Chapter 2 A Mission

"What crime did he commit? And what's his sentence?" Rebecca asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and unease. "Life imprisonment," the guard replied, his voice low. "The nature of his crimes is classified as S-level confidential. We don't have clearance to know the details. But I firmly believe Ethan isn't a bad person." Rebecca blinked, startled. The man seemed wrapped in mystery, an enigma that defied simple understanding. With more performances ahead, Rebecca and Sarah quickly gathered their belongings and exited the prison. As they stepped outside, a military off-road vehicle sped past them, screeching to a halt at the gate. The Hummer's door swung open, and a striking woman stepped out. Dressed in a sharp military uniform, she radiated beauty and authority, though her expression was as frigid as a winter storm. As Liam Quinn's countless warnings replayed in her mind, her brows furrowed in irritation. Liam told her, "If you find Ethan, do whatever it takes to bring him back. But don't provoke him. Approach calmly, and keep your emotions in check. You're no match for him. Return swiftly—only he can resolve this crisis." Wolf King or not, he's just another inmate now. Why all this fuss? Shelly McCauley scoffed under her breath, striding toward the gate with a commanding confidence. Before the warden, who had been waiting, could utter a word, she flashed her credentials. She is from Dacron? The warden stiffened, quickly ushering Shelly into the prison and guiding her to the visitor's room without hesitation. "Where is he?" Shelly demanded as she stepped inside, her tone clipped and brisk. "He'll be here soon. I've already sent someone to invite him," the warden replied. "Invite him? Sounds like your prisoners live in luxury," Shelly remarked, her frosty gaze narrowing further. The warden forced a thin smile. Ethan commanded a unique respect in this prison—not merely for his formidable skills but also for his almost supernatural medical expertise. His legendary past accomplishments, known across the globe, only deepened his mystique. To everyone here, Ethan wasn't a criminal. He was an icon. The warden himself was no exception. Moments later, the visitor room's door swung open with a loud bang. Ethan strolled in casually, handcuffs clinking against each other, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Hey, old man, what's the deal? Wait, who's this lovely lady?" Ethan's eyes lingered on Shelly, trailing from her boots to her sharp eyes. Not bad. Gorgeous face, a great build, not a single ounce of fat. But that icy glare—clearly, she's got a fiery temper. "This officer is from Dacron," the warden whispered beside him. Ethan nodded lazily, his gaze still locked on Shelly. "What are you staring at?" Shelly snapped, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. "One more look, and I'll gouge your eyes out." Ethan clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. See? I knew she had a temper. With a grin, he rubbed his nose, then sauntered to a chair and sat, crossing his legs. "Don't be so fierce. It's just a glance. It's not like I'm taking liberties with you," he quipped, flashing her a cheeky smile. "You!" Shelly's jaw clenched as she inhaled deeply, forcing herself to stay composed. "You're Ethan Cole?" Her disappointment was palpable. His carefree demeanor exuded none of the discipline of a soldier—only the arrogance of a rogue. He is just a scoundrel through and through. "Get to the point," Ethan drawled. "If you're here to propose, don't bother—I've already got someone in mind. But if you're thinking about a fun night, I'm all ears." "What did you just say?" Shelly's icy composure cracked, her tone dripping with disbelief. Bang! Shelly took a step forward and kicked the leg of Ethan's chair. The solid iron leg bent under her strike, drawing audible gasps from the warden and guards. "Don't get so worked up," Ethan teased, leaning back nonchalantly. "With someone as handsome as me, it's your gain." Click! Before he could continue, Shelly whipped out her gun, pressing the barrel firmly against his forehead. Ethan chuckled, unperturbed. "Pretty lady, I don't like having guns pointed at my head." "And what if I do?" Shelly barked. "Sit down and stay quiet!" Before she could finish her sentence, her hand suddenly felt empty. Shelly blinked, stunned. In an instant, her gun was gone—now held by Ethan, its barrel pointed directly at her head. She couldn't help but be shocked. Ethan is clearly handcuffed—how did he manage to break free so quickly and grab her gun? Shelly gasped, realizing she had underestimated him. At that moment, she felt a chilling shift in Ethan's presence, a faint killing intent emanating from him. The warden and the guards froze in tension, unsure of what to do. Shelly's heart tightened. She quickly shouted, "Ethan, the government has a mission for you. Mr. Quinn sent me here to talk to you." "I'm no longer under the government's command," Ethan replied. Hearing Liam's name, he suppressed his killing intent, discarded the gun, and returned to his mischievous smile. "How could you say that? Mr. Quinn even arranged Rebecca's performance for you. Do it for his sake and at least consider it." "Heh, so it's that old man's arrangement. But this little favor won't buy me. You can go back now." Hearing this, Shelly panicked. "Ethan, Mr. Hugh is seriously ill. All the top doctors have been called, but only Anatoly Ivanov's method is effective. However, Anatoly is demanding the latest B15 fighter jet from Hendreville as his condition. Only if he gets the jet will he agree to treat Mr. Hugh. Mr. Quinn has no choice but to send me to find you."