The Amazing Son in Law The Charismatic Charlie Wade

“Holy hell!” The man’s fingers trembled, poised dangerously close to the trigger.

He was a tempest in human form.

Bouncing within a three-meter radius, he muttered darkly. “Ending this bastard now. Instantly! Instantly!”

A sly wink rallied his followers, who promptly sealed the goose shop’s fate.

With the door secured, the man’s gun zeroed in on Charlie’s brow, chilling intent in his voice, “Chinese love tempting gun barrels. I’ve put down many like you. One more won’t change a thing. Any final words, speak them now.”

“Final words?” Charlie jeered, disdain dripping from his words. “You’re a farce, not a threat.”

He rapped the table with a smirk. “Jordan, my meal. Chop chop!”

Jordan rushed from the kitchen, clutching a bowl of roast goose rice, his words a jumble. “Mr. Wade… Here’s your rice…”

In one Swift motion, the black man sent the entire meal scattering, “You’re thinking of a feast at death’s door?!” he thundered.

He swung his weapon towards the fallen bowl, squeezing the trigger. The gunshot rang out, shattering the plastic container and sending Jordan into a quaking fit.

Hogan, on the sidelines, remained unfazed. He was aware that these men were nothing more than insignificant specks compared to Charlie.

The Burning Angel?

A sideshow compared to him.

The Joules family, a powerful dynasty in New York, had no influence as Charlie mercilessly shot Patrick Joules right in front of them.

Who in the Joules clan would dare oppose him? When Charlie asked Patrick’s father, grandfather, and great-grandfather Joules whether they were convinced that he killed Patrick, who would dare to say no?

Now, a few gang members who knew nothing about the world dared to jump in front of Jagoan with guns, and Jagoan would never let them have an easy time.

The leader locked eyes with Jagoan, who showed no fear. Instead, he turned to Jordan and said, “Bring me another bowl. This swill’s a waste. I’ll make him kneel like a dog, licking every grain off the floor.”

composure crumbled. He’d pulled the trigger, yet Jagoan remained unfazed. Fear

flapping without sound. With a furious grit of his teeth, he spat, “Chinese

He hammered the trigger!

squeezed his eyes shut, while the black man’s companions retreated a few steps. They saw their boss’s murderous intent. At this point, revulsion painted their faces, anticipating the spray of blood to

about to be shot,

to pull the trigger, he muttered, “What’s happening… Why can’t I… Why can’t I pull

of energy, enough to render his opponent utterly defenseless. The black man’s hand had lost all strength, unable

grain of rice.

had power in his arm, yet his fingers were rebellious. In his panic, Jagoan reached out

and confidently inspected the sleek Italian M9 pistol, “If God wants to see me,

behind him scrambled, drawing pistols in their panic, preparing to fire

sneered, seizing the black man’s wrist and swinging him like

draw their weapons, a massive, dark force slammed into them from the side. Before they could react, they were sprawled

five bodies lay wailing

right arm hung by threads, cheekbones, ribs, and leg bones shattered. Countless fractures

four didn’t sustain as severe injuries, the sudden and powerful impact felt like a high-speed car

battered, they lay

power. They knew, deep down, that they’d encountered a master. Perhaps this was

the

back, their refuge in the corner

and now all traces of his former fierceness had vanished. His face was

at him and delivered a resounding slap across

reverberated throughout the

man’s cheeks rapidly swelled, Jagoan offered a wry smile, “The underworld, huh? And the Burning Angels… Who came up with such a ridiculous name? Look at that grizzled mug of yours—does it have anything to do with

but all he could do now was cry and plead with Jagoan. “I’m sorry, truly sorry. I

brow and delivered

crisp sound grated on the