Elena saw Leon's fighting spirit and realized she couldn't persuade him otherwise. She pulled a black pistol from behind her back and handed it to him. "Ten rounds. Be careful."
Leon took it; it was solid, weighing nicely in his hand. His firearms skill was at 300, enough to make him far more accurate than a normal shooter. Not perfect, but precise enough to handle tricky situations. Most importantly, he was skilled enough to use various techniques beyond what ordinary shooters could manage.
"Get in the car quickly," Leon instructed again.
The two women didn't argue and obediently got in, sitting in the back while nervously watching Leon. He pressed the door close button, and the windows reflected the outside, hiding the interior from view.
Leon went to a nearby sofa, kicked back his legs, and lit a cigarette, looking utterly relaxed.
Soon, a black motorcycle team approached, followed by a row of black SUVs. Checking the badges, they were Range Rovers—the old third-generation models, known for their turbulent history. Initially, the BMW-powered versions were under BMW ownership, later switched to Jaguar engines under Ford, and eventually acquired by Tata by 2012. The 2010 models they drove now had updated electronics and interiors, while the powertrain remained the same.
The group quickly surrounded Leon as they got off their vehicles, guns raised, blocking the garage exits.
One man dismounted slowly from his bike, removing his black helmet. Dark-skinned, a circle of facial hair around his mouth, about 1.8 meters tall. His gaze was cold, his eyes sharp with subtle killing intent.
He looked around at the humble garage and sneered, "I thought you had some big backup, but it's just a pile of trash."
His men laughed. To them, crushing Leon was trivial. With no weapons, he seemed like an easy target.
Leon didn't beat around the bush: "If this is a garbage factory, what does that make you?"
The two women snickered inside the car, enjoying his quick wit.
The men's expressions changed drastically. How dare someone insult their captain! Anyone who had done this before had died painfully. Only they knew the true danger of this black man, but Leon didn't flinch.
The man's eyes darkened with rage and killing intent. "Name?" he demanded arrogantly.
"Shouldn't you introduce yourself first?" Leon retorted.
"Brixton," he answered.
"Never heard of you," Leon replied with a faint smile, twisting Brixton around with words.
Brixton clenched his fists, fury radiating, his voice ice-cold. "I don't want to waste words. Where are these two women?" He slammed down two photos of Hattie Shaw and Elena. "Don't lie—you've met them!"
Their intelligence network was impressive. They had discovered that the women came to see Leon just moments ago.
Leon was slightly surprised; apparently, their secrecy had slipped, attracting trouble. But he didn't panic.
"I know them, but none of your business," Leon spat, "back off. I have a phobia of idiots."
Brixton, enraged, swung a fist. Leon caught it with one hand.
The man froze. How could this be? His eyes widened in shock.
~~----------------------
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