The 4th Street textile warehouse.
Damon stood near the middle of the floor, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets.
A quiet rustle sounded near the broken side entry.
Eleanor stepped past the rusted doorframe, heels clicking softly before she stopped short.
Her dark sweater did little against the cold.
But it was the icy stillness in the air that made her shiver.
“Damon…” she whispered, voice barely carrying over the draft.
“There’s no one here.
Why did you bring me to this place?”
He didn’t turn around.
“Stay by the structural pillars near the exit.
Keep your mouth shut and watch.”
“Watch what?” She took a step toward him, hands trembling.
“Julian isn’t going to just hand over his network because you found his ledger.
If he sent those men yesterday—”
“I told you to stay back, Eleanor.” His tone was flat.
“You spent three years letting that man convince you he was a god in this city.
Tonight, you see what he actually is.”
Before she could reply, headlights cut through the ground-floor windows.
Swept across the concrete floor.
The hum of a single powerful engine died out.
Then the solid slam of a vehicle door.
Footsteps approached the side entrance.
Heavy.
Measured.
Unhurried.
The rusted iron door scraped open.
A tall, broad shadow crossed the threshold and stepped into the pale light.
The man stood six-foot-four.
Wide shoulders stretched the fabric of a simple dark henley.
A jagged scar ran from his left temple straight down to his jawline.
His hands were heavy, calloused, and bore the faded ink of underground fighting rings.
This was Viktor.
He glanced at the shattered display of Marcus’s phone sitting on a nearby crate.
Then looked back at Damon.
“You’re the kid,” he said.
His voice was a rumble.
“And you’re the trash Julian dragged out to sweep up after his mess.” Damon’s hands remained casually in his pockets.
Viktor didn’t flare up.
He unzipped his dark jacket, pulled it off, and tossed it over a steel beam.
“Marcus was an idiot who thought a leather holster made him dangerous.
But you…
you didn’t run.
You sent the text from his phone because you wanted company.”
“I wanted whoever Julian relies on when his lawyers stop working.” Damon said smoothly.
“You look slightly more interesting than the last four.”
“You talk too much.”
He moved.
His fist came toward Damon’s face with startling speed.
Damon tilted his head aside.
The punch missed by inches.
Viktor followed with a second strike.
Then a third.
Damon blocked the first, slipped the second.
The third caught him across the ribs.
THUMP.
Damon staggered half a step.
A grin slowly appeared on his face.
“Not bad.”
Viktor didn’t answer.
He stepped forward again.
This time Damon met him head-on.
Their fists collided.
BAM.
Viktor’s larger frame barely moved.
Damon’s arm went numb from the impact.
For the first time, he felt the difference between Viktor and the men Julian had sent before.
This man could actually fight.
Viktor swung again.
Damon ducked beneath it and drove his fist into the man’s stomach.
The impact forced Viktor backward.
But he recovered almost instantly and slammed his elbow toward Damon’s jaw.
Damon blocked it with his forearm.
Another punch came.
Then another.
Damon took one across the cheek.
Blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.
He wiped it away with his thumb.
“Heh…
this is it.”
A low laugh escaped him.
Viktor’s expression hardened.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
Damon looked at the blood on his thumb.
“Heh.”
His grin widened.
The pain only made the smile on his face wider.
Viktor charged again.
This time Damon didn’t retreat.
He stepped forward and drove his fist straight into Viktor’s face.
CRACK.
Viktor’s head snapped backward.
Blood sprayed from his nose.
But the man remained standing.
Damon’s eyes brightened.
“You’re tougher than you look.”
Viktor wiped the blood from his mouth.
“So are you.”
He rushed forward again.
Damon met him halfway.
The two collided in the middle of the warehouse, trading brutal blows without either giving ground.
Viktor’s experience kept him dangerous.
Damon’s recovering strength kept him standing.
Neither man was willing to back down.
Then—
BRRRRRRR.
Multiple heavy engines roared into the alleyway outside.
Their deafening vibration shook loose dust from the warehouse ceiling.
Headlights flooded through every window pane.
Illuminated the entire interior in a blinding white glare.
One car.
Then a second.
A third.
A fourth.
Tires squealed against asphalt as a convoy of black sedans pulled up, surrounding the entire perimeter.
Heavy car doors slammed in rapid succession.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Twenty doors snapping shut at once.
The sound of running boots and racking firearm slides echoed violently from all sides.
Viktor froze.
Wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
Stepped back toward the entrance.
Damon slowly turned his head toward the wide double doors of the loading dock.
The main steel doors groaned open.
A dozen armed men clad in dark tactical vests flooded in.
They spread out in a broad semicircle, shotguns and submachine guns locked directly onto Damon.
Behind them stood another dozen, sealing off every exit and window.
The crowd parted down the middle.
A tall, middle-aged man in a tailored charcoal suit stepped through the opening.
He held a lit cigarette between his index and middle finger.
Smoke trailed over his shoulder.
His hair was slicked back.
His expression brimmed with authority.
Julian Sterling.
He didn’t look like the panicked executive who had slammed his scotch glass down hours ago.
Tonight, Julian wasn’t coming to negotiate.
Surrounded by an army of armed men, he felt the familiar, intoxicating rush of dominance return.
He took a long, slow drag.
Let the gray smoke escape his lips as his eyes swept over the bloodied Viktor, the terrified Eleanor trembling behind a pillar, and finally settled on Damon standing alone in the center of the concrete floor.
He removed the cigarette from his mouth.
A confident smile spread across his face.
“You really thought I’d come alone?” His voice echoed off the high steel beams.
Eleanor’s face drained of all color.
She pressed her back hard against the concrete pillar.
Her throat tight with terror.
They were trapped.
Entirely surrounded by twenty-four armed men with nowhere to run.
Julian watched Damon.
Waiting for the kid’s knees to shake.
Waiting for the horror to settle into his eyes.
Waiting for him to realize he had pushed a wealthy man too far.
Damon looked around at the two dozen men, the raised barrels, the armed perimeter locking down the warehouse.
Then, slowly, Damon smiled too.
It wasn’t a nervous smile.
It wasn’t the bitter grimace of a cornered animal.
His lips pulled back in a grin.
An expression of pure, unadulterated delight.
Julian hadn’t brought an overwhelming force to crush him.
Julian had brought a feast straight to his doorstep.
Julian’s smile widened with confidence.
Damon’s smile widened even further.
His eyes glowed with predatory hunger.
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