"Who has the keys?" Brook's gaze swept over Liam and the others. He paused, then asked, "Are you going to tell me, or should we search you ourselves?" The way his eyes lingered on Manila and Christine made it clear—this wasn't going to be just a pat-down. Two of Brook's men nearby snickered, especially a short, pot-bellied man in his fifties whose face seemed made for sleaze.
"No keys. We stole the car. You can check yourself," Liam answered immediately.
"That so?" Brook turned and asked the young Black man next to him.
"Yeah. Under the steering column… the ignition was stripped. Wires are hanging out," the man said, fumbling a bit with his words, but getting the point across.
Brook frowned. No keys meant trouble. Sure, they could hotwire the vehicles now, but if the engine stalled on the road, restarting it would be messy. He glanced back at Liam's group like he wanted to know who did the hotwiring, but didn't ask. Instead, he barked to his men, "Watch them. I'm going to check the cars myself."
"Get the folks upstairs. Tell them to quit screwing around. Once the engine turns over, we're out of here." With that, Brook and the young man rushed out to the street. At the truck, Brook waved a middle-aged man over and started explaining something.
The store's door remained open. Liam and the others heard everything clearly. Soon, one of Brook's men ran in, crossed the store, and climbed the stairs at the back. Now there were just two guards left inside, five more out on the street with Brook, and one who had gone upstairs.
Liam slowly scanned the small store and focused on the two guards left watching them. One was that squat old guy with a thick beard. The other was a clean-cut man in his thirties, hair gelled immaculately, dressed like someone who might've once worked in finance. He looked respectable, but his eyes were glued to Manila. Her hands were tied behind her back, and she was seated against the wall. Her shirt's neckline dipped just low enough to draw the man's full attention.
He kept glancing toward the door like he was weighing the odds. He looked ready to pounce but afraid to be caught—probably because Brook hadn't had his "turn" yet. No lackey would dare touch what the boss hadn't claimed.
The group was lined up against the wall—Manila on the far end, then Robby, Mike, Jason, Laura, Christine, and finally Liam. The massive older man and his daughter were tucked into the corner nearby, about three meters from Liam.
Manila's expression was grim. She could see exactly where this was going, especially with that creep eyeing her like prey. Before all this, she'd been a sex worker, but being forced was something else entirely. There was no comparison. She turned her head slightly and looked at Liam. Oddly, she didn't blame him. It was Liam who had ordered them to surrender. In any other situation, she would've chosen a bloody fight over capture. But she had still listened to him.
"If he tries to shove that thing in my mouth, I swear I'll bite it off," the thought flashed savagely through her mind.
Mike and Laura were clearly anxious. Jason hung his head, sighing, for once unable to crack a joke. Christine, beside Liam, was still crying in silence, tears streaking her smudged makeup.
Outside, the truck roared once and choked. Brook didn't seem to be having much luck hotwiring it, though he didn't call Liam or anyone else for help. Smart, actually—getting in the driver's seat would give someone too much freedom. Especially someone like Robby. If Brook had asked Robby, he'd have been knocked out and bleeding before he touched the key wires.
"You okay? Don't cry… it'll be alright," Liam murmured to Christine beside him. She looked up at him with watery eyes, biting her lip and sniffling.
The two guards noticed but didn't say anything. They just glanced over once.
What they didn't notice was the tiny snap sound—very faint, but unmistakable. The click of a metal button being torn open.
Liam's leather jacket had brass snaps at the cuffs. His hands were tied behind his back, but as he talked to Christine, his left wrist pressed down on the cuff, and with a quick twist, his right hand popped the button open.
Something slid out of his sleeve. Silver glint, a pointed tip—surgical steel. A scalpel.
Ever since he killed Andrew, Liam had gotten into the habit of hiding a scalpel up his sleeve. He never left it behind.
A sharp scalpel could slice through skin with zero effort. And right now, Liam gently worked the blade against the thin rope binding his wrists, slow and steady, while his eyes stayed fixed on Christine as if comforting her. The motion was slow on purpose—any sudden change might draw attention.
And then—snap. The rope broke.
Their hands had been tied by looping rope around the neck, over the arms, then binding the wrists at the back. Once the wrist tie was cut, the rest went slack. Liam didn't move. He kept his hands behind his back, still seated. Then, in a quiet voice with just the right note of defeat, he said, "If you need to cry, go ahead. You can lean on me."
Christine looked at him, bit her lip again, then collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest. Her body trembled. Her voice was muffled and quiet.
"Hey, hey! What the hell are you doing?" The younger guard—Murray—finally reacted. He stepped forward, rifle raised, eyes on Liam and Christine.
"She's just a kid," Liam said, shrinking back as if scared. "What do you people want from us?"
"Kid?" Murray crouched in front of them, brushing Christine's hair back with one hand. "Not for long." He chuckled and started reaching for her cheek.
He was close. Liam could've lunged and taken his weapon. But he didn't.
Christine burrowed deeper into Liam's arms, avoiding the man's touch. Murray seemed amused and more determined, reaching again.
"Hey! Murray! Hands off. Boss wants this done right. You'll have your fun later," the old man at the door grunted around a cigarette, gripping his shotgun.
"Screw off, Narkov. I don't need you watching me," Murray growled, annoyed. But he stood up anyway. He glanced between Christine and Manila, then smirked and wandered off, clearly cooking up some foul plan in that empty head.
They feared Brook. All of them. That much was clear. They even called him "chief." Why? Liam didn't know, but Brook had their respect, or at least their fear.
As Murray walked off, Christine felt something tap her hand—cold metal. Her sobbing faltered.
"It's a knife. Sharp. Be careful…" Liam whispered into her hair. Just loud enough for her to hear.
Christine kept crying, but quieter now. Behind her, Liam lightly tapped the scalpel's handle against her fingers until she gripped it. Because she was leaning against him, their bodies were close. No one could see what passed between them.
Outside, the truck sputtered again. Another failure. Brook's swearing floated in through the doorway.
"Sit up," Liam whispered.
Christine adjusted the scalpel, remembering its structure from before. Slowly, she pulled herself upright and leaned back against the wall.
"Ahem!" Liam coughed loudly, shifting his posture like she'd made him uncomfortable. A perfect distraction.
The others turned to look—Robby, Jason, Mike, even Manila. All tied in a line, their eyes caught Christine as she moved. And they saw it. Just briefly. The flash of silver in her hand.
She leaned back. The moment passed. No one said a word. Everyone looked away like nothing had happened.