Jerry paused, his hand still gripping the boot's handle. His eyes narrowed slightly, but he tried not to show any expression. He wasn't a stranger to threats—growing up in his kind of family, caution had always been part of his reflexes. But this… this felt different.
The van door slid open, and
Seven Masked men came out.
They didn't hesitate. They didn't speak at first. They just walked—confident, uniform, and in control—towards him like wolves approaching a lone sheep.
Jerry stood upright slowly, his body turning as his eyes met each of them, calculating, watching, ready.
Then one of them spoke, cold and without emotion.
"Jerry… you better come with us quietly," the man said, voice muffled behind the black fabric of his mask. "Or we'll use force and destroy that pretty little face of yours. Your choice."
