The next day, the sky over Draxton was a dull, oppressive gray.
Whispers of the Draxton High's "balcony girl" spread like poison — her name, Alina, already a ghost story in the halls. But nobody dared to speak it in public.
In the hidden sub-basement beneath Kai's northern estate, the six brothers (minus Vernon) lounged around the long obsidian table. The room was dimly lit — recessed amber strips, black walls, screens flickering with encrypted feeds of rival movements.
Cigarette smoke hung thick, glasses clattering.
Lucas leaned back in his chair, boots on the table, grinning.
"Fuck, yesterday was wild. That little thing screaming while we took turns? Priceless."
Victor laughed, cracking his knuckles.
"Yeah, but damn — we went hard. One dead girl in the open courtyard? Kai had to work pretty hard to clean that mess up."
Damon swirled his glass, smirking.
"She asked for it. Spitting on Kai? Dumb bitch."
Ren exhaled smoke slowly.
"Still hot though. The way she scratched? Made it more fun."
Leon nodded. "Kai, you think we overdid it?"
Kai sat at the head — legs crossed, arms on the armrests, face completely emotionless. He said nothing. Just watched.
The door opened.
Vernon entered.
He moved slower than usual — long black coat open over his bare chest, fresh white bandages wrapped tightly across his abdomen, faint red stains already seeping through. He didn't try to hide it. Hiding would only make Kai more suspicious.
The room went quiet.
Lucas's grin faltered.
"Woah… who the hell stabbed you like that, bro?"
Leon whistled low.
"Wasn't he totally fine the last time we saw him?"
Damon leaned forward.
"Damn, Vernon — you look like you got jumped by a whole gang."
Victor raised an eyebrow.
"That's deep. What happened? You get sloppy?"
Ren smirked.
"Bro seemed to be in a war last night. Guess someone got lucky and managed to stab Vernon Krossvale."
Vernon stood silently — calm, expression blank.
Kai studied him for several long seconds — gaze sharp, unreadable.
Then he spoke, voice low and even.
"How did you get stabbed so fast without me knowing?"
Vernon met his eyes — steady, but something flickered deep inside. Worry. A crack in the stone mask he usually wore. Kai noticed that.
*In the past, no matter how injured he was, Vernon never seemed to be worried over a wound! There is something fishy this time!*
Vernon tried to answer calmly.
"A stupid gang from the Shadow Reckoning. I killed them. Burned the bodies. Destroyed all traces."
Kai didn't blink.
"Where exactly did you find them? And where did you kill them?"
Vernon's throat tightened — subtle, but there.
*Kai never asked for details on small gangs.
Why is he asking this time! Did he doubt something?*
"Eastern docks," he said. "Tracked them to a derelict shipping container. Killed them inside. Gasoline and match. Nothing left."
Kai stared at him — longer than usual.
The room felt colder.
Kai's standing order was to kill anyone from the Reckoning on sight, unless they were useful enough to keep alive.
He never asked for specifics like this. Not for low-level trash. But this time Kai really wanted to know who the hell stabbed Vernon yesterday in the blink of his eye.
Kai felt it was someone very.....special....
Kai finally leaned back.
He didn't believe Vernon's words— but he didn't push.
He wanted to make Vernon believe that he did believe him.
So, Kai shifted.
"The Reckoning hit our northern ammo depot last night. Two trucks gone. Million in product. They're getting bolder."
He placed both hands flat on the table.
"We strike back tomorrow night. Their main suspected base — the old factory ruins on the south side, Sector 9. Vernon, you lead infiltration — go in quiet, find their command cell, eliminate anyone with intel. Lucas and Victor — frontal assault when the signal drops. Damon — shadows and snipers, cover the rooftops. Leon — secure the exits and perimeter. Ren — handle any runners or survivors. We wipe them clean. No survivors. No traces. No mercy."
The brothers nodded — grins spreading, eyes lighting with hunger.
Lucas cracked his neck. "Finally some real action."
Victor: "I'll take the front gate. Let's see how many I can drop before they even scream."
Damon: "I'll be on the rooftops. Clean headshots."
Leon: "Exits locked. No one leaves."
Ren smiled slowly. "I'll make the runners beg before they die."
Kai's gaze swept the room — lingering longest on Vernon.
"Move tomorrow at 0200. No mistakes."
He stood silent.
The meeting ended.
The brothers filed out — laughing, planning, buzzing.
Vernon stood a moment longer.
Kai paused at the door, looking back.
"Rest that wound," he said quietly. "We need you sharp."
Vernon nodded once.
Kai left.
Vernon remained alone in the dim room —staring at nothing, the cut under the bandage still hurted.
But, the ache wasn't just from the knife.
It was from the girl whose cries still echoed in his ears.
And the growing certainty that — no matter how many enemies he killed — the real war was to keep that girl safe from the monsters.
The next night.
The clock struck 0200 under a moonless sky, the air thick with the metallic tang of rust and decay.
The old factory ruins in Sector 9 loomed like a skeletal beast—crumbling concrete walls etched with graffiti, shattered windows gaping like wounds, and rusted machinery scattered across the weed-choked grounds.
Floodlights from the Reckoning's patrols cast erratic shadows, illuminating armed guards patrolling the perimeter. Inside, the hum of generators mixed with muffled voices; the gang's command cell was holed up in the central warehouse, plotting their next hit on the Krossvales.
Vernon moved first, a ghost in the night.
His black tactical gear blended with the darkness, the bandage under his shirt a dull throb he ignored.
Knife in hand, silenced pistol holstered at his thigh, he slipped through a breach in the chain-link fence, avoiding the tripwires he'd scouted earlier via drone feed.
His breath was steady, but his mind raced—Ira's face flashing unbidden, fueling a cold fury.
He needed this kill to bury the doubt Kai had planted.
Crouching low, Vernon approached the first sentry: a burly Reckoning thug leaning against a rusted silo, cigarette glowing in the dark.
Vernon struck like a viper—hand clamping over the man's mouth, knife plunging into his throat with a wet gurgle.
Blood sprayed hot across Vernon's glove as the body slumped.
He dragged it into the shadows, wiping the blade on the corpse's jacket. One down.
Deeper in, he navigated the labyrinth of derelict buildings, eavesdropping on radio chatter. "Command's got the boss in there—talking big about hitting Krossvale's heart next." Vernon smirked inwardly. Not if he reached them first.
He scaled a fire escape to a rooftop overlook, spotting two more guards chatting near an entrance.
Dropping silently behind them, he snapped the first's neck with a brutal twist—crack echoing faintly like a branch in the wind.
The second whirled, fumbling for his gun, but Vernon's knife buried into his eye socket, twisting deep.
The man convulsed, brains and blood oozing as he fell.
Vernon stepped over him, blood dripping from his hands.
To be continued....