The Supreme Soldier in the City
Chapter 411 - 418: Big Brother

Chapter 411: Chapter 418: Big Brother

Emma Campbell saw so many people coming outside, her legs went weak, nearly dropping to the ground. Her face turned pale instantly, gripping tightly onto James Brown’s arm as she panicked and said, "Big Brother Brown, what should we do now?"

James Brown patted Emma Campbell’s hand and said, "Don’t worry, Big Brother Brown is here."

Meeting James Brown’s gaze, Emma felt as though she had swallowed a calming pill. Yet, seeing the ten or so aggressive men entering the room, she still felt uneasy.

"Mr. Wilson, you’re truly getting worse and worse. Just one young man and you’re beaten up like this." A man followed these people inside, mocking Bob Cooke.

Bob Cooke forced a laugh and said, "Brother Lee, this guy can fight a bit; otherwise, I wouldn’t have called you over. You’ve got to stand up for me this time."

"No problem. I’d like to see which punk dares mess with my brothers."

Now emboldened by reinforcements, Bob Cooke pointed at James Brown and shouted, "I’ll **** your mother, you little brat! Get out here, kneel, and apologize now! I might just spare your life. Otherwise, I’ll skin you alive today!"

James Brown let go of Emma Campbell, lifted the curtain, and stepped out.

Due to poor lighting in the house, the interior was dim, and people outside couldn’t see James Brown’s features clearly. Now, as he stepped out, they finally got a good look at him.

Bob Cooke became even more arrogant and said, "I’ll ****, you actually dared to come out! Fine, fine, hurry up, kneel, apologize, and let me take Emma Campbell away—I might spare you."

Before his voice fell, James Brown, who was initially by the door, suddenly closed in on him, grabbing Bob Cooke’s neck in one swift motion. Lifting his arm, he raised Bob Cooke into the air.

Bob Cooke’s neck was clutched tight, preventing him from breathing. His face quickly turned bluish-purple as he gasped for air. He struggled desperately, pulling at James Brown’s wrist and kicking aimlessly, but James Brown’s grip was like a steel clamp—unwavering no matter how much he fought.

Having never contemplated death before, Bob Cooke suddenly grasped the concept of mortality. The terror was indescribable, especially since his mind wasn’t yet clouded; he was acutely aware that he couldn’t inhale into his chest. Ironically, the air around him felt desperately vital.

"****! Let go!" The men Bob Cooke had brought along saw him being strangled by James Brown before their very eyes. They began shouting furiously—this was blatant humiliation, treating them as if they didn’t matter.

Despite their noisy outbursts, none dared step forward to intervene. Foolish they may be, they weren’t blind—they could see James Brown hoisting a man up with one hand, which spoke volumes about his strength. He must be a hellion, clearly willing to risk it all. They were merely street thugs, after all—they hadn’t signed up to gamble with their lives.

James Brown then swung his arm and slammed Bob Cooke down hard onto the ground, as though tossing a sack of potatoes. Bob Cooke’s body hit the ground horizontally, kicking up clouds of dust.

Yet, Bob Cooke was no longer concerned. As his neck was freed, he inhaled deeply, gasping for oxygen to sustain his life—for now, his survival mattered far more than his pain.

John Smith was the big boss among this group. Around here, he was a notorious thug, a figure in the underworld with some ties to Bob Cooke. When Bob sought him out today, he had brought his crew to back him up. Going after one man with so many people seemed effortless—besides, he could score some perks out of this. Why not? He didn’t even bother asking who they were targeting and arrived on the spot.

But when John Smith saw James Brown, his calves nearly cramped from fear. He hadn’t expected it to be James Brown—the very man he feared most. Further, spotting Emma Campbell’s father in the background added to his dread. If he had known this was Emma’s father’s home, he wouldn’t have come even if someone had threatened him.

He had been lingering at the back, trembling as James Brown lifted Bob Cooke. Frightened out of his wits, he quickly lowered his head, hoping James wouldn’t notice him, then began retreating slowly to make his escape.

"Stop!"

At the sharp command, John Smith froze as if paralyzed by an immobilization technique. His raised foot refused to budge, suspended in mid-air. Slowly and awkwardly, he turned around to face James. His face had already contorted into a sycophantic grin as he stammered, "B-Big Brother... I didn’t know you were here; if I had known, I would never have come."

The gang of thugs found themselves dumbstruck. John Smith actually addressed James Brown as "Big Brother"? Even calling him that was fine, but his demeanor, expressions—they were clearly laced with palpable fear. Who was this young man? How could he command such respect?

James Brown said coldly, "So, what you mean is—if I weren’t here, you’d bring people here anyway?"

"No, no!" John Smith immediately lifted his hand and slapped himself twice, issuing crisp sounds. Clearly, he wasn’t pretending; the slaps were real.

James Brown snorted and said, "You know what to do, don’t you?"

"I understand! I understand!" John Smith nodded furiously and gestured to his men, saying, "Drag Bob Cooke out of here."

The underlings responded quickly this time. They crowded around, grabbing arms and legs, hoisting Bob Cooke, and hauling him away.

Bob Cooke had just caught his breath when he realized he was being carried away by John Smith’s men. He shouted, "Brother Lee! What are you doing? You must stand up for me!"

"Stand up for your mother!" John Smith cursed loudly, rushing over to deliver two heavy slaps that knocked out one of Bob Cooke’s teeth. Cursing inwardly, he thought, "If it weren’t for this fool, would I have provoked this guy who even Brother Bob can’t afford to offend?"

"Brother Lee... Brother Lee!" Bob Cooke still hadn’t figured out what was going on, frantically crying out.

But by then, John Smith’s men had already dragged him outside.

Trembling, John Smith approached James Brown. Since he’d already been spotted, he could only attempt to defuse the situation. Otherwise, if this hellion came for him again, he’d be in serious trouble. "Big Brother, I promise I’ll deal with Bob Cooke properly and ensure you’re satisfied."

James Brown nodded and said, "Make sure it doesn’t end in death. Also, give him Twenty Thousand Dollars—I’ll reimburse you later."

"No need! No need! That’s a small amount. Consider it respect for Big Brother."

James Brown didn’t bother with formalities. With people like John Smith, politeness was of no use. Turning to Mr. Campbell, whose expression now carried relief, James frowned slightly and said to John, "I need you to do something else for me."

"Of course, Big Brother, just say the word."

"From now on, if anyone gambles with him, break their hand," James Brown said coldly.

John Smith glanced at Mr. Campbell and nodded firmly, "I’ll make sure no one dares to play cards with him again."

John Smith thought privately, "This guy is ruthless. Gambling isn’t mainly the fault of Grandpa Davis himself, but now he’s placing blame on others. If anyone risks playing cards with Grandpa Davis, they’ll truly be out of luck."

"Alright, then. If you’re ever in the city, come find me for a drink," James Brown said with a wave.

"Thank you, Big Brother!" John Smith nodded repeatedly and retreated respectfully. His men quickly followed suit, their minds filled with admiration for James Brown—this was a real boss, someone truly badass, someone downright intimidating.

The courtyard fell silent in an instant. James Brown turned back into the main room, looking at Mr. Campbell. "You heard what I said, right?"

"Yes, yes!" Mr. Campbell wiped the sweat from his forehead, fully understanding James’s warning. Ostensibly directed at those gambling with him, it was actually aimed at him—if he dared gamble again, this protective son-in-law would take matters into his own hands.

James Brown handed Over Two Thousand Dollars to Mr. Campbell and said, "This money is for you, to help you get by for now. But you need to stand on your own two feet. While I will take care of Emma, that doesn’t mean I’ll also support you—especially at your age. I definitely refuse to support you."

Mr. Campbell quickly and carefully accepted the money, saying, "I will. I’ll find a job right away."

James Brown nodded, took Emma’s hand, and said, "Emma, if everything’s settled, let’s go."

Emma nodded, looked again at her father, bit her lip, and said, "You’d better not disappoint me again. If you do... I won’t help you anymore."

"I won’t, I won’t! I’ll do my best," Mr. Campbell said as he escorted the two to the door. In a soft voice, he added, "Daughter, take care of yourself."

Emma paused, stunned by her father’s words. Such concern was something she hadn’t heard from him in years. Four or five years had passed since last hearing her father speak compassionately to her. It made her eyes well up with tears—after all, he was her father. If he truly changed for the better, Emma would be overjoyed from the depths of her heart.

"If you truly do well and quit gambling, I’ll make sure to visit often," Emma said. Turning away with reddened eyes, she walked off. She didn’t want her father to see her crying from the mixed emotions.

James Brown nodded to Mr. Campbell before following Emma out toward the car.

Privately, he recognized Mr. Campbell’s words as little more than a strategy to win his favor. A man like him might not be entirely hopeless but was undoubtedly selfish. Because of Emma’s sadness, James didn’t bother exposing him.