Ross didn't need to shout; the air around him seemed to bend toward him.
Feet slipped on gravel, guns were dropped, and hands that had been confident mere seconds ago now trembled.
The gang realized too late: the man they'd thought they could intimidate wasn't just dangerous—he was a force of nature.
In less than a minute, every body hit the ground. Fourteen gang members and three junkies lay sprawled across the pavement, groaning and clutching themselves in disbelief.
Their eyes were wide, fixed on Ross as if he were some mythical creature—three heads, six arms, something beyond human.
Not one of them could fathom how a single man had moved with such impossible speed, taking them down one by one without breaking a sweat.
The park smelled of fear and sweat, a heavy, metallic scent that seemed to hang in the night air.
Ross stepped forward, his boots crunching over broken glass and scattered debris, his gaze cold but amused.
