Twins in Her Womb: Sir President, Please be Gentle

Abel sat on the couch. The genuine leather couch engulfed half of his body.

He adjusted into a comfortable position and stared straight ahead at the person before him.

Gerald felt his heart race under Abel's gaze. Was he in trouble?

"Beat him," Abel suddenly spoke in Russian.

Gerald did not understand what he meant and turned to look at those men beside him. After they received Abel's command, they immediately began raining blows on Gerald.

"Stop it, stop it! I was wrong, I was wrong!" After getting beaten up so many times, Gerald instinctively crouched down and hugged his head to protect himself.

"Hit him, and hit him hard!" Abel's eyes were fierce. Even though he did not understand what Gerald said and no one was interpreting it for him, he could tell Gerald was pleading for mercy.

Half an hour later, Gerald collapsed. His face was swollen and bruised, and his limbs were covered in bruises.

Gerald was miserable, but no one begged for mercy for him. The two men who beat him dared not show any mercy. They knew if they did, they would be in trouble themselves.

Hence, they kicked him hard. Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

"Ugh..." Gerald gave up begging for mercy. He even felt like he might die here today.

He could not help but recall what was said during the training for the Island of Despair. It was true. If they failed their missions, they would likely face death, unless there was a turning point...

Abel watched Gerald, who was almost breathless from the beating. He tilted his head slightly, signaling his subordinates to stop.

When they received the signal, they stopped. "Kneel," commanded Abel.

Gerald heard him. It took him a while to snap out of it before he finally reacted. Then, he slowly kneeled.

"Gerald, I'm giving you another chance," Abel muttered slowly, with someone interpreting for Gerald.

Gerald let out a cold shiver. Was this the turning point they talked about?

However, could he really do it?

"Boss, please give me your instructions," replied Gerald, suppressing the metallic taste in his throat.

"Kill the two men in the police station and this will be settled," continued Abel.

A shiver ran through Gerald when he heard the words the interpreter relayed.

Kill?

He had never killed anyone before. Despite their training, their usual orders only involved beating people. He had never killed anyone!

With his skills, how could he possibly take a life?

Gerald, who was afraid, lifted his head. However, he was pressed down by Abel's subordinate. "Boss doesn't want to see your messed-up face."

When Gerald heard this, he trembled even more. He lowered his head until it almost touched the floor before he stopped.

"Boss, I can't kill people," Gerald quivered as he spoke.

Abel let out a cold sneer. He knew well the capabilities of those trained and deployed. However, there were only two paths for Gerald to choose from at the moment.

"091, if you don't kill this time, you'll be killed. I don't have much patience left with you. You have two choices, so choose one.” Abel said, forcing Gerald to make a decision. He sounded like a devil.

It was either Jacob or him...

Gerald shivered and clenched his teeth. "Boss, I can't die. I'll kill them."

"Take him to Mr. Shanks," Abel commanded. He then lifted a glass of red wine and swirled it.

The dark red liquid inside was like human blood. It sloshed with each movement and almost spilled over the rim of the glass.

The two men nodded and proceeded to escort Gerald upstairs.

They had arranged for a family-style apartment suite. Shanks lived upstairs while Abel resided downstairs.

Before they even brought Gerald upstairs, Shanks could already smell the strong scent of blood. He listened to the footsteps and casually asked, "Did your boss beat up someone again?"

"Yes, Mr. Shanks," the two men replied in unison as they carried Gerald upstairs and dropped him on the floor. One of the men said, "Mr. Shanks, sorry for the trouble."

"It's indeed troublesome." Shanks glanced at Gerald. It was a Caucasian face.

It seemed this person failed to complete the task Abel had assigned him.

It was frustrating. The rule on the Island of Despair was simple. If one failed to complete his task, one either ended up injured or dead.

As harsh as it was, Abel still chose these Caucasians to carry out missions.

It was not that Shanks looked down on them. It was just that their training was far simpler compared to the killers who underwent rigorous training on the Island of Despair.

The quality of the two groups was vastly different.

It was alright for these temporarily recruited Caucasians to run errands, but was it not akin to sending them to their deaths if they were assigned missions?

Moreover, every time Abel beat someone to the brink of disability or death, he sent them here...

The physical condition of these Caucasians was not as good as those from the Island of Despair.

Even though those who got beaten up were always left gasping for breath, the ones from the Island of Despair were much easier to save.

"Mr. Shanks, we're leaving him with you. Thank you." The two men exchanged a glance before one of them spoke. Then, they left.

"Pass a message for me. Tell him to be more careful in the future. Either don't beat them up or don't bring them to me. I'm not here to professionally save people," said Shanks. His gaze fell on Gerald.

Tsk, he must have broken a few bones. But those men had deliberately avoided vital areas while beating him. There was no reckless striking, so this person should not be in mortal danger.

However, he was not from the Island of Despair. It would take several months for his bones to be healed...

"Save me." Gerald reached out toward Shanks.

Even though he did not know who Shanks was, judging from the conversation between the two men, he figured this man might be able to save him.

His will to survive was strong. He wanted to grasp onto this man in front of him tightly.

Shanks looked disdainfully at Gerald, who was covered in blood. He said calmly, "You've been delivered.

I have no intention of throwing you aside. Just wait."

Gerald was taken aback for a moment. Did he have to wait?

He could feel his life slipping away with each drop of blood from his body. If he waited any longer, he might die.

Would the Island of Despair even provide him with a coffin after killing him...

Gerald's thoughts turned desperate. It seemed unlikely. He should not dwell on it...

Shanks made a phone call. "Are you available?"

Luca, who was on the other end of the line, was surprised. Shanks actually took the initiative to contact her, and he even asked if she was free.

"Mr. Shanks, I'm currently occupied. The police are still here, and I'll be heading back to A City with the main team later," replied Luca.

"Oh," replied Shanks before hanging up.

As Luca listened to the busy tone, she was puzzled.

Shanks rubbed his chin and looked at Gerald. "What's your name?"

"Gerald Muller," Gerald struggled to speak. He could feel the strength to speak draining from him. He had almost exerted all his energy just to utter those two words.

"I'm not asking for your name. I'm asking for your ID number in the organization." Shanks frowned. Doctors usually had the habit of asking for a patient's name.

However, that was because they needed to establish a rapport with the patient.

Shanks did not need that. He just wanted to know the person's ID number for addressing purposes later.