House number forty-seven was where Yvonne was living. Kingsley planned on settling Yvonne's trouble before finding that Sweoya spy.
"Yes, boss," Baron answered. "It's quite near from where we're at. We'll be there in five."
Kingsley hung up and tossed Kenzo out like he was trash. The man wobbled forward like a drunken man and fell forward to the ground. "Holy sh*t!" Kenzo scrambled to get back up, wincing. His whole body felt like it had been crushed. There were so many places he wanted to rub, but he only had two hands.
Some of the smarter lackeys went up to him and pretended to be concerned. "Are you alright, Kenzo?"
"You f*ckwits! You didn't help me when he got me! It's too late for concerns!" Kenzo kicked his lackeys. "Trash! All of you!"
The lackeys shut up and stood behind him in a docile manner. If they said one more word, Kenzo could kill them. Kenzo rubbed his sore shoulders and glared at Kingsley. "You got some moves, kid, but I got numbers on my side. We can kick the sh*t out of you."
Kingsley smiled. "I'd like to see you try. It might not turn out as you think it would."
Kingsley might be smiling, but the murder in his voice was unmistakable. Kenzo froze up from the intensity alone, and he took a step back instinctively. "We took over this place, so we deserve the rent." He licked his lips. "And we already told the chief about this. Everyone just has to give us three hundred dollars a month. If you help them out, I'll stay away from them."
Yvonne teared up at the mention of rent, and she clenched her fists tightly. "My brother worked really hard for the money.
I won't give even a single cent to you! If you want the money, you'll have to kill me!"
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