The Seven Sisters and Their Hidden King-Chapter 190: Peter of the Black Panther Hall

"You're a naughty one, huh?" John said calmly, eyes like a predator's. The tone sent a shiver racing down Bentley's spine.

How did he move so fast?

Before Bentley could react, John's hand shot out. Like a vice, it clamped around Bentley's throat. Without a shred of effort, John lifted him and hurled him off the second-floor balcony.

Bang!

Bentley's back slammed into the ground with a heavy thud, the air knocked clean out of him. He writhed, coughing and gasping, the pain rendering him speechless.

John didn't stop there.

He turned coldly to the skinny man and the trembling club manager still behind him. Their faces turned pale as snow.

"You two—go keep him company."

With that, John kicked them over the edge one after another. They screamed as they fell, landing in a painful heap beside Bentley.

A second later, a thunderous roar echoed through the club entrance.

"Who dares make trouble in our place?!"

A large group of men stormed in, led by a brawny figure with a scar slicing down one cheek—Peter, the ruthless leader of the Black Panther Hall.

Bentley's eyes lit up the moment he saw him.

"Peter!" he howled, struggling to sit up, hatred burning in his eyes. "Don't talk nonsense with this bastard—kill him! He dares to mess with us?! Finish him!"

Peter's eyes swept over the club. His brows furrowed at the sight of the chaos—his men moaning on the ground, furniture shattered, and John standing tall, not a scratch on him.

Clearly, this wasn't a regular street brawler.

Peter knew how to recognize strength. John was powerful. Very powerful.

But he couldn't ignore Bentley's plea. Bentley was his "business partner," and Peter had helped install him here. Still, Peter was no fool—charging in blindly could get him killed.

He approached with caution, body tense.

Just as he prepared to step forward, John moved again.

Effortlessly, he vaulted from the second floor, one hand gripping the railing, landing silently before Peter like a descending god of war.

His voice was calm. "Are you sure you want to fight me?"

Peter's instincts screamed danger.

John radiated a deadly aura, and for the first time in a long while, Peter felt something that made his fingers twitch—fear.

"...Who the hell are you?" he asked warily.

John grinned faintly. "Didn't the Brown family tell you to steer clear of me? John Lopez?"

That name hit like a thunderclap.

Peter's entire body tensed. "John... Lopez?!"

He remembered now.

Andy Brown had issued a very clear warning to all members of the Black Panther Hall—if you see a man named John Lopez, run. Do not provoke him. Do not touch him.

Peter had thought it was an exaggeration. Now, he wasn't so sure.

Still, Bentley hadn't gotten the message. "Peter! What the hell are you doing? Why are you hesitating? This punk ruined everything! Beat him to death!"

But Peter didn't move.

He stood frozen, torn between loyalty and survival.

A moment later, he made his decision.

"Bentley," he said slowly, "I don't think Mr. Lopez would cause trouble without a reason. You'd better apologize."

"What?!" Bentley's eyes nearly popped out of his skull.

Peter... was siding with John?

"You're joking, right? This bastard wrecked my place, humiliated me—you're asking me to apologize to him?"

He couldn't accept it.

"Peter, if you're not going to help me, fine! But don't insult me like this! Either kill him... or we're done!"

Peter didn't even flinch. "Then we're done."

The words landed like a hammer.

Bentley was speechless. For a brief second, he realized he had made a grave mistake. When Peter had suggested he apologize, it wasn't mockery—it was a lifeline. A way out.

But now, it was too late.

Peter turned back to John and bowed slightly. "Mr. Lopez, whatever business you have with Bentley has nothing to do with the Black Panther Hall. We'll leave now."

He motioned to his men to back off.

But John wasn't finished.

"Wait," he said.

Peter froze. "Yes?"

John casually pointed at Bentley, still sprawled and groaning on the floor. His voice remained even.

"Bury him alive for me."

Silence fell like a hammer.

Peter's face twitched. "...What?"

"I said," John repeated, "bury him alive."

Peter's expression shifted.

He wasn't squeamish about blood—far from it. He'd taken lives before. But this order...

Bentley wasn't a stranger. He was a business associate, someone Peter had once backed. Peter had already done John a favor by stepping aside. But to kill Bentley personally?

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That was a line he hadn't expected to cross.

"...Mr. Lopez," Peter said carefully, "this is between you and him. Isn't it... a bit much to ask me to do the burying?"

John tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharpening.

"What? You don't want to do it?"

Peter clenched his fists, struggling with the decision. A long, tense silence followed.

Finally, he gave a slow shake of his head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lopez. I can't accept that order."

His tone was respectful, but firm. Andy Brown had told them to avoid John—not obey him. Peter had no intention of becoming someone's lackey.

But then—

John let out a long sigh, shaking his head with a faint smile.

"Alas... Big Alan once told me that the Black Dragon Token is like a divine edict. That it could command anything. But it seems..."

He reached into his coat and pulled out the sleek black token.

"...It's not worth much after all."

Then, before their eyes, he dropped it to the floor with a sharp clack.

Peter's heart skipped a beat.

The Black Dragon Token...?

His eyes widened in horror.