At that moment, Gollor and Qimikas were crouching together, carefully hiding behind two wooden crates so they would not be swept into the slaughter and become corpses on the floor.
What the hell was that mute doing?
Gollor glared furiously at Rolf, who stood in the middle of the warehouse, surrounded by thugs, yet still faced Red Viper and the Wanderer with high spirits.
Sure, those tricks had been impressive. He had taken down a few goons and struck a few poses, but...
Couldn't the mute see that the warehouse was packed with Blood Bottle Gang's elite enforcers, layers upon layers of them? Even if he knocked down ten more men, it would make no difference. He had no chance of winning.
And to make matters worse, there was that most troublesome threat...
Gollor shifted his gaze and warily looked toward the black-clad assassin whom even the full strength of the Star Lake Guard had been unable to capture. The man stood motionless in the shadows at the other end of the warehouse, silently observing the situation.
Damn it.
Gollor slammed a fist into the crate.
When would that black-clad man make his move?
At the height of the battle? After the mute had been worn down by the others? Or after both sides had fought to the death and everything had settled?
At the thought, the zombie was hopelessly torn. When the time came, should Galen Gollor make a move himself? Should he join the fight?
If he did, he would expose himself.
If he didn't, then the mute would...
The mute deserved to die, but he shouldn't have to die like this!
Damn it!
He had thought things couldn't get any worse, but developments turned out to be even worse than he'd imagined.
"His eyes, Little Red. I