Bitcoin Billionaire: I Regressed to Invest in the First Bitcoin!-Chapter 110: Licking His Wounds

Darren stood in the gleaming lobby of the Steele Complex, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, watching Ryan Anders's retreating figure melt into the sunlight beyond the glass doors.

Darren wasn't intimidated, wasn't scared, not in the slightest. Perhaps he was getting a bit pompous, a bit too certain, too sure in himself and the Investor System that he didn't believe any harm could come to him.

He'd already died before. Death wasn't particularly a stranger to him.

Maybe he needed a reality check, a reminder that even with the Investor System and everything he knew, men like Ryan Anders were powerful men for a reason.

Visit fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm for the best novel reading experi𝒆nce.

Or maybe he was right, and the man's sinister chuckle still echoing in his ears were nothing but the final ones of a dead man.

'That guy...' Darren mused, his jaw tightening as he replayed their exchange. Anders had slithered in like a fox in a henhouse, all smug grins and veiled threats, like he usually did.

He reminded Darren of the cunning men in historical fantasies, who relied not on strength but on their knowledge.

Knowledge was power, was it not? Well... sometimes it was.

A sigh escaped him, heavy with the weight of vigilance. Ryan might've accepted this round's defeat, but Darren knew better than to trust the stillness after a storm.

Rachel looked at him, her eyes scanning his face with a mix of concern and curiosity. "You okay?" she asked, her voice softer now, stripped of the edge it had carried during Anders' intrusion.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Darren replied, forcing a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "So far, it looks like Anders is licking his wounds. Let's hope he stays that way for a while."

He got a text and after reading it, turned to Rachel. "Amelia has resigned and she's coming here. Show her her office when she gets here, okay?"

Rachel nodded. "Yes sir."

Kara swept into the scene, her red hair catching the light as she planted herself in the center of the lobby, hands on her hips. She stared at the door Anders had exited through, her brow furrowing. "What did that creepy guy want?" she asked.

Darren turned to her, staying composed. "I handled it," he said firmly. "You and Rachel keep doing what you're doing— supervise the interior setup. I've been really impressed with the both of you today. Thank you... so much."

Kara grinned, a spark of pride lighting her face, and after she and Rachel shared a glance, Rachel gave a curt nod and shifted back into work mode.

Darren's stomach growled, a low rumble that cut through his thoughts. "I'm starving," he remarked.

"Oh, I can get you something to eat," Rachel offered.

"No it's fine," Darren stopped her. "I need the air anyway." After saying that, he glanced toward the exit. "I'll grab lunch at Castle Cottage. Be back soon."

Then he left as the two women watched.

The city swallowed him the moment he stepped outside the company's main premises, the hum of traffic and distant horns wrapping around him like a familiar cloak.

Hands still in his pockets, Darren walked with a steady stride, the Steele Complex's glass facade shrinking behind him.

As he walked, he couldn't stop thinking about Ryan Anders. His mind churned over his words: Amelia, the Helios Dome, that jab about secrets.

But Darren's mind also wandered to Alison.

It kinda tugged at him that she spoke to him in confidence, and he'd taken the information and used it to get on over Terry Wilson.

However, it was completely her fault that she was tangled up in the mess in the first place.

She met Terry Wilson of all people for help and the weasel ended up siphoning a million dollars from a Moon Enterprises's research fund.

He'd given her 250 thousand, but only God knew what he did with the remaining 750 thousand.

Darren's lips twitched into a grim smirk.

Fuck.

Pointing Ryan toward that missing money wasn't charity work. No, he knew exactly why he did. It was a calculated shove, a wedge to splinter the alliance between Terry and Tyler Mooney.

If it worked, Terry would be out of a job, facing bars instead of boardrooms. 'Even small victories taste sweet,' Darren thought, savoring the idea of watching that smug little empire crack.

He rounded a corner onto a quieter street, the roar of cars fading to a murmur, and spotted the wrought-iron gate of Castle Cottage ahead.

Darren quickened his pace, looking left and right to cross the street, already imagining the rustic charm of the outdoor patio, the scent of grilled meat wafting through the air — until he stopped short.

The gate was shut tight, a padlock glinting in the midday sun.

His eyes caught a fairly new sign hung crookedly from the bars: "Business Closed. Land for Sale."

Darren blinked, surprise flickering across his face. "That fast, huh?" he muttered, running a hand through his brown hair.

Just weeks ago, he'd sat there with Sandy, chatting with the waiter — Penelope, the owner's daughter. She'd mentioned competition driving them under, but Darren never expected it to happen this fast.

Fuck. Again.

A passerby, an older man with a graying beard and a faded ball cap, noticed his confusion. "Closed up last week," the man offered, nodding toward the gate. "Tough break. If you're hungry, though, Shooters just opened a branch down the street."

Darren frowned, the name tugging at a vague memory. "Shooters?" he echoed, giving the man a brow raise of skepticism.

The man shrugged and pointed, so Darren followed the direction, curiosity nudging him forward.

The building was like any high-end restaurant/bar, with the glass windows and red platings. A large logo was on top of the building, sampling the name; Shooters, which had two gun muzzles replacing the double O's.

As soon as he stepped into the restaurant, the atmosphere hit him like a wave. There was raucous laughter, clinking glasses, and a pulsing energy that teetered on the edge of chaos.

Shooters was a hive of mostly men, their voices booming over the din, while waitresses wove through the crowd in outfits that left little to the imagination: tight white shirts emblazoned with the logo of "Shooters" stretched across their chests, paired with red shorts that hugged every curve.

The place was a hair's breadth from a strip club, all neon lights and polished wood, the air thick with the scent of beer and fried food.

Darren's brows lifted as he took it in, he was both amused and in disbelief. Seeing this, he remembered that he had heard of Shooters before, yes, but had never set foot inside.

'This is… something,' he thought, scanning the room.

He was very ready to enjoy himself and the view of the beautiful young women, just like every other guy there.

That was until—

"Mister!" A waitress bounded toward him, her blonde ponytail swinging, her shirt straining on her hefty breasts as she waved enthusiastically.

Darren's eyes locked onto her, and he recognized her instantly.

That big innocent smile on her face. Yup, it was Penelope Castle.

She had the same bright smile, same infectious energy, though the setting couldn't be more different from the quaint charm of Castle Cottage.

She skidded to a stop in front of him, grinning wide. "Fancy seeing you here!"

Darren only stood frozen.

What the fuck?