"Who are you? Who sent you?"
Ninety-two times. That was how many times Adam had been punched in the face. The goons took turns, their knuckles splitting against his cheekbones and jaw. These mobsters were absolutely relentless, not even resting as they questioned him. They didn't even care at all that their fists had become swollen and chafed.
Adam was fortunate that he was completely covered in blood. If not, then they would have realized that he was completely unscathed beneath the mask of blood.
These smugglers seemed to have misunderstood something—that Adam was sent by a rival crime syndicate to mess with them. He'd already said that he was just there at the wrong time, but of course, they didn't believe it at all.
