Pampered by my three brothers: the return of the neglected heiress novel Chapter 1807

Chapter 1807: Releasing the hostages

"Who are you?"

Slater stared coldly at the person and replied, "Does it matter who I am?"

Silence was the man’s only answer. Slater glanced at the other cell before setting his eyes back on the man with a sudden realization.

Of course, it mattered to them.

Considering how cunning and cruel Nathalie was, it wouldn’t be impossible for her to send one of her own men to fool them just to amuse herself. Killing one or two of her men in the process was also not impossible. Slater drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Right now, I’m your ally—we share the same enemy," he said, placing a hand on his leg as he pushed himself up. "This guy—Ralph—told me to help you all, as he’s currently with my sister."

As he explained this, Slater walked back to the man he had shot three times. The man was still gasping for air, gripping his own injury to slow his bleeding. Even in darkness, Slater had already studied the man’s physique and height, giving him an idea of where to shoot without killing him.

"You..." the man gasped even more, but Slater didn’t care about him.

Slater busied himself finding the keys in the man’s pockets, continuing, "We’re going out of here. From what I heard, Nathalie Zorken will order her men later to take you all somewhere. Where? I don’t know. But what I am sure of is that your other friends need you all out of this hell as soon as possible."

Keys jiggled in his hand as he walked back and stopped in the middle of the cell area. He raised the keys to show them.

"Don’t bite me."

He waited for a few seconds before marching to the first cell. Slater tried the keys until the lock finally clicked, pulling the bolt before opening the door. Then, he ceremoniously moved to the second, third, and then the last. He didn’t wait, just leaving all of them open before moving to the opposite row and starting on the fourth, third, second, then the first one.

Creak...

As the last cell creaked open, Slater stepped aside and looked at the cells. Deep lines appeared between his brows because no one came out.

"I’m not joking," he said. "You can come out."

But alas, no one still did.

Were they too injured to crawl out? Or just too afraid?

Slater clasped his hands together as he clenched his teeth. However, he inhaled and exhaled before he walked back and stood between the cells.

"Any of you able to step out?" he asked. "Anyone is fine. If you don’t believe me, then one of you can come out and check if anyone is waiting for you outside of this cell. If that’s not enough, you can check beyond that."

No response.

What he received was nothing but pure silence. He didn’t know why none of them would muster the courage. If these people were part of the Shadow Order, shouldn’t they at least carry a strong fighting spirit?

Even James had a stronger fighting spirit, despite being a wimp.

But just as Slater was about to say more, the same injured man who had talked to him crawled out of the cell. Slater’s brows rose, watching the man crawl.

"You?" Slater repeated in disbelief. "Can you even stand?" frёeweɓηovel_coɱ

That would be hell, not just for these hostages, but especially for him.

Meanwhile, the guy who was already out gazed at Slater’s figure. After a second, his eyes fell on the small device on his lap. Of course, he knew this device. It was a special device specifically built for underground spaces, since the Shadow Order was full of them.

The people who were near him glanced at the device weakly. Seeing it, they instinctively gazed at the man.

Ring... ring...

Then, the screen showed that the call was connected.

"Hello?" The voice from the other end of the line was barely audible. "Hello?"

Finally, the injured man weakly picked up the phone and raised it to his ear.

"Hello?"

The man breathed out and closed his eyes, cocking his head back. His reaction alone told those who were watching him that this was real.

"Is this Slat—"

"It’s me," the man breathed out, stopping the person on the other end of the line. "It’s... me. Walter."

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