closer, their weapons gleaming under the kitchen lights.

Rick's mood had shifted completely. The moment he saw the message from Jemimah, the fight became something else—no more games, no more quips. His father's scheming, his betrayal, all of it had lit a fire in Rick. As the armed henchmen closed in, Rick's face hardened with cold determination. He was done playing.

One of the hulking brutes, gripping a large kitchen knife, lunged at him with raw power, aiming to gut Rick. Without hesitation, Rick grabbed a heavy cutting board from the counter and raised it like a shield. The brute's blade slammed into the wood, splintering part of it, but Rick spun on his heel and smashed the cutting board into the brute's face. The impact was brutal—blood sprayed from the man's nose as he staggered back, stunned.

Before the next henchman could react, a second brute charged from Rick's left, brandishing a meat cleaver. Rick, still holding the shattered cutting board in one hand, reached for a cast-iron pan with the other. The cleaver came down, but Rick blocked the blow with the cutting board and, in the same motion, swung the pan at the brute's temple with a sickening thud. The man crumpled to the ground, unconscious before he even hit the floor.

Another attacker—a wiry, skinny guy with a deadly gleam in his eyes—moved in fast, slashing wildly with a knife. Rick deflected the first attack with the pan, but the knife-wielding henchman was quick. Too quick. He came at Rick again, this time aiming for his neck. In a split-second decision, Rick grabbed a bread pan and used it to trap the man's wrist, twisting it sharply. The knife clattered to the ground as the man let out a howl of pain, only for Rick to follow up with a knee to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He folded in half, groaning in agony.

As Rick dealt with the wiry attacker, another brute made his move, raising a kitchen stool over his head, ready to crush Rick with it. Rick, eyes blazing with fury, dodged the swing and in one fluid motion, hurled a nearby glass bottle of olive oil at the brute's head. The bottle shattered against the man's skull, the oil spilling across the kitchen floor.

Zach, standing too close, slipped on the oil and crashed to the ground with a loud thud, his head smacking against the floor as he let out a pitiful groan. His earlier bravado was gone—he was out cold, his fall leaving him unconscious.

The chaos only intensified as the remaining attackers closed in. Rick, showing no mercy, slammed a frying pan into another henchman's jaw, disarming him instantly. The brute fell to the floor, clutching his face in pain. One of the medium-built, athletic henchmen tried to get the drop on Rick with a powerful knife thrust, but Rick sidestepped the attack, grabbed the man's arm, and drove his elbow into his throat. The man collapsed, gasping for air, eyes wide in panic.

Rick then turned to the last of the skinny, deadly-looking attackers. This one was more cautious, keeping his distance. But Rick, sensing the man's hesitation, launched himself forward, striking with a precise, vicious kick to the man's knee, collapsing him in an instant. Rick finished him off with a savage punch to the face, sending the henchman sprawling.

Graves stood by, the last one remaining. His cold eyes watched as Rick dispatched each of his men with cold efficiency. He tightened his grip on the knife in his hand, readying himself for the final confrontation. But Rick was already advancing toward him, fists clenched, breathing heavy, his eyes still burning with rage.

It was time to finish it.

Rick and Graves squared off. Graves, still holding the large kitchen knife, moved in quickly, his experience evident in his footwork. He slashed towards Rick with deadly precision, aiming for his midsection. Rick, in no mood for games, dodged the blade with lightning speed, weaving to the side and delivering a sharp elbow strike to Graves' jaw.

Graves staggered back, but he wasn't down. He retaliated with a vicious swipe aimed at Rick's neck, but Rick was faster, catching Graves' wrist mid-swing and twisting it sharply. The knife clattered to the floor as Graves grimaced in pain. Without hesitating, Rick brought his knee up, slamming it into Graves' abdomen, forcing the older man to double over.

Rick finished the fight with a brutal punch to the side of Graves' head, sending him crashing into the counter. Graves collapsed, dazed and barely conscious, his body slumping against the kitchen cabinets.

Just as Rick turned to assess the rest of the room, one of the henchmen on the floor—still groaning from his earlier beating—grabbed a fire extinguisher from a nearby corner and hurled it with all his remaining strength. His aim was clumsy, the extinguisher sailed through the air, crashing into the refrigerator.

There was a loud *hiss* as the impact ruptured something inside. Before Rick could react, the room erupted in a fiery explosion. Flames engulfed the kitchen, debris flying in every direction. Rick, with lightning-fast reflexes, dove behind the kitchen island, using it as cover. The blast rattled the entire apartment, but Rick managed to shield himself, taking almost no damage as the flames roared around him.

Through the ringing in his ears, he could hear the distant sound of sirens approaching. The sirens grew louder, cutting through the chaos as smoke and fire filled the apartment.

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