The leader of the thugs—the one whose finger still bore the bloody mark of that girl's teeth—stomped forward, his face twisted with rage. His dark eyes flicked from me to Reynold, sizing us up, trying to find an ounce of fear. He couldn’t find any.
“This doesn’t concern you,” the man snarled, his hand flexing at his side like he was itching for a fight. His thick neck pulsed with anger. “Walk away. Now. Before I forget you even tried to play hero.” His gaze narrowed. “Who sent you? You from the Lin Clan? The Bai Syndicate? Speak.”
Reynold simply smiled. That slow, cocky, aggravating smile that always made people underestimate him—and regret it later.
“We're from the ‘I’ll Bury You Where You Stand’ Association,” Reynold shot back casually, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
"Membe
