boyutpedia Page 137
Page 137
"Oh, Michael, your candid photography skills are really good!"
Ethan punched Victor's increasingly thick shoulder, the hardness of the muscles making him gasp.
"So-so, Viktor, would you break up for something like this?"
"The five million is still in the account. Martin will have to deal with his troubles from now on."
"Will Caroline accept?"
"They're dreaming. I can't handle Martin, so I'm worried he'll deny it and won't want to involve me. Blair's advice is to make a big fuss about this!"
"Blair is a beast! And this is his classmate."
"When Blair was at his lowest point on Wall Street, Martin and Caroline didn't help him!"
Viktor had just finished a brutal round of grueling training, his body covered in bruises and drenched in sweat.
The burning pain from the repeated blows with the rubber baton still lingered deep in his bones, and the heavy blow to his chin still made him feel sore and weak when he chewed.
His body was constantly reshaped under inhuman torture. His ribs were almost stiffened, and the skeletal dimensions of his chin, cheekbones, and brow bones increased significantly, making his head look more rugged and even somewhat mutated and round, full of primal oppression.
He responded to his companion's teasing with a mumbled murmur, but more than anything, it was indifference.
He wasn't seeking the fame of such gossip, but he knew that such popularity could sometimes be both a weapon and a shield.
Just then, his personal cell phone rang sharply, and the name "Caroline Channing" flashed on the screen.
Victor gestured for Michael and the others to be quiet and then answered the phone.
Without even a preamble, Caroline's cold, trembling voice, brimming with barely suppressed rage, pierced through the receiver: "Victor! You did it! It must have been you!"
Victor walked to the window, looked at the gray Chicago sky outside, and said in a voice that was calm to the point of being cruel: "What did I do, Caroline? I was still savoring the good times!"
"Shit! That article! That damned article in the Brooklyn Eagle! And that photo! Only you, or someone close to you, could have taken that! Why did you do that?! We had an agreement!"
Her voice rose, almost cracking, filled with the sharp, stinging pain of betrayal.
Viktor remained silent for a moment, as if enjoying her loss of control.
Then, in a voice that had become even more steady and firm after his rubber bullet shooting training, he replied, “The confidential parts of the agreement do not include our relationship as boyfriend and girlfriend. The agreement is based on Mr. Martin’s continued ‘friendliness.’ His silence now makes me uneasy. I’m just making the fait accompli public to give it an extra layer of insurance.”
"Insurance?!"
Caroline's voice shrill with disbelief, "You call this insurance?! You've ruined me! You've made me the laughingstock of New York City! My family is disgraced! My career could be ruined! You shameless, filthy..."
A string of meticulously crafted, upper-class curses poured from her mouth, enough to make anyone who heard them blush.
Victor listened silently, his face expressionless, as if the curses were just insignificant noise from outside the window. He even said to Michael and Ethan, "Listen to this, even their insults are so civilized."
The two laughed.
Only when her angry outburst subsided and she was panting did he speak coldly, each word like a block of icy iron: "Your reputation? Shame? Miss Qian Ning, you should have thought of the risks when your father decided to use those five million to tie you and me together."
This isn't the polite M&A game on Wall Street. You pay, I provide services, including handling trouble. Now, trouble may be brewing, and I'm increasing our 'margin of safety' in my own way. As for reputation?
He paused, a faint hint of sarcasm in his voice: "I'm a boxer, a professional boxer, and I'm also a partner of a congressman, a representative of the Chinese community in Chicago's South Side. Who are you? Can your father's two billion dollars provide 350,000 votes for the congressmen?"
"You bastard! You think you can blackmail me like this? You have no idea who you've messed with!"
Caroline was trembling with anger, and she felt a deep sense of powerlessness.
She tried to control the man with money and rules, only to find that he didn't play by her rules at all.
He was like a bull that had stormed into a fine china shop, rampaging recklessly and without restraint.
Chapter 115 Testing, Exposure, and Training
"Caroline, think it over before you speak!"
Victor's voice lowered, yet carried a chilling certainty: "All I need to know is that if Martin gets into trouble and needs me to take risks, or if he hurts me, he will pay an unimaginable price."
Now, thanks to the Brooklyn Eagle, the worst that's happened is a few months of turmoil that prevents you from going out and having fun. So, calm down, Ms. Qian Ning. After you've finished venting, think about how to deal with your reporters and friends.”
"That five million..."
Caroline practically spat out those words through gritted teeth.
"Five million have already taken root in the land of Tulsa, although nothing can grow there now."
Victor interrupted her, "As for why Martin hasn't come knocking yet, I don't know, and I don't care. I only care about the results. The results are: I've spent the money. I'll get the job done. I've bought the insurance. Call over, I need to train."
"you···"
"By the way, Caroline, don't cause me any trouble!"
Victor ignored her words and warned, "I'm a person who values my reputation. I don't want to be cuckolded. Before you break up with me, don't let anyone know you're messing around, or it will look bad."
Before Caroline could erupt again, Victor hung up the phone.
He tossed his phone onto the old sofa beside him, as if he had just dealt with a trivial matter.
Caroline's anger, despair, and humiliation on the other end of the phone seemed unable to penetrate the psychological armor he had forged through rubber batons and rigorous training.
Victor's heart was not without turmoil, but he suppressed all his emotions and transformed them into colder calculations and a more determined will to survive—he even thought that if Martin fell, he would eat up the five million!
He had anticipated Caroline's scolding, and even the publication of that report was something he had been pushing for, whether openly or covertly.
He needs chaos, he needs smokescreens, he needs to muddy the waters.
Martin's silence was highly unusual, like the stillness before a storm. Either he was already under investigation, or he had already figured out how to escape—in any case, he had to prepare in advance.
Publicly revealing his "relationship" with Caroline, though crude and vulgar, was a risky move aimed at dragging Caroline deeper into the mess, while also testing Martin's limits.
Humiliating Caroline?
That was collateral damage, acceptable in his weighing of objectives—after all, such gossip wouldn't affect Viktor.
"What's wrong? Is your 'noble lady' throwing a tantrum?"
Michael, carrying a rubber baton, grinned and asked.
Viktor turned around and dialed a number:
“It’s me, Alice.”
"Thank you for your help this time. I will express my gratitude, but I need you to do me another favor."
“Alice, it doesn’t matter who speaks out or who doesn’t. What matters is who hasn’t spoken out all this time. Martin didn’t step up to defend his daughter this time.”
"It's nothing serious. Caroline is a clueless naive girl who doesn't know anything. I was just asking about Martin Channing."
"Newspapers, press conferences, board meetings—any news will do. I want to know how many days it's been since we last heard from Martin."
"Okay, thank you. Can I come to Las Vegas for my competition in June? I really need your advice."
"Caroline? Oh, don't take her to heart. It's just a performance. She lives her life, and I live mine. There's no emotional connection between us."
"With you? Alice, I have no feelings, I just follow my hormones."
"Okay, see you there."
After hanging up the phone, Victor walked back to the center of the room, stretched his still sore jaw and thick neck, and heard a slight clicking sound from his bones.
Ethan sneered: "One of our brothers is a scumbag!"
Michael felt the same way: "Five million for a single relationship? That's too much of an appearance fee!"
"It's nothing, a man has the ability."
Viktor replied calmly, "Just a little noise. Keep training."
······
In Apartment 2312 in the South District, sweat, dust, and a hint of rusty blood mingled in the stagnant air.
Just as Victor Lee assumed a defensive stance, Ethan's heavy rubber baton came hurtling towards him again, accompanied by a fierce gust of wind.
The dull thud sounded like a heavy object falling on a wet sandbag.
Viktor's back muscles, beneath his thick, muscular skin, tensed instantly, and a ridge appeared on his skin that quickly turned from red to purple.
He didn't utter a sound, only slightly adjusting his steps as he processed the pain that would have made an ordinary person collapse to the ground.
"Crack! Crack!"
The rubber baton struck him precisely on the outside of his arm and the front of his thigh.
Each strike was calculated in terms of angle and force, aiming to cause maximum pain while simultaneously stimulating and hardening the bones below.
Viktor's eyes were vacant, as if the body he was being tortured did not belong to him.
He squeezed out all distracting thoughts, like expelling stale air from his lungs.
The world has shrunk.
All that's left is this room with its mottled walls and worn-out mats, the next blow, the next breath.
Pain is no longer an enemy to be resisted, but rather the cold water that tempers us, the hammer blows that forge us.
"Okay, warm-up is over."
Ethan took a breath and tossed the rubber baton aside with a heavy thud.
He walked to the wall and picked up a specially modified rubber bullet gun.
"Moving target. Same old rules, avoid vital areas, and use the right spot to hit."
Viktor nodded silently.
He crouched slightly, lowering his center of gravity, like a beast poised to pounce.
“Swoosh—bang!”
The first rubber bullet hit his deliberately tense abdomen.
He jerked his head to the side, a rubber bullet whizzing past his temple, the wind whipping up his sweaty hair.
“Swoosh—bang!”
Another shot hit his forearm, which he was raising to block.
The training took place in silence, with only the sound of rubber bullets whizzing through the air and striking the targets, and the two men's heavy breathing.
Viktor moved faster and reacted more and more sharply, as if his nerve endings had already predicted the trajectory of each attack.
His body remembers not only the beatings, but also the instinct to find the optimal solution amidst the pain.