A bleeding Black Reaper knelt tied to a chair in the middle of the floor while Roman stood over him looking absolutely murderous.
The sniper couldn’t have been older than twenty five.
And judging by the blood pouring from his leg Saint definitely hadn’t aimed to wound first.
Knox leaned against the table reloading calmly while Saint watched from the broken window still tracking movement outside.
Roman grabbed the sniper by the hair roughly.
“How many shooters?” He snarled.
“Go f**k yourself.” The Reaper spat blood at the floor.
Roman punched him hard enough to crack the chair backward.
The club should maybe explore healthier communication strategies.
Crow and Torch stormed back through the front doors soaked from rain and covered in mud.
“Two down in the woods.” Crow bar
