He only saw an Eastern face, and whether Nathalie Quinlan admitted it or not, he planned to take her back first.
So he didn’t wait for the girl to answer, he leaned closer and reached out his hand: "Miracle doctor, co with !"
Before his hand could touch Nathalie Quinlan, it was intercepted in mid-air. Almost instantly, his wrist was clutched tightly as if the wrist bone was about to break.
The lean man looked incredulously at the girl who had grasped his wrist.
The girl’s delicate face was hidden under the duckbill cap, lazily standing there, her grip on his wrist seemingly effortless.
"Who sent you?" she asked lazily, with a hint of defiance.
A sharp pain emanated from his wrist bone.
The lean man’s face twisted for a mont, a ruthless look appearing in his eyes, his expression slightly changed: "I see you’re young and invited you kindly. Don’t bla for being rude if you don’t appreciate it!"
As he spoke, his other hand aid at a tricky angle towards Nathalie Quinlan’s waist.
Nathalie Quinlan didn’t give him this chance at all.
Just as he made his move, she shifted her body backward, moving behind him. With a reverse hold, she pressed down forcefully on the hand he was holding.
Only a ’crack’ sound of bones snapping was heard.
The man’s face changed with shock, a cold sweat broke out on his back from the pain, unable to endure the intense pain from his arm at that mont, he cried out in agony.
He then broke free from Nathalie Quinlan’s grip, clutching his injured arm, his expression growing more sinister, his eyes looking at Nathalie Quinlan as if he wanted to devour her.
He himself was a trained assassin.
Highly skilled.
Otherwise, Willy Kingsley wouldn’t have sought him out.
This ti he suffered a major setback and dared not be careless. The mont he broke free from Nathalie Quinlan’s grip, he imdiately prepared to draw the gun hidden in his pocket.
His movents were quick.
After all, he had been professionally trained, and he had practiced the gun-drawing motion so often it was second nature.
He was just about to pull out the gun.
At this mont, the lean man only saw a blur of black before his eyes, completely unable to see how Nathalie Quinlan approached.
His hand was already firmly pressed by the girl.
"You bastard, playing dirty!"
His eyes widened in shock, and in his panic, he hadn’t finished uttering a curse.
Nathalie Quinlan’s techniques were swift, targeting all the weakest parts of the human body.
The lean man sweated nervously from his forehead, too preoccupied to draw his gun, awkwardly dodging.
But how fast could he dodge?
Nathalie Quinlan’s speed left him no room to evade. Nathalie Quinlan delivered a spinning kick aid precisely at the man’s nape.
This kick could be described as having the force of Michael Truman!
The lean man’s face changed dramatically. Instinctively, he reached out to block the kick.
But he was too slow.
Nathalie Quinlan’s spinning kick landed on the left side of his neck.
The lean man felt a sharp pain in his neck, his eyes widened in shock, his lips turned pale, and his body flew backward, directly hitting the ground with intense pain in his back.
His body had already fallen straight down.
"SN!"
"Ms. Quinlan."
At the sa ti, two voices rang out simultaneously from different directions.
Jaycent Kingsley and Vincent Moore both got out of the car and jogged over.
Nathalie Quinlan picked up the single shoulder bag she had put down on the ground earlier, patted the dust off, and pressed down on her duckbill cap, looking unaffected and lazy, though her aura was still sowhat defiant.
Jaycent Kingsley was the first to run over. He looked at the man on the ground with shock, turned his head slightly, and asked the girl with so concern, "Are you okay? What happened here?"
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