Ravens.
He knew his brothers would come.
He braced for Meridian, for black coats, for slaughter, for the kind of brutality he knew they’d deliver, the kind that lacked mercy.
Then he saw him.
Gage stood in the decimated doorway—so fucking ethereal and still—like a figure cut out of moonlight.
All white fatigues, a knee-length coat with an oversized hood shadowing his face. Silver-rimmed glasses with tech lenses enhancing the dim lighting.
Scar’s heart dropped to his bound feet.
He bucked against the chair, and his shoulders screamed in protest, but he ignored it. Pain was background noise. The only thing that mattered was getting Gage out of there.
The crowd surged, pushing away from the doorway, making room for the show they’d accidentally bought tickets to.
Scar’s old crew—assholes he’d once ruled with an iron fist—stared as if they couldn’t decide if the intruder was a joke or a real threat.
The new king growled from somewhere behind him. “Yo, who the fuck is that?”
Gage didn’t move, but he spoke as if his patience had a limit.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he said evenly. “I’m only here to take back what belongs to me. Release Scar, and I’ll leave peacefully.”
Scar blinked slowly. Peacefully!
For a thin, selfish second, he wished Jo had sent Meridian. Wished the place was already a morgue, and he didn’t have to sit there and listen to Gage offer compassion to men who didn’t deserve it.
He wanted to shout at Gage to get out…but he didn’t.
If the Kings knew what the man in white meant to him and wanted to really punish him, they’d open fire and make him watch.
Gage looked too beautiful to be taken seriously by these thugs. Worse, he didn’t look blind, helpless, or like a threat.
His cane was collapsed to baton-sized in his right hand and another similar-looking baton was clutched in his left.
“Belongs to you?” the new king scoffed, already sounding stunned and disgusted.
He flicked his hand at his enforcers as if he were swatting flies. “Get this motherfucker outta here. Take him around back.”
Scar ground his teeth so hard his jaw popped.
Five muscle-heavy bastards with all brawn instead of brains closed in.
Before Scar could react and do something stupid—like holler for Gage to run— Gage reached behind him, pulled somethingfrom his back pocket, crouched, and flung his hand outward in a wide sweeping motion.
Small crystal-looking beads scattered across the hardwood floor like spilled stars, forming a loose perimeter around him.
The first boot that touched one released a slight pop.
Another step. Pop.
Gage’s cane snapped out to its full length—six feet of reach locking into place.
One end had a razor-pointed tip, and the other was blunt and weighted, that was meant for destruction, not lethality.
In his other hand, the baton lit up with a blue-white electrical current.
