His gaze shifted slightly as the first man on the far left drew closer. Jerry watched the angle of his footstep, how his right hand was a bit higher than the left—meaning he'd probably strike down first. Jerry's eyes flicked to the next man, then the next, reading their approaches like pages in a book.
They were getting closer now.
Five feet. Four. Three…
Jerry lowered his stance, just a little—not enough to make them notice, but enough to brace himself.
At that moment, one of the six men, a heavily built guy with tattoos running down both arms and a scar that curved just below his right eye, took a confident step forward. His black boots thudded against the concrete floor, and he cracked his knuckles loudly as he pointed at Jerry.
"Back off," he barked at the rest of the group. "I've got this one."
