Chapter 66: Three Shots, Mexican, Dead!

"Pop!"

"Shit! Bryce!"

Robbie raised his Glock, glaring furiously at his companion hit by the bullet not far away.

They had only been chatting and hanging out in the neighborhood, occasionally selling enhancement agents, when they suddenly spotted two suspicious figures sneaking around.

Then, as they approached to question them, the strangers pulled out guns without warning.

Robbie was lucky—he wasn't hit.

But his friend Bryce was shot dead in the chest.

In just a few moments, a living person became a still-warm corpse.

"Pop pop!"

Robbie picked up the gun Bryce had thrown before dying and fired two wild shots at the opposite side, but the enemies were well-hidden and weren't hit.

Then the others returned fire with two shots.

One bullet struck a window in the neighboring house, triggering screams and thuds—someone had apparently been killed by a stray bullet.

"You Mexican bastards, I'm going to kill every last one of you!" Robbie quickly dialed the gang boss's number on his phone.

Unexpectedly…

"Hey, brother, this is Bear. Just say what you need."

"Damn! Shit, voice mail!" Robbie heard footsteps and immediately hung up, firing two more shots at the opposite side.

"Clang!"

The bullet struck a discarded streetlamp and lodged itself in it.

Robbie crouched low, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Most of the Crips members were out delivering goods tonight; only a few remained in the neighborhood.

If they didn't arrive in time, he might die here tonight.

"God, protect me."

Thinking of his mother and familiar neighbors living in the neighborhood, Robbie took a deep breath, fixed his gaze on the distant corner, and charged forward with two Glocks, pulling the triggers.

"Pop pop pop pop pop!"

Bullets leapt rapidly through the air, tracing arcs, and the corner wall had been shredded by the barrage.

Though the firepower was terrifying, he didn't hit anyone.

The others seized the chance to return fire.

"Pop pop pop pop pop!"

Bullets flew everywhere, forcing the curly-haired Black man to keep retreating.

At that moment, the enemy hurled a homemade Molotov cocktail toward Robbie's house.

The glass bottle shattered the window, and soon a faint smell of burning filled the air. Then came the bright flames visible even in the night, along with panicked screams.

"Fuck!"

Robbie cursed aloud.

But he had no way to stop it.

Just then, a man's shout came from behind him.

"Robbie!"

Robbie turned his head and saw Roger crouched behind a car. He shouted urgently: "Get out of here! They're Mexican killers who don't blink at murder!"

"I'd love to run!" Roger spat on the ground.

The way these Mexicans were killing and setting fires, they clearly intended to leave no one alive. Besides, even if he could escape, could Fiona and Natasha back home run too?

And these bastards had shattered Highlander's car windows!

Damn it!

That was his only asset!

$4,800!

He used to feel pain every time someone closed a door too hard—now his car was facing major repairs under gunfire, and Roger wanted to twist these two bastards' heads off and kick them like soccer balls!

So he yelled to Robbie: "Stop wasting time—give me a gun!"

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

Robbie fired another shot at the corner, forcing the Mexicans back, then pulled a spare magazine from his waist and replaced it.

"Don't ask— if you want to kill them, listen to me!" Roger's pistol was still in the garage—carrying a gun into a middle-class neighborhood meant certain death if caught.

Robbie had no time to hesitate. While firing, he tossed Bryce's gun to Roger.

Due to the cover of darkness and the suppressing fire, the two Mexicans didn't notice the gun toss—but they heard the conversation and knew reinforcements had arrived.

So they advanced from left and right, firing their pistols continuously.

After grabbing the gun, Roger checked the magazine.

"Three rounds left."

He didn't want the humiliation of drawing his weapon only to find it empty.

Then he squinted and quickly aimed at a man hiding behind a vehicle.

"Watch out for the grenade!"

The next second, the Mexican behind the car saw a blurry object hurtling through the sky, heard a sharp shout in Spanish, and instinctively stepped back a few paces.

But those few steps pulled him away from the vehicle.

"Pop!"

The Mexican's forehead was pierced by the bullet, leaving a horrific, gaping wound.

"Thud!"

He lay on the ground, eyes wide open, unwilling to close them in death.

Then, a shadow of a stone slipped from his pupils and plopped onto the ground.

"Jair!" Another Mexican Gang member gasped in shock, raising his pistol and firing rapidly toward Roger.

But Roger had already moved.

Seeing the Mexican Gang member expose half his side from the corner of the wall, he estimated the distance and, relying on instinct, raised his gun and fired blind.

"Pop! Pop!"

The first bullet struck the wall the Mexican Gang member leaned against; the second struck him squarely in the chest.

"Thud."

The Mexican Gang member collapsed, his incendiary bottle clattering noisily against the ground. He twitched twice involuntarily and died on the spot.

"Phew."

Roger waited a moment; hearing no more gunshots, he rose from behind the car.

Fortunately, he had taken cover behind someone else's vehicle, so the Mexican Gang's bullets had not hit Highlander.

Roger now stared at the man, his face filled with disbelief: "Damn, man, are you a sniper?!"

"Not bad." Roger tossed the Glock to him. "Don't mention me later."

"Why not, man? Our gang will thank you. The Bear will thank you too!" Robbie couldn't understand: "You should join us—we'll make you rich!"

"No, I have no interest in your gang wars." Roger shook his head; joining a gang meant earning money with one foot in the grave.

He didn't want to live every day in constant fear.

"Just say you killed them. If there's a reward, split it with me half and half." Roger cared only about money.

"I… I can't do that. I have to tell the boss the truth." Robbie refused repeatedly.

Roger sighed and placed his hand on the man's shoulder: "Listen, buddy. Do you want to get me killed? If it gets out that I killed the Mexicans, his gang won't let me live."

"But you're different—you're already at war with the Mexican Gang. Deaths are normal. Plus, you've got a boss who can protect you."

"Besides, I just saved your life. You owe me."

Looking into the man's eyes, Robbie hesitated a moment: "Alright. I'll help you."

"That's the spirit."

Roger reached out and gripped the curly-haired Black man's hand tightly.

Then he didn't return to the garage; instead, he knocked on Mrs. Fiona's door.

"Mrs. Fiona, it's me."

At the sound of the man's voice, footsteps approached, and the door opened.

"Come in quickly, Roger. What happened?"

At that moment, Mrs. Fiona held a pistol in her hand, ready to fight to the death.

"It's over." Roger closed the door and shrugged. "Two damn Mexicans. Taken care of."

Natasha also opened her door and rushed over. But now her gaze at Roger was filled entirely with astonishment and admiration.

"Roger, you saved us again."

"You saw?" Roger blinked.

"Of course! I saw everything through the window! God, that was awesome!" Natasha was ecstatic, clinging to Roger's arm, her cheeks flushed bright red.

"Shh." Roger put a finger to his lips. "Don't say anything."

"Got it!" Natasha gave him a knowing gesture, miming zipping her lips.