The street was littered with broken bodies. Six of the seven men who had tried to take Liam were now groaning, some rolling on the asphalt in agony, others unconscious with bloodied mouths and shattered gear. Their tactical gear—once polished and imposing—was dented and torn apart like paper armor, their weapons scattered uselessly around them.
Liam didn't give them a second look.
He grabbed Lana firmly by the arm. "Let's go."
She followed without question, glancing back at the fallen men as she matched his pace. They walked fast, side by side, their steps urgent.
Liam's sharp eyes scanned the street. He was looking for a cab. But the gunshots earlier had sent the local traffic fleeing. The few cars that passed didn't even slow down—they sped up instead, tires screeching as drivers avoided any hint of trouble.
"Are more coming?" Lana asked, her voice low but laced with tension.
Liam nodded grimly. "Yeah. These were the retired ones."
Lana frowned. "You mean there's worse?"
