Their tires hissed on the pavement as they skidded to a halt.
Immediately the doors swung open in near perfect sync.
One after another, men in black masks jumped out.
There were too many to count at a glance—maybe ten, maybe more.
Some were holding long, sharp knives, glinting under the streetlight.
Others had pistols drawn, held low but ready.
Emma gasped and instinctively stepped behind Zane, her breath stuck in her throat.
Emma's entire body froze even as the door open, her legs trembling without control. One… two… then four… then eight masked men stepped out from the vehicles, quickly forming a tight circle around them. Their movements were swift, practiced. The way they positioned themselves left no openings—it was clear they weren't amateurs. It was a coordinated trap.
Then Emma's eyes darted from one masked figure to another, panic gripping her chest.
Some had blades—thick, curved ones like they belonged to street butchers.
