Chapter 155 A Devil Can't Be Good

• Francisco sat relaxed in his chair, legs crossed, touching his forehead as if pondering his next move. In front of him knelt a mid-aged man, hands and mouth bound, his eyes pleading and desperate. Max stood beside the man, his hands smeared with blood from the recent beating.
• "He sneaked," Max muttered, loading his gun. "Francisco, he’s an informer, I guess."
• Francisco's eyes narrowed, a cold glint flashing in them. Max raised his hand to slap the man again, but Francisco intervened.