Chapter 10 - Dispatching Syndicate Enforcers With Cold Military Precision Tactics
The remaining two attackers backed away in sheer terror as their partners groaned in pain on the asphalt.
“Who sent you? Was it the uncle or Dustin?” I demanded, stepping forward like a predator closing on prey.
The larger enforcer panicked, dropping his pipe and sprinting blindly toward one of the idling black sedans.
I closed the distance in two giant strides, grabbed the back of his jacket, and slammed him onto the pavement.
He went limp instantly, leaving only the trembling driver trapped inside the boxed-in getaway vehicle.
I walked up to the driver’s window, smashed the glass with the butt of my palm, and grabbed his collar.
“Tell your boss the carpenter is coming to collect his final debt tonight,” I whispered into his sweating face.
I let him go, stepping back as he threw the car into reverse and peeled out of the parking lot recklessly.
I picked up the dropped hunting knife, tossing it into the back of my truck before climbing behind the wheel.
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The message had been delivered loud and clear to the higher-ups waiting at the downtown syndicate headquarters.
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