Apocalypse Rebirth: Making Billions With My Fortune-Telling Skill

Chapter 113: The Art of the Hustle

​"Take your arm off my shoulder, Mr. Collins," April stated flatly as they walked out into the blinding afternoon sun.

But ​Nat didn’t budge, his heavy arm remaining anchored over her gray sweater like a permanent fixture. "Relax, sweetheart. Consider it tactical stabilization. Wouldn’t want you tripping over your own sneakers after last night’s failure, right?"

​April let out a slow, sharp hiss through her teeth. She cut a glare toward Samuel, who was marching a few paces behind them.

The assistant’s eyes were boring holes directly into the back of Nat’s red head, his grip on his notepad so intense the paper was physically crinkling.

​"I can assure you, Mr. Collins, my motor functions are fully operational," April muttered, finally reaching the G-Wagon.

​The moment Nat released her to open the door, he hopped straight into the back seat again, completely ignoring the front passenger space.

Rufus immediately scrambled up right after him, leaving April to climb in last.

​Samuel smoothly closed the door, shutting out the industrial noise of the harbor. He slid into the driver’s seat, adjusted his rearview mirror to glare at the back row, and shifted the vehicle into drive.

​"The commercial district is exactly seven minutes away, Miss April," Samuel announced, his voice carrying its signature clinical perfection. "I know of a private boutique that can tend to Mr. Collins needs swiftly. I will inform them now so the establishment will be fully locked down for your party’s exclusive arrival."

​"That’s good. Ever so attentive, Samuel," April murmured, her fingers already flying across her titanium pro screen.

​Winecraft was calling her name and she was going to answer. Her counter-offensive raid against the faceless player who had pillaged her iron reserves was reaching its critical phase.

Her thumbs moved in a fierce, aggressive rhythm, her expression completely detached from the physical cabin as she ruthlessly wiped her digital offender’s base map completely clean. Only then did she feel her heart light again and she let out a satisfied sigh.

​Beside her, Nat slouched deeply into the leather, his bare, tattooed torso absorbing the cool air-conditioned air. He didn’t say a single word to April for the entire seven-minute movement.

He simply watched the lightning-fast movement of her thumbs, his wild grin occasionally widening whenever her screen flashed red with a successful digital slaughter. She’s getting pretty good at this. He thought. Or does she also have good luck with games too?

He dropped a hand on Rufus’ head and stroked the dog until it was fully satisfied and easing his entire body into the leather seat.

"Good boy," he growled under his breath.

​The private boutique was a sleek, three-story structural masterpiece composed of tinted glass and polished obsidian, hidden away in the city’s most secure luxury avenue.

​When the G-Wagon rumbled to a halt in the private underground bay, Samuel immediately cut the engine and turned around in his seat. "Miss April, given the specialized nature of the dog, Rufus should remain inside the vehicle’s climate-controlled cabin to avoid triggering any localized alarms within the facility. I shall remain here to watch him."

​April lowered her phone, her digital revenge officially finalized. She looked down at Rufus, who was already letting out a lazy, heavy huff against her knee. "Understood, Samuel. We’ll be back soon. In the meantime, can you get Rufus a snack?"

​"Yes, ma’am. I should be able to find a store that caters to animals in the surrounding area." He said.

"Please do that."

​"Alright, sweetheart, let’s go," Nat rumbled, already pushing his door open. He didn’t even wait for her, stepping out into the concrete bay completely bare-chested, his massive muscles and intricate dragon tattoos on full display.

​April stepped out after him, her gray sweater creating a jarring, unpolished contrast against the high-society glass entrance of the boutique.

The moment they stepped through the automated doors, the store manager—a pristine woman in an elegant silk suit—immediately bowed at a perfect angle, completely unfazed by the fact that the city’s most feared underground warlord had just walked into her luxury establishment half-naked.

​"Welcome, Mr. Collins. Welcome, Miss April," the manager greeted smoothly. "The entire seasonal collection has been curated strictly to your proportions. Please, follow me to the private lounge on the second tier."

​The second floor was a wide expanse of plush gray carpets and gold-trimmed racks holding fabrics that looked entirely too expensive to survive an apocalyptic scenario.

April immediately marched over to a velvet armchair in the corner, pulled out her phone, and sat down flatly.

​"Go pick out your clothes, Mr. Collins," April stated without looking up from her screen. "I will remain here to monitor my defenses."

​Nat didn’t move toward the racks. Instead, he slouched directly over her chair, his massive frame blocking out the overhead track lighting. He reached down, his fingers lightly tapping the top edge of her screen to interrupt her view.

​"Come on, sweetheart," Nat snickered, his chaotic eyes gleaming with a dark, teasing friction behind his shades. "You’ve come all this wall and you won’t even give me your input on a basic wardrobe replacement? Where’s the customer service?"

​April still didn’t look up. "Your physique requires a standard extra-large utility cut, Mr. Collins. Grab a dark shirt and let’s proceed to the hillside fortress. We are burning through valuable daylight hours."

​"Nah," Nat clicked his tongue, his lips pulling into a wicked, unyielding smirk. "If I pick it out alone, I might accidentally end up with another tracking tracksuit that causes you severe goosebumps. You gotta inspect the materials yourself, sweetheart. Consider it a mandatory quality audit. That way, you’ll finally be able to get in the groove."

​April let out a sharp, irritated click of her tongue. It’s not like she’s been doing the one picking his wardrobe before now so what is up with him wanting her input?

Before her, there was no one so is he just trying to annoy her or what? It was vexing but she realized that if she didn’t cooperate, this psychopath would gladly walk around the entire mountain ridge half-naked just to spite her corporate sensibilities.

It’s not like I have a problem with that, but... I’m part guilty for this. Even with that thought, she didn’t feel any better. Ugh, can’t he just go home and grab something to wear? Or maybe call one of his obedient gang members to get him something. Why the hell is he even following me around? Is he living up to his name as a mad dog?

Her thoughts were spiralling so fast that steam would be practically gushing out of her circuits had she been a robot.

She had so much to complain about but she took a deep breath and let it out.

​"Fine," April muttered, snapping her phone shut and sliding it into her pocket where it disappeared into her space.

She stood up, her small frame locking into its classic, rigid posture as she marched toward the high-end display cases. "Let’s neutralize this bottleneck immediately."