Sweet Revenge With My Billionaire Vampire-Chapter 82: Thirsty

Vincent turned his attention to the second man, whose mouth was hanging open in disbelief. He couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed. How on earth had a man like Vincent tossed his buddy like that?

It didn’t make sense. Vincent didn’t look like much. He wasn’t muscular, and his frame wasn’t built like a fighter’s. Yet, he had just tossed someone twice his size like he was nothing.

The thug wanted to back out. Every instinct screamed at him to turn around and leave while he still could. But his ego wouldn’t allow it. He wasn’t about to let some twig-looking guy humiliate him like this.

And when he saw his buddy stirring, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees with a pained grunt, a little confidence crept back in.

He clenched his fists, rolling his back. "Get over here, you piece of shit!" he barked before launching himself forward. He pulled his arm back, aiming a punch right for Vincent’s stomach.

Vincent sidestepped, dodging the punch with ease and grabbing the man’s outstretched arm. The thug struggled, trying to free his arm, when a sudden sharp blow landed on his right forearm. A sickening crack echoed through the alleyway.

The man let out a pained scream and immediately stumbled back, clutching his arm as pain exploded through it. His fingers trembled, his wrist hanging limp. It wasn’t broken—at least, not completely—but the impact had left it close to useless.

Vincent didn’t even have time to savor the moment before he felt a sudden force slam into his back. The first thug had recovered.

To the man’s surprise, Vincent crumpled, his knees hitting the ground lazily. Taking the chance, he raised his fist to punch him again, but the vampire’s hands shot up, grabbing him by the arm midair. In one swift motion, he yanked his hands down, flipping the man over his head.

The thug soared through the air for a brief moment before crashing down hard in front of Vincent, the impact sending a shockwave through his body.

Vincent stood over him, letting out a breathless laugh as he pushed his disheveled hair back into place. "You guys really don’t know when to quit, huh?" 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

Then, he raised his foot down and kicked the thug—hard. The first kick slammed against the man’s ribs, forcing out a choked gasp. Then another landed against his face, snapping his head to the side.

Vincent didn’t stop. He kicked wherever his foot desired—his waist, his shoulders, his legs. Everywhere.

The thug’s arms twitched feebly as if trying to defend himself, but it was no use. His strength was draining fast. With every kick Vincent delivered, the fight in him faded, and so did his occasional grunt of pain.

By the time Vincent finally stopped, the man was completely still, now unconscious.

He sighed, his gaze lifting toward the remaining thug, the only one still standing. The man was stiff, his face pale as he stared in horror. He realized that this had been a very bad idea.

They had completely underestimated Vincent, judging him only by his size. And now, his buddy lay sprawled out on the ground, knocked out cold with a severely damaged body.

His gaze flickered toward the alley’s exit. He could make a run for it. But Vincent was standing right in front of him. If he decided to run, he would catch him before he made it two steps. If he stood his ground, he was next. Neither option was good.

But he wasn’t about to just stand there and let himself get beaten into unconsciousness like his friend. He had to put up some kind of fight.

Gritting his teeth, he clenched his left fist—the only good arm he could still use—and charged forward.

Vincent exhaled heavily, already bored.

The thug swung. He actually managed to land a hit—but only on empty air, because Vincent dodged at the last second.

Stepping to the side, Vincent’s fingers clamped down onto his left shoulder, pinning him in place. A small smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned in slightly. "Humans. You just don’t know when to give up."

The thug grunted, wincing at the tightness of his grip.

Vincent grabbed his injured right arm next, squeezing just enough to make the man let out a strangled cry of pain. "And honestly," he added, "are your fists really the only thing you people know how to use?"

The thug’s breathing was heavy, his face contorted in agony. He could barely think straight with Vincent’s fingers crushing his shoulder and his already-damaged arm.

Then, Vincent smiled—warm, almost friendly. "You know, you could just beg me to let you go. Say please, and I might consider it."

The thug’s expression twisted with rage. There was no way in hell he was begging this guy for anything.

Instead, he spat. The sticky, disgusting glob landed right on the vampire’s cheek.

"Eat shit," the thug snarled.

For a second, there was silence. His facial expression transformed into one of utter revulsion. His smile evaporated as his left eye began to twitch involuntarily.

He let out a long, slow breath through his nose, then, his knee shot up, ramming into the man’s stomach.

The thug’s stomach caved inward as the brutal strike knocked the air from his lungs. He doubled over with a wheeze, his body crumpling against Vincent’s hold.

A powerful punch followed, crashing into his forehead. His head snapped backward, his vision darkening at the edges.

Vincent finally let him go, stepping back with a look of mild irritation. The thug stumbled. His feet wobbled, his body swayed, and then he collapsed, falling right on top of his unconscious friend.

Vincent stared down at the pathetic heap of bodies, reaching into his pocket and pulling out another white handkerchief, wiping the spit off his face.

Once satisfied, he crumpled the stained handkerchief and tossed it onto the body in front of him.

He grabbed his throat, swallowing hard as a dry, scratchy sensation burned in his throat. All that flying from Libu City to Vegas had drained him, and that fight in the alley hadn’t helped either. He was thirsty.