Chapter 18: Survival Rules for Gang Bosses — Don’t Mess with Evelyn

“What exactly did I do to make you disrespect me so much that you won’t even call me ‘Dad’?”

Evelyn’s words were like an icy spike stabbing straight into Shelby’s heart, nearly stopping it altogether.

Beads of sweat the size of soybeans rolled down his forehead and dripped onto the polished surface of his expensive leather shoes.

This woman…

“Bang!”

Shelby suddenly dropped to his knees on the wooden floor, his forehead slamming down with a dull thud.

This madwoman was definitely here to settle accounts—because of the trouble that new recruit caused this morning!

“My deepest apologies, Sister!”

With his forehead pressed against the floor, Shelby’s voice came muffled from below.

“It was my failure to discipline my men that allowed a subordinate to offend you…”

As he spoke, he pulled a small knife he always carried from his suit pocket.

“Please allow me to cut off a finger to atone for my sin!”

With that, he laid his left hand flat on the floor and raised the knife in his right, chopping fiercely toward his little finger.

Damn that stupid new guy!

Of all the people you could offend, you just had to offend her?

I could’ve accepted it if you’d gone after the Razor Gang—but Evelyn?!

But what choice did he have?

He was the boss.

When subordinates made mistakes, it was the boss’s job to clean up the mess.

Looks like I’m losing my last little finger now, you idiot! You’d better help me massively expand the gang in the future, or I’ll make you pay!

The sharp edge of the knife was about to touch Shelby’s little finger. He shut his eyes in despair.

He could almost hear the blade slicing through skin, then bone, severing the finger—

“Clang!”

A shell casing suddenly shot through the air, striking the blade with pinpoint accuracy. The force sent the knife flying.

Shelby opened his eyes.

The knife clattered to the floor, while the shell casing embedded itself into the wooden boards, wisps of smoke still rising.

“Shelby, Shelby, you’re always so impatient.”

Evelyn still held the pose of flicking the casing with her thumb.

“I don’t recall telling you to cut off a finger, did I?”

“I…”

Shelby’s gaze trembled, his face deathly pale, as if he still hadn’t recovered from the extreme emotional whiplash.

“Sit.”

Evelyn gestured for him to sit opposite the desk.

“I hear the underground racing scene in the John District has been quite interesting lately.”

She gently stroked the black cat in her arms, her movements practiced and deft, taming the once-prickly creature completely.

“Have you heard about it?”

“I… I…”

Shelby clutched his wrist, still shaking, words stumbling out of his mouth.

“I know about that race…”

After struggling for a while, he finally managed a coherent sentence.

“It’s held every Friday near the bridge in the John District—an underground motorcycle race.”

“At first, it was just some street racers and biker gangs fooling around, but somehow it caught the attention of some aristocratic youths.”

Shelby gradually regained his composure.

“Using their family wealth and influence, those nobles slowly took over the event.”

“They opened betting pools to rake in money, and for their own amusement, they even changed the rules to allow racers to attack each other.”

He continued,

“The massive prize money attracted countless desperados. That’s how it got the name ‘Death Race.’”

“You seem to know it well,” Evelyn said.

“Bet on it before?”

“Made a little money,” Shelby replied awkwardly.

“Sister, are you investigating this race? The waters run deep—more than a dozen people have already died in it. Sister, you—”

“How much is the prize money?”

Evelyn lightly raised her hand, cutting him off.

“Th-three hundred thousand…”

Shelby swallowed hard.

“With that kind of money, no wonder so many people are willing to risk their lives,” Evelyn said calmly.

She slowly stood up. The black cat jumped down from her arms and began circling her legs, rubbing against her calves and meowing incessantly.

Clearly, Evelyn had pampered it quite well.

“One last thing,” she said.

“Get me two motorcycles.”

She tossed a few banknotes onto the desk.

“Don’t worry. As an old friend, I won’t let you lose out.”

Shelby glanced at the crumpled bills, the corner of his eye twitching violently.

“Is this… a deposit?” he asked cautiously.

“Full payment.”

Evelyn narrowed her eyes.

“I want top-of-the-line bikes.”

Shelby’s eye twitched again.

Forget top-tier motorcycles—this money wouldn’t even cover a rearview mirror.

But when he met the icy gleam in Evelyn’s deep blue eyes, he swallowed those words back down.

Joking aside—who would dare tell this woman the money wasn’t enough? Was his life bought wholesale?

Her tossing him any money at all was already generous. At least she wasn’t outright robbing him.

“Uh… I happen to have two motorcycles here…”

“I’ll go prepare them for you.”

Saying this felt like his heart was being carved out.

Shelby was an amateur motorcycle enthusiast himself. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have paid attention to the Death Race in the first place.

His garage housed quite a few decent bikes, including two heavy motorcycles he’d just bought recently.

He hadn’t even had the chance to take them out for a ride…

“Mm.”

Evelyn’s response was cool and curt.

“Please wait here. I’ll have them ready shortly.”

Shelby felt as though he’d been granted amnesty and fled the office as fast as he could.

Only after the wooden door closed completely did Evelyn crouch down and gently scratch the black cat under its chin.

The little creature had been meowing at her for attention for quite some time.

“Why two?”

Cyril looked at Evelyn as she crouched there petting the cat.

As she bent down, the hem of her nun’s habit naturally fell, the tantalizing strip of bare thigh above her stockings faintly visible through the slit. Her high-heeled boots accentuated the flawless curve of her long legs.

Cyril swallowed.

The view beneath her skirt made the sheltered young master instinctively avert his gaze.

Did this woman seriously not care that there was still a man present?

“Why two?”

Evelyn didn’t turn around. She simply repeated his question, as if mocking its pointlessness.

“Isn’t there still you?”

Cyril’s pupils shrank as if hit by a flash of light.

Isn’t there still you?

You’ve got to be kidding!

This woman is completely insane! She watched me sit in this damn wheelchair the whole time!

Yet at the same time, those words stirred a strange mix of shock, absurdity, and a faint sense of being needed within him.

His lips parted unconsciously, as if he wanted to say something, but all sound got stuck in his throat, escaping only as a sharp, silent breath.

“Me?”

He could only point at his own nose, then tap the wheelchair beneath him.

“You want me to ride a motorcycle and compete? Are you serious?”

“What’s the problem? It’s not like you really can’t stand up,” Evelyn said indifferently.

“But I usually can’t stand up!” Cyril protested, his voice carrying a confusion even he didn’t fully understand.

“Shut up. If I tell you to get on, you get on.”

Evelyn slightly raised her left hand. The six command sigils on her ring finger glinted coldly.

That single gesture was enough to make Cyril fall silent.

Of course, Evelyn knew she was only bluffing. She couldn’t actually use the command sigils to force Cyril into the race.

After all, using them came with a price—and who knew what the cost of a second use would be?

The only thing she was sure of was that it would be higher than the first.

Fortunately, Cyril didn’t know the details of blood contracts, nor that Evelyn paid a price to use the sigils.

So her threat worked perfectly.

…

Shelby hurried through the stairwell, the wooden steps creaking loudly under his feet.

“Boss, are you okay?”

As soon as he stepped out, several subordinates who had been waiting rushed up to him.

That was understandable—if the madwoman had really demanded atonement, they could rush in and carry him to a clinic the moment she left.

“I’m fine…”

Shelby’s face twisted bitterly.

“Get a few people and come with me to the garage. Help me bring out those two new bikes and get them ready.”

“Did something happen?” one subordinate asked, leaning closer.

“She specifically asked for two motorcycles. Looks like she’s planning to get involved in that race in the John District.”

Shelby spoke as if his heart were bleeding.

“She actually dares to get involved in that race?”

The subordinate exclaimed.

Anyone who lived in the gray zones knew exactly how terrifying that race was.

None of the participants were simple people—almost all were desperados with blood on their hands.

And even so, their survival rate in that race was less than ten percent.

Just last week, there had been a massacre.

Out of the top eight racers, all but the reigning champion were wiped out.

The scene had been a bloodbath—bodies torn apart, not a single corpse intact.

Probably only that guy who’d taken first place three weeks in a row could still guarantee survival.

Even so, he was surely already being watched by the organizers. They wouldn’t allow a money-making, thrill-seeking event to become predictable.

His odds had reached a terrifying level—he’d likely die within the next two races.

That madwoman actually wanted to step into such a horrific competition?

At that thought, the subordinate’s eyes suddenly shifted. He leaned in close to Shelby’s ear.

“What if… we tamper with the bikes?”

His voice trembled with excitement and fear.

“Make that madwoman…”

He made a slicing gesture across his throat.

No matter how scary Evelyn was, she was still human—not a demon.

In a race like that, if the motorcycle malfunctioned, she’d be smashed to pieces all the same.

Wouldn’t that finally remove the dark cloud hanging over them?

“You idiot!”

To his surprise, Shelby slapped him on the head without hesitation.

“Are you insane? Want to die? Don’t drag everyone else with you!”

“But—” the subordinate shrank back, still trying to argue.

“But what?”

Shelby’s face darkened.

“Have you ever considered what would happen if she came back alive?”

With that madwoman’s methods, if she discovered they’d sabotaged the bikes, what awaited them would be worse than death.

Shelby wasn’t like his men, whose minds were filled only with violence.

He’d climbed from a country bumpkin to his current position precisely because he could think things through.

The subordinate’s face instantly went pale.

With Shelby’s words, he finally understood the consequences.

Even if tampering with the bikes gave Evelyn a high chance of dying in the race…

What if—

What if she came back alive?

Just imagining that possibility sent a chill down his spine.