More big bodies had filled his rear flank.

 

The big black guy stepped forward, a malicious grin on his face. “Told you we’d

be back, asshole. And I keep my word.” Rogers looked to the man’s left and saw

the fellow whose wrist he’d broken. Next to him were the other two men he’d

kicked the shit out of. One of them looked like he’d had his jaw wired.

 

Rogers looked back at the black guy, who had taken another long step forward.

“Do you really want to do this?” he asked calmly. “You got somewhere to go?”

snarled the man. “Actually, I do. So why don’t you and I go one-on-one? I win. I

walk. It’ll save a lot of time.” The black guy stiffened and looked around at

the men he’d brought with him. “I saw you were some kind of ninja, fuckface.

That’s why I brought reinforcements.” Rogers looked at the man with the broken

wrist and the guy with the wired jaw. “If you come at me again, I will kill both

of you.” The two men looked amused until they caught the expression on Rogers’s

face.

 

The black guy, perhaps sensing they were losing the upper hand, pulled something

from his pocket. It was a knife. “That’s not going to change the outcome,” said

Rogers. “You just brought the weapon that I’ll use to kill you.” “You really

think a lot of yourself, dude. There’s six of us. Count ’em.” “There’s really

only four, because these two”—he pointed at the two injured men—“aren’t going to

be part of it.” “You think you know ’em.” “I can read a face,” replied Rogers.

“Still four to one. And we all came ready.” Rogers watched as one man took out a

knife, one a chain, and another a baseball bat from behind his back.