The guards exchanged glances among themselves; a burly man with a scar on his left cheek, stepped forward. He folded his arms.
"Ryder George, huh?" The man repeated.
"I’ve never heard of you before; the name sounds like some washed-up name from a bad action film." He chuckled, and a few others joined in.
I didn’t move from where I stood. I remained calm, my eyes were locked on him. He looked back at the others; he waved his hand. "But don’t worry about Brickhammer, that guy you just sent flying? He’s the weakest among us. If you think you’re tough because you knocked him out, you’ve got another thing coming." The man said.
"Is that so?" I asked.
Scarface stepped back as the guards started forming a line in front of me. Each of them was cracking their knuckles, they were rolling their
