And as I climb down, movement blurs the tree line ahead of me, as dozens and dozens of men––dressed head to toe in black, armed to the f*****g teeth––walk through the yards, toward me.
This. This is my element.
I wait in the center of the street while my men fill in around me.
“No one touches her.” I project my voice, reaching everyone’s ears. “Everyone else dies.”
All heads nod.
Then another form, a man a little taller than the rest, strolls down the street toward us.
Sixty automatic weapons turn to aim at him.
King ignores the guns pointed at his chest, lifting his chin in my direction.
My men, glance at me, some with brows raised, obviously wondering what the f**k this Wall Street douchebag is doing here.
My nerves settle a little more. “Didn’t expect a personal visit on this o
