Cassian
The third man, the big one from the yard, hadn't moved. He stood by the SUV, watching the entire display with his hands resting near his belt.
"Always did fight like a dog," he murmured, his hand moving to his pocket.
He lunged forward with a speed that didn't match his size. He knew how I moved; he had likely watched me handle crowds in the prison yard for years.
He avoided my first wild swing, his fist catching me squarely in the ribs. The pain was blinding. I stumbled back against the cold steel of a shipping container, the impact rattling my teeth.
"Last chance," I grunted, spitting blood onto the gravel as he closed in again. "Who sent you?"
"Told you," he said, throwing a heavy left hook that I barely blocked with my forearm. "Don't know. Got a phone call. A cash package dropped at the usual spot. That's all."
