Across the room, two of his friends start to rise, hands twitching toward their guns. They don’t make it far. Armen and Ray are already on them… Armen’s thick arm locking around one guy’s throat from behind, Ray doing the same to the other with cold efficiency.
“I wouldn’t try anything,” Armen says cheerfully, pressing the barrel of his gun against the man’s temple while still smiling like we’re at a fucking picnic.
I tilt my head toward Ray, voice low and calm. “Don’t these boots lookverymuch like part of your new gear?”
Ray glances down at the screaming man’s feet, then back up at me with a small, unimpressed hum. “Hmm. Dumb bastards clearly don’t know what S.S stands for.”
I lean down slowly, eyes locked on the carved initials sat on the outside of the boot,my initials, ‘S.S,’ blatant and unmistakable on every piece of high-end gear I supply to my team. Armen and Ray are wearing theirs right now; the mark is subtle on most items, but on these new boots it’s deliberately obvious. My signature.
A low laugh crawls up from my chest, creepy and jagged, the kind that makes even my own men shift uncomfortably. I wrap my fingers around the hilt of the knife still buried in the man’s thigh and yank it free with a wet rip. Blood pours down his leg in a heavy rush. He gasps in desperate relief, thinking I’m showing mercy.
I smile wider, lean in close, and jam the blade straight through the side of his neck. The scream cuts off into a wet gurgle. His eyes bulge, hands clawing uselessly at my wrist as blood sprays across my already-stained shirt and the concrete floor.
Behind me, chaos erupts. The remaining Vanderburn boys start resisting… chairs scraping, shouts rising, and hands scrambling for weapons. Armen moves like lightning. Two quick, silenced shots drop two men instantly, bodies hitting the floor with heavy thuds. Ray puts down another with a single precise bullet to the forehead before the guy can even clear his holster.
Three men dead in seconds. The rest freeze, chests heaving, eyes wide with raw terror as they stare at me.
I pull the knife from the dead man’s neck with a wetschlick, wipe the blade casually on his shirt, and straighten up to my full height. Blood drips from my fingers and runs down my face, mixing with what was already there.
My voice comes out low, cold, and perfectly controlled. “I’m afairman,” I say, slowly turning in a circle so every remaining coward can see my eyes. “Most families in this city do their part. They run theirownshit, they pay their respects, they stay off myfucking toes. I let them live; I let themthrive. But no one,no one, steals from me.”
I take a slow step forward, boots leaving bloody prints. “This isn’t even about what was inside the shipment. It’s about thedisrespect. You are…sleazy… low-rentbottom-feeders…in a shitty little garage, andsomehowyou thought you could take what belongs to me. The wealthiest man in this city. The man whose estate is bigger thananythingyour pathetic minds can imagine.”
I let the knife dangle loosely from my fingers.
“I highly doubt you idiots pulled this off on your own. So, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell me exactlywhohelped you, where my gear is, and who gave the order. And you’re going to do itquickly.”
I smile again, that same jagged, psychotic grin. “Because if youdon’t… well, you’re gonna end up like your friends here.”
The remaining boys are still standing there, shaking, eyes darting between me and the bodies on the floor, but not one of them opens his fucking mouth to give me the information I want. Silence stretches, thick and stupid. Their fear is so palpable I can almost taste it, but they’re too loyal or too dumb to talk.
Ray doesn’t wait for my order. He steps forward, grabs the collar of the most terrified-looking piece of shit in the room… one skinny rat-faced kid whose eyes are already wet with panic… and yanks him forward so hard the guy’s feet barely touch the ground.
“This one’s coming with us,” Ray says flatly, already dragging the squirming man toward the door. “We’ll have fun with him later.”
I don’t argue; the rest can burn.
I turn on my heel and walk out without another word. Outside, the afternoon light feels too bright against the gore.
I glance back at Armen, who’s lingering just inside the doorway with that same eager grin. “Light it up.”
Armen gives me a mock salute, happy to oblige. I keep walking, following Ray toward the SUV. Behind us Ihear the sharp crack of a silenced shot, then the deep, satisfyingwhoomphof a car engine catching fire. Within seconds an explosion blooms, loud and messy. Flames will be licking up the side of the garage in no time. It’ll look like one of the own idiots fucked up with their own guns. The cops will find the bodies, find their own weapons, and write it off as another gang-related accident.
The man Ray snatched is already thrashing and whimpering in the trunk when we reach the SUV. Ray slams it shut on him mid-scream. We all climb in, me in the back, Armen sliding in beside me, Ray up front. The engine roars to life and we pull away from the burning garage.
As the SUV speeds down the street, I lean my head back against the seat, staring out the tinted window while the city blurs past. My thoughts drift to the other team I sent to the Vanderburns’ house. I wonder if they’ve found any of my stolen gear yet. I wonder if they’ve freed whatever women those lowlifes were keeping locked away. Aria should be useful for that part at least… comforting the terrified ones while the men do the dirty work.
Right now, though, the important thing is the scum currently kicking and screaming in our trunk. He’s coming home with us. He’ll be thrown into one of the dingy, soundproofed rooms in the lower levels of the estate… cold concrete, no windows, just a drain in the floor and whatever tools we feel like using. We’ll take our time with him. Extract every name, every detail, every pathetic excuse until he’s begging to tell us who helped them steal from me.
I wipe a streak of blood from my jaw with the back of my hand, smearing it across my knuckles instead of cleaning it off. A dark, satisfied hum settles in my chest.
And… I’m going to see my boy. The thought of him, small, soft, dark curls, those wide green eyes that still look at me like I’m the monster from his nightmares… sends a different kind of heat curling through my veins. He ran from me this morning. Shouted at me in front of everyone. Shrugged out of my grip and disappeared like he could actually hide from me. I’m going to find him, drag him back into my bed. Remind him that even when I’m covered in someone else’s blood, even when the city trembles at my name, the only person who gets to see the version of me that isn’t pure ice is him.
Chapter Eight
~ Disobedience ~
Soren
