HUFF. HUFF. HUFF.
He gasped for air. The fact that Qiao Xiyuan had held on for so long was a testament to the foundation laid by his special forces training.
Standing over Qiao Xiyuan and looking down at his near-lifeless body, Qin Fan said coldly, "The game is over. Let Heaven decide whether you live or die."
With that, he turned and strolled away.
In the abandoned junkyard, Qiao Xiyuan blinked weakly. He struggled to pull out his phone, its screen shattered, and slowly dialed 911. The air in the desolate lot smelled faintly of gunpowder. A Porsche Cayenne, a car whose price tag alone would make many drool, sat near the barely breathing form of Qiao Xiyuan, the young master of the Qiao Family. It was a bleak scene, like something straight out of a TV show.
