Hunter got out of the car and followed Dom.
Instead of entering the house, they walked toward the backyard.
Moments later, Dom stopped in a clearing a short distance behind the main building.
As he got closer, Hunter realized there was a storm cellar entrance hidden in the yard.
Basements and storm cellars were extremely common in the US. In many states, building codes practically mandated them.
This was due to America's unique geography, sandwiched between the Pacific and Atlantic oceans. The location made the continent a playground for tornadoes, hurricanes, and typhoons.
Tornadoes, in particular, posed a massive threat to the predominantly wood-frame houses in America. A storm cellar was often the only safe refuge when a twister touched down.
While Los Angeles wasn't Tornado Alley, it still saw freak weather events. Consequently, many suburban homes, especially older ones or self-built properties like the Torettos', had storm cellars built to code.
The lock on the cellar doors was clearly broken.
Anticipating Hunter's question, Dom explained, "The Feds forced it open when they tossed the place a couple of days ago."
Dom evidently hadn't had time to replace the lock yet. He bent down, hauled open the heavy doors, and descended the wooden ladder.
Hunter followed him down.
The cellar wasn't large—maybe two and a half meters deep and four meters square.
It was a simple concrete box. Three of the walls were lined with shelves stocked with canned goods, emergency rations, first aid kits, and jugs of water.
In the corner near the ladder, a small wooden partition hid a chemical toilet for emergencies.
Dom pulled a string to turn on a bare bulb. Once Hunter was down, he closed the cellar doors above them.
"Over here."
Dom walked to one of the shelving units and dragged it aside, revealing the concrete wall behind it.
He felt around for a specific brick and pressed it.
With a grinding sound, a section of the wall slowly slid open, revealing a hidden compartment.
The space was small—less than a meter wide and half a meter deep—but it was a perfectly concealed armory.
Hunter took one look and his eyes lit up.
Dom's collection wasn't vast, but the quality was undeniable.
Two M9s (Beretta 92FS pistols).
A Colt Python revolver.
Two Remington 870 shotguns.
A Zastava M70 assault rifle.
Several hand grenades.
And finally, a high-precision crossbow equipped with a rifle stock and an infrared scope.
Hunter's gaze lingered on the M70 rifle for a moment, then shifted to the crossbow.
Finally, he looked at Dom. "Dom, lend me that crossbow for a few days."
Hunter recognized it immediately.
It was a TAC-15 (or similar "Sniper Lyca" model in lore), one of the world's most powerful tactical crossbows.
Manufactured by PSE Archery (or similar), it was designed for special forces operating in environments where silence was paramount.
This thing hit harder than some short-range sniper rifles.
Its bolts could punch through an elephant's hide and shatter bone.
While its optimal range was only about 180 meters with a max range of 300, its silence and stopping power made it superior to a rifle for covert infiltration.
Hunter's [Marksmanship] skill was already at Lv 4.
When the skill leveled up, Hunter had gained proficiency not just with pistols, SMGs, and rifles, but also with bows and crossbows.
He was confident he could master this tactical crossbow in minutes.
Dom was surprised. He assumed Hunter was in deep trouble if he needed firepower.
Despite his reputation as a "highway hijacker," Dom wasn't as violent as he appeared.
In all their years of heists, Dom and his crew had only stolen cargo. At worst, they beat up drivers or knocked them out. They had never severely injured or killed anyone.
So while Dom owned illegal weapons like many Americans, he rarely used them.
"You like it? Keep it. It's yours."
The crossbow had been a gift from a partner years ago.
It was worth a fortune—at least five or six thousand dollars.
Dom had only used it once, on a hunting trip with the boys. He preferred old-school shotguns. Since then, it had gathered dust in this hidden cache.
Seeing Hunter's interest, Dom gave it away without hesitation.
"Thanks."
Hunter knew the value of the weapon, but he didn't stand on ceremony.
Steve's villa was a fortress. Storming it alone to save Stella wouldn't be easy.
He thought for a second, then reached into the cache and grabbed two hand grenades.
"I'll take these too. For insurance."
Dom's expression finally changed. He didn't stop Hunter, but his gaze turned serious.
"What kind of trouble are you in?"
"Is it dangerous?"
Hunter shook his head casually. "A friend of mine pissed off some gang bangers. Might get messy."
"Not too dangerous. Just want to be prepared."
Dom relaxed slightly.
He knew Hunter could fight. Vince was the best fighter in Dom's crew, second only to Dom himself, and Hunter had dropped him in seconds. Even when Vince brought backup, Hunter had handled them easily.
Dom trusted Hunter's combat skills. If he said it was just "some trouble," Dom believed him.
He nodded and helped Hunter pack the crossbow into its case. He also handed over a quiver with several dozen bolts.
Hunter didn't linger. He thanked Dom, took the gear, and drove off.
He needed to prep some other items. Tonight, he was paying another visit to Steve's villa.
He had to see if he could pull Stella out of the fire.
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