When Max placed the box down, he did so with a slight bounce in his feet, the motion natural and controlled. Moving the goods had been a decent warm-up for him, enough to loosen his body and get his blood flowing. He rolled his shoulders once, feeling ready, and as he moved around the corner of the warehouse, he wasn't disappointed in the slightest.
Two cars had pulled up just outside.
Ten men stepped out, most of them dressed in black, their movements confident, practiced. A few of them carried baseball bats loosely in their hands, resting them against their shoulders like they had done this countless times before. They didn't look rushed, and they didn't look nervous. To them, this was routine.
The workers noticed immediately.
They stiffened, several of them instinctively stepping back, hands tightening around whatever they were holding. Some of their faces drained of color the moment they recognized the men.
