William Ford was able to know about this, not because he had any sense of crisis, nor because Brian Grant made a sound that he noticed, but because the stainless steel faucet in front of him cleverly reflected the scene behind him!

"What is it?" William Ford suddenly spoke, his tone calm. Although he was quite interested in the blinking tattoo on Brian Grant's body, he knew that the more you care about something, the more indifferent you should appear. Only in this way can you gain the greatest benefit at the lowest cost.

The one who was startled instead was Brian Grant. He stiffened and said:

"You—how did you know I was here?"

The corners of William Ford's mouth lifted slightly, but he didn't answer the question. Instead, he asked again, "What is it?"

Brian Grant was quite dissatisfied with this completely passive way of responding. The veins on his forehead bulged, but he forced himself to hold back and said, "It's nothing really. It's just that you're a college student, and I've been feeling a bit uncomfortable in my chest lately. I wanted to ask you to take a look."

William Ford's heart stirred. He did indeed want to take a closer look at the tattoo on Brian Grant's chest, but had been planning how to do so without arousing suspicion. Who would have thought this person would come to him on his own! For a moment, a bad premonition flashed through his mind. After all, everything in this world has two sides, advantages and disadvantages. Things that go too smoothly often hide some unusual danger behind them.

If it were up to William Ford's cautious nature, he would have wanted to refuse outright. But at that moment, the man in front of him suddenly yanked open his shirt! The buttons clattered to the floor!

That tattoo!

That grinning, blood-red tattoo appeared before William Ford's eyes once again!

At this moment, he noticed even more keenly that, with his shirt off, Brian Grant's muscular contours were exceptionally clear, each muscle standing out in sharp relief. It looked as if he had spent years building up his strength!

But to be honest, in this kitchen, he was the laziest one—always sitting around with his hands in his pockets or wandering about like a supervisor. The only reason this strict boss tolerated him was because Brian Grant's sister also worked in the shop and had a rather ambiguous relationship with Iron Rooster Harris.

This tattoo was very strange.

William Ford could only use the word "strange" to describe it.

Ever since he first saw this tattoo, he had looked up a lot of information. There are two methods of tattooing: one is to use shark teeth or animal bone spurs tied to a wooden stick, dipped in ink, and hammered into the skin. The second is to use a bundle of bone needles passed down from the Maori, tied together on a wooden stick and hand-poked into the skin. But no matter which method, it's impossible to create such a vivid, lifelike design!

Suddenly, that ferocious, menacing tattoo grinned at him!

Even though William Ford had nerves of steel—able to fall asleep right after committing murder—he was still startled by this. The surroundings fell silent, the fluorescent light turned a ghastly white, the faucet dripped, and a mysterious atmosphere quietly brewed in the air. Brian Grant's expression changed several times before he finally said expressionlessly, "Does it look good?"

William Ford took a deep breath. He noticed that although Brian Grant appeared calm, his index finger and thumb were rubbing together, his eyeballs bulged slightly, and even the hairs on his arms stood up a little. This indicated he was in an extremely agitated state. Countless thoughts flashed through William Ford's mind in an instant, but his eyes suddenly met those deep, ghostly eyes, and he couldn't help but answer, "It looks very strange."

Brian Grant suddenly lunged forward, grabbing William Ford's arm. The red veins in his eyes were clearly visible, and his voice changed with excitement as he shrieked, "You—you really can see this nightmare brand!"

William Ford's self-control was formidable. The moment he spoke, he realized something was wrong and wanted to shout, but suddenly felt a chill at his waist, followed by a slight stabbing pain, as if something extremely sharp had pierced his skin and was trembling in the flesh at his waist. Brian Grant's voice turned sinister and mysterious as he said, word by word, "Move."

William Ford had already figured it out: a knife was pressed against his waist. He said calmly, "Where to? Be careful not to hurt me. People could come here at any time."

Brian Grant said nothing, just moved his hand slightly. The sharp pain from the knife tip, half an inch into his flesh, directed William Ford where to go.

That way led to the stairs.

William Ford originally thought Brian Grant was going to take him up to the rooftop, where few people ever went, but instead, they were heading down. He was confused—was this guy really going to march him down to the lobby? Wasn't he afraid someone would call the police? Even if he wasn't, as a wanted man, William Ford certainly was!

Unfortunately, William Ford had no choice but to follow him down the stairs. He could vaguely see that Brian Grant's eyes were half-closed, and the ferocious ghost-head tattoo on his chest glowed with a hazy light. As it shone on the stairs, it actually created an unreal, refracted effect! It was as if the solid ground was rippling like water, as if there was a barrier there, separating another world!

The two of them passed through it effortlessly!