𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐘
The Russian bastard leisurely lit a cigar, pretending not to be the least bit intimidated. My fingers itched against the steel of my gun as I watched him blow out the smoke he inhaled. I also picked up on Lucian's vibe. He was ready to slaughter the three fuck-faces in front of us. But the risk was too great. We didn't stand a chance against their rifles, and we didn't have a clue how many men were hidden behind the heavily tinted windows of the two vehicles these bastards came in.
The asshole flicked his cigar. "We don't want trouble. Mr. Zoloft is willing to give you one chance to return his property. In turn, you have his word that there will be no, how can I put it?" He rubbed his mustache. "No collateral damage."
