At that moment, the parking lot fell into a tense silence, broken only by the groans of the man Oliver had already put down seconds ago. The remaining thugs stood frozen, their earlier smirks and cocky grins erased from their faces. The reality of what they were up against had begun to settle in.
They had come expecting an easy job, surround Oliver, rough him up, send a message, and be done with it. But the way he'd handled their comrade in mere seconds shattered that assumption. He hadn't even broken a sweat. His movements were sharp, fluid, almost instinctive. It wasn't luck; it was skill, the kind of skill they weren't prepared for.
Then the leader clenched his fists at his sides, his jaw tightening. He could see the hesitation creeping into his men's faces, the way they glanced at one another.
"Don't just stand there!" he barked, his voice cutting through air. "Take him down!"
