Chapter 229 Dealing with Scumbag Relatives
"Follow her," Jackson instructed.
In the car, Jackson opened his eyes for a moment, his expression giving nothing away.
Aiden, upon hearing, slowly started the car, following behind Lillian from a distance.
Not long after, Lillian successfully hailed a taxi.
"Mr. Frane, should we continue following?" Aiden asked cautiously.
It was broad daylight, so there shouldn't have been any danger.
Jackson had Aiden follow just in case Lillian was hiding her emotions and might suddenly break down.
But evidently, she didn't.
Jackson glanced at the taxi's license plate and ordered, "No need. Head to the western suburbs."
When Jackson arrived at the western suburbs, Terry had already been tormenting Mary and Heroic in an abandoned warehouse for a while.
At this moment, the three of them had lost their former arrogance from the hospital and were no longer full of scheming.
They were tied to chairs, doused in gasoline, their faces full of fear, trembling uncontrollably, in a pitiful state.
Jackson's chief bodyguard, Harry, sat with crossed legs not far from the three, playing with a box of matches in his hand.
He struck one, flicked it with his fingertip, and the burning match wavered in front of the three.
It seemed as if, in the next second, the three of them would become burning people. But each time, they just missed it.
Several matchsticks had already fallen around them, and their hearts filled with fear.
"Please, we'll keep our word; we wouldn't dare anymore; please let us go." Mia's pleading voice was hoarse and weak.
She truly regretted it now; if she had known that threatening Lillian would fail and lead to retaliation from Jackson's people, she wouldn't have dared cause trouble at the hospital.
"We really dare not anymore! Mary, say something!" Heroic also shouted.
A matchstick had just flown past his hair moments ago. He couldn't control himself, and there was an additional puddle of an unknown liquid beneath him.
Mary couldn't bear the smell of gasoline, and beside her was a pile of vomit. At this moment, she looked the worst, weak and tearful.
Perhaps Mary felt that Terry, who wore glasses and stood by without lifting a hand, was easier to talk to than Harry, who looked fierce and seemed to have countless lives in his hands.
She moved toward Terry with both hands and feet, pleading desperately, "Terry, after all, I am Lillian's mother. Please let me go. From now on, I will follow all of Mr. Frane's commands! I can't take it anymore. I'm dying." After saying that, she then spat out some bitter bile.
Terry took a step back, showing sympathy on his face, and said, "Mrs. Garcia, please don't run around. If you accidentally touch a spark and get set on fire, we won't take responsibility."
Mary froze in fear, on the verge of collapsing.
At that moment, the door of the factory was pushed open.
A flood of sunlight poured in, and Jackson's tall figure walked in, making Mary and the others look over anxiously.
They were both hopeful and fearful.
When they saw that Jackson had entered, Mary and the others had hope shining on their faces, crying out loudly and pleading, "Mr. Frane, I am Lillian's mother. Even if I made mistakes, please forgive me for raising her."
"Mr. Frane, it's all a misunderstanding. How can there be deep hatred among family members? Please let us go."
They overlooked one thing—both Harry and Terry were Jackson's men.
They were happily lured out of the hospital, only to end up like this, all because of Jackson.
Jackson, who was handsome and aloof, walked up to the three without stopping to look at them.
He exuded a cold aura, but the visible bloodstains on his chin broke the icy demeanor.
Harry and Terry almost doubted their eyes. They widened them, then suppressed a smile by twitching at the corners of their eyes.
They tried hard to contain themselves, nonchalantly turning their heads to look at the sky.
They thought it was better to discuss in their hearts the incident of Lillian biting Jackson's face.
Compared to the ease of Harry and Terry, Mary and the other two couldn't care less about the injury on Jackson's face. They were like standing on the edge of an abyss, continuing to plead in enormous fear.
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