?<strong>Chapter 974:</strong>


    “Thank you,” Allison replied.


    Wasting no time, she headed straight for the residential area. The gates stood wide open, and the men in the courtyard all sported crew cuts. Most of them had tattoos covering their arms and necks. They sat in groups, smoking, drinking, and ying cards.


    Allison raised her voice. “Who’s running things here?” she asked.


    Ken stood silently at her side, his expression steady.


    “Tell him to show himself,” she added firmly.


    At her words, the men suddenly erupted inughter, their voices echoing through the courtyard.


    “Who do you think you are, demanding to see our boss?” one of them sneered.


    “Yeah, anyone bold enough to walk in here must have a death wish,” another chimed in with a mocking grin.


    The third man, who had butterfly tattoos running along his arms, smirked. “Since you came here on your own, don’t expect to walk out without coughing up some cash.”


    Allison locked eyes with the man with butterfly tattoos. His voice struck a chord of recognition within her.


    “Was it you who kidnapped my friend and demanded four hundred thousand dors on the phone?” she asked, her tone sharp and unwavering.


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    The man with butterfly tattoos froze for a moment, clearly surprised that Allison had managed to find them. Then, his expression shifted, and he smirked with contempt.


    “Just another woman who doesn’t know her ce,” he said with a sneer.


    He let his eyes wander over Allison, taking her measure. It was clear that she hadn’te with any money. But the man next to her, cold-faced and silent, had an expensive watch on his wrist. That alone seemed like something he could take advantage of.


    “Yeah, I took Amya,” he admitted, his tone casual as he chewedzily on a toothpick. “If you’re looking for her, you’d better bring me something worth my time.”


    His grin widened as he fixed his gaze on Ken’s watch.


    “Otherwise, the longer you wait, the closer that woman gets to being chopped into pieces—”


    The man’s sentence ended in a sharp scream of pain.


    Ken had kicked him hard, sending him sprawling to the ground.


    “I don’t have time to mess around with you,” Ken said, his voice low and dangerous.


    The other men in the courtyard, startled by the sudden attack, grabbed for their bottles, ready to fight.


    Before they could act, Allison pulled out her gun and pressed the barrel firmly against the forehead of the man with butterfly tattoos.


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