Marcus laughed, gesturing to his enforcers. "Break his legs."
The three men rushed him. There were no bright lights. No referee to step in. Agrippa fought with a savage, desperate efficiency. He used the uneven gravel to unbalance the first man, shattering his kneecap with a devastating low kick. He caught the second man's punch, twisting the arm into a severe shoulder lock, driving him face-first into the rusted side of a train car.
The third man pulled a knife, but fear made him slow. Agrippa slipped the blade, stepping inside the guard, and delivered a barrage of close-quarter elbows that dropped the man unconscious into the dirt.
Marcus stood frozen by the SUV, his arrogant sneer entirely gone. Agrippa walked slowly toward him, his breath heavy, his knuckles bruised, but his posture straight.
"You leave town," Agrippa told Marcus, grabbing the man by his expensive lapels and slamming him against the hood of the car. "You never look at me, you never look at my son, and you never step foot in my park again. If you do, I won't leave you breathing."