Chapter 8: The Shield of the Neighborhood
The remaining two thugs hesitated, glancing nervously at their groaning comrade on the ground. Gregory screamed from behind them, "What are you waiting for? Take him down!"
Before they could charge, the metal roll-up doors of the neighboring auto-body shop slammed open. Then another. Lights flickered on across the entire alleyway. Out walked Marcus, a veteran mechanic with a steel pipe; Mrs. Alvarez from the corner diner with her son; and half a dozen local dockworkers carrying heavy flashlights and tire irons.
"You picked the wrong street, rich boy," Marcus growled, stepping up beside Julian shoulder-to-shoulder. "Julian fixed my daughter’s brakes when I couldn't pay rent. You touch him, you deal with all of us."
Gregory’s face went white. Sirens began wailing in the distance—Elena had called the police chief directly from her cell phone, using her personal executive emergency line. Realizing the ambush had failed, Gregory shoved his hired goons back into the SUVs and sped away into the night, tires smoking against the asphalt.
May you like
Elena rushed out of the office, throwing her arms around Julian's soaked jacket. She felt the heavy thump of his heart against her cheek. "You're bleeding," she whispered, touching the cut on his cheekbone.
"Just a scratch," Julian murmured, looking around at the circle of neighbors who stood guarding the rain-slicked alley. "I told you. People here don't run from the fire."
