The Tyrant Billionaire

Chapter 19 - 19 Choosing Guns

Chapter 19: Chapter 19 Choosing Guns

Long-Distance Bus Station

Two young men stepped out of the car, their eyes immediately landing on Hardy, who was waiting beside his own vehicle. The scene felt like a replay of when Bill had first picked up Hardy.

"Leo, Kerry," Hardy greeted them warmly.

"Hardy," they replied in unison.

The three men embraced. Hardy had met Leo and Kerry aboard a medical transport ship when they were all recovering from injuries. During his recovery, Hardy quickly regained his strength and started helping Catherine care for the other wounded. It was through this work that he came to know Leo and Kerry.

Both men had been elite soldiers, a fact easily gleaned from their nicknames. Leo, known as "Wild Wolf," was a formidable fighter. Kerry, called "Tank," stood over 1.9 meters tall and had the strength to match his size, having been a machine gunner.

Hardy had tended to both men's wounds and spent hours at their bedside, chatting as they recuperated. They had become close friends over time, and when Hardy eventually left the ship, he made sure to exchange contact information with them.

When Hardy needed trustworthy people, Leo and Kerry were among the first who came to mind. A quick phone call, and they readily agreed to join him.

"Hop in," Hardy said with a smile. "I want you to meet some friends."

The car soon pulled up outside the Bunny Nightclub.

Inside, Leo and Kerry were introduced to Sean, Ryder, Richard, and Neil. Hardy informed them, "We've got a few more on the way—Henry and Matthew should be here in a couple of days. Bill's still in the hospital, but with everyone here, we'll soon be ten strong."

They all settled in with drinks, swapping stories about their lives after the military.

Leo had found work in a garage, fixing cars. Kerry had taken a job making shoes in a small workshop. The others had found similar modest jobs—Richard was washing dishes, Neil worked in a factory, Henry was tending cattle, and Matthew was driving trucks.

The conversation flowed easily as they shared their frustrations about life after the military, wanting more than just to survive. They drank heavily, enjoying the camaraderie and the idea of a better future together. For now, they would bunk at Bill's house until they found a more permanent base.

Just then, the nightclub's security chief approached Hardy with a hesitant expression.

"Hardy, I need to talk to you about something," the chief said cautiously.

"What's up?" Hardy replied, curious.

"Are we still holding those Russians in the cellar?" the chief asked.

Hardy blinked, momentarily caught off guard. He had been so busy assembling his new team and making contacts that he'd completely forgotten about the Russians.

He did a quick mental calculation. "They've been down there a week now, right?"

The security chief nodded. "You told us to starve them for three days, which we did. After that, you didn't give any more instructions, so we've kept them locked up. They were getting desperate, so we've been giving them minimal food—just some bread and water."

Hardy nodded thoughtfully. The Russians were big guys, especially Big Ivan, who stood over two meters tall. They were likely on the brink of collapse from hunger.

"Good thing they're still alive," Hardy mused, considering his options. The Russians had caused trouble in the nightclub, but killing them seemed excessive. Letting them go could invite retaliation. An idea began to form in his mind.

Turning to the group, he said, "Come on, we've got something to take care of."

Richard, Neil, Sean, Leo, and the others got to their feet, following Hardy to the cellar. As they opened the heavy door, a foul stench hit them—a mix of sweat, excrement, and despair. The six Russians, led by Big Ivan, were in a sorry state, having endured a week of misery.

When Big Ivan saw Hardy, he broke down, his tough demeanor shattered. "Mr. Hardy, please, let us go," he pleaded, his voice trembling.

Hardy looked down at them, considering his next move. "I need more men," he said, "Are you willing to work for me?"

Big Ivan stared at Hardy, stunned by the unexpected proposition. He wasn't a fool; he quickly understood the alternative. "We're willing," he agreed hastily. "We'll do whatever you ask, Mr. Hardy."

Hardy's gaze bore into him, testing his sincerity. Sensing the need to prove his loyalty, Big Ivan added, "I swear by God, we will follow you."

The others, seeing their leader submit, quickly echoed his vow, each swearing an oath to Hardy.

Satisfied, Hardy nodded. "Alright, get cleaned up, eat something decent, and report back to me tomorrow."

The Russians, feeling like they had been granted a reprieve from death, were escorted back to their place by Sean and the others.

Once back at their hideout, they wasted no time. Ignoring their squalid state, they demanded food and devoured everything in sight—bread, jam, even the soup they normally sneered at tasted like a feast.

After they had eaten their fill, one of Ivan's men turned to him. "Are we really joining Hardy's crew, boss?"

Big Ivan looked thoughtful. "We've been running small-time scams for years with nothing to show for it. Hardy is sharp, and he's got vision. Maybe working for him is our best shot. Besides," he added, "we've already sworn an oath in God's name."

The next day, Ivan and his men showed up at Hardy's place, ready to follow orders.

Hardy had gained another set of loyal followers but decided against keeping them close. Instead, he instructed them to continue their usual activities, ready to mobilize when needed.

Meanwhile, Matthew was released from jail. With a little financial persuasion, the case against him—never a serious one to begin with—was dropped. After a few days, he and Henry arrived in Los Angeles to join Hardy's burgeoning crew.

Within a week, Hardy had built a reliable team. But while he had the manpower, he still needed equipment. He had some firearms and a few captured submachine guns, but they weren't enough for a serious operation. Knowing each man preferred different weapons, Hardy led them to Old Mike's gun shop.

"Old Mike, I need to buy some arms," Hardy began, "but I've got a little problem—I'm short on cash. Can you extend me some credit?"

Old Mike scratched his chin, thinking it over. "Sure, but it'll cost you—30% interest."

"Deal."

Hardy turned to his men. "Pick whatever you want," he announced. "Let's gear up."

A cheer went up, and they surged into the shop like kids in a candy store. When they emerged, each man was armed to the teeth with pistols, rifles, and shotguns.

Kerry, the former machine gunner, had picked up an MG34, a heavy-duty piece with formidable firepower. Neil, always the explosives expert, had a bag full of grenades, mines, and enough materials to make a small arsenal of bombs.

Hardy smiled. His team was ready for whatever came next.