The man—some desperate, foolish nobody—stepped forward, his face twisted in rage, his finger jabbing toward me. "Listen, kid," he spat, his voice a low, threatening growl. "Just give us your lighter. Don't force us to take it from you."

I didn't move. I didn't flinch. I just smiled, my eyes cold, my voice dripping with mocking amusement. "I will not give it." I leaned in, my tone a dark challenge. "What can you do?"

The man's face darkened, his muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. "You little shit—" He lunged, his hand grabbing for my collar, his fingers clawing at me.

I didn't resist. Not at first.

Instead, I raised my voice, calling out to the police officer with false panic. "Police Officer! Help! These people are harassing me!"

The police beauty was there in an instant, her body inserting itself between us, her voice a whip-crack. "What are you doing?!" she barked, her hand resting on the gun at her belt, her eyes blazing. "Are you trying to rob people?!"

The man hesitated, his gaze flicking between me and the officer's guns. But his pride wouldn't let him back down. "Officer... how can this bastard not help us?" he whined, his voice nasally, desperate. "I'm not asking for him to give it to us... just lend it to us, and we'll return it!"

The officer turned to me, her eyes narrowing. But I wasn't done.

I mocked, my voice dripping with arrogance and venom. "Really?" I chuckled, my gaze sweeping over the crowd, lingering on the man's face.

"Then why don't you all send me your wives?" My smirk deepened, my eyes glinting with malice. "After I use them... I'll return them too."

The crowd exploded.

"MotherFUCKER!"

"Kill this bastard!"

"I'll rip his throat out!"

The man lost it. With a roar, he charged at me again, his hands clenched into fists, his face twisted in blind rage. "You piece of shit—!"

This time, I didn't hold back.

His fist swung toward my face, but I was faster.

I grabbed his wrist, my fingers locking around it like a vice. With a sharp twist, I heard the snap—his arm bending at an unnatural angle, the bone breaking under the pressure. His scream was instant, piercing, a raw howl of agony.

"AAAAAAAAAAA—! FUCK! " He collapsed to his knees, his good hand clutching his broken arm, his face contorted in pain.

But I wasn't done.

Before he could react, I grabbed his shoulder, yanking him forward—then slammed my knee into his face. His head snapped back, blood spraying from his nose. Then, without hesitation, I stomped on his knee—hard.

The crack was loud, final, like a tree branch snapping. His leg buckled, twisting at an impossible angle. His scream was ear-splitting, a wail of pure agony. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—! LET ME GO! LET ME GO!"

The crowd gasped, stumbling back in horror. Some covered their mouths, others turned away, unable to watch. The man's wife—a woman with wild, terrified eyes—ran forward, dropping to her knees beside him. "TOMMY!" she screamed, her hands trembling as she clutched at his shattered body.

The police officer rushed forward, her face a mask of shock and rage. "STOP! STOP!" she yelled, her voice cutting through the chaos.

I pulled back, breathing hard, my eyes locked on the wailing man. His arm was bent at a sickening angle, his knee swollen, already bruising. He rocked back and forth, sobbing, "Fuck... fuck... please..."

The officer grabbed my collar, yanking me back, her face inches from mine, her voice a snarl. "How can you be so CRUEL?!"

I didn't flinch. I leaned in, inhaling her fragrance—something floral, something sweet, something that didn't belong in this hell. "Who told them to mess with me?" I murmured, my voice dark, unrepentant.

She scoffed, shoving me away with disgust. "Doctor!" she yelled, spinning to face the crowd. "Is there a doctor or nurse here?!"

The man who had tried to act as a leader earlier—the one with the daughter—stepped forward, his face grim. "I'm a doctor," he said, his voice tight as he knelt beside the broken man. He examined the arm, the knee, his hands moving with clinical precision. Then, he looked up, his face pale.

"It's... bad," he said, his voice hollow. "His ulna and radius are snapped. His kneecap is shattered." He swallowed hard, shaking his head. "He won't be walking for months—if he ever walks right again."

The crowd gasped, their eyes wide with horror as they stared at me. I didn't care. I smirked, my voice cold, final. "I told you..." I said, my gaze sweeping over them, lingering on each face. "To not trouble me." I shrugged, my smile mocking. "This is what happens when you trouble me."

The police officer stormed over, her face a mask of rage and disbelief. "You—" she started, but I cut her off, my voice a dark chuckle.

"What? Did you expect me to play nice?" I spread my hands, my smile taunting. "I warned him."

She clenched her fists, her voice a growl. "You're sick."

I laughed, low and dark, as the crowd helped the wailing man away, his wife sobbing beside him, the doctor already working to stabilize his broken limbs.

"And you're naive," I murmured, watching her.

The crowd glared at me, their eyes burning with a mix of hatred, fear, and something darker—like they wanted to tear me apart with their bare hands. I ignored them, pulling Angela closer and sitting back down by the fire, my arm draped over her shoulders. The warmth of the flames flickered against my face, but the real heat came from the tension in the air.

The police officer—Megan—stood there for a moment longer, her gaze locked on me like she was trying to decide whether to shoot me or arrest me. Finally, she exhaled sharply, her voice tight as she turned to the crowd. "You guys go back. I'll keep an eye on him."

The crowd hesitated, murmuring among themselves, but slowly, they dispersed, casting one last glare in my direction before retreating to their makeshift shelters. Megan watched them go, then—to my surprise—she sat down near us, keeping a careful distance, her hand resting on her gun.

I turned to her, my smirk slow and deliberate, my eyes tracing the lines of her face—the set of her jaw, the way her uniform hugged her curves. "Beauty," I said, my voice smooth, "what's your name?"

She stiffened, her eyes narrowing at the nickname, but after a beat, she answered, her voice clipped. "Megan."

"So it's Officer Megan," I murmured, leaning back, my arm still around Angela. "I'm Dexter." I gestured to the woman beside me. "And this is my wife, Angela. And this is our friend, Lisa."

Megan's gaze flicked between us, assessing, weighing. She didn't relax, but she didn't reach for her gun either. "You're lucky I'm not arresting you right now," she said, her voice low, dangerous.

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