55

At 7 p.m., the air at the eastern border felt cold. The street lamps only lit part of the area, the rest was pitch black. Leon stepped out of his black car with steady strides. He took off his black suit, leaving only a white shirt with sleeves already rolled up.

At his waist, a pistol was tucked. In his hand, a gleaming dagger. Leon’s face looked cold, his sharp gaze piercing the darkness.

“Where are they?” Leon’s deep voice was directed at his men who also got out.

One of them approached. “In the old warehouse, Sir. There are five of them.”

Leon lit a cigarette, inhaled briefly,...