48. Kanyan
48
KANYAN
S tokes Hall is long abandoned, but the bones of it still stand—cracked windows, broken doors, a hollow shell filled with shadows. In its hey dey, it’s served as a function centre, a pinball arcade, and finally as a community centre, which is how it got its name. More recently, it’s been known to house vagrants and runaways. The fact that Altin Kadri has set up shop here is telling in and of itself; we never would have considered extending our search this far out. The fact that he’s made this hole in the wall his home tells me his intelligence level is far superior to anything we’ve given him credit for.
I lead Dante and Attila through the darkened hallway, the sound of our arrival too loud in the silence, despite my efforts to lower the noise level.
We hear them before we see them—the faint echo of footsteps, the shuffling of boots, the low murmur of voices. As though they’ve been expecting us. Expecting something . My men fan out, positioning themselves at key points. Dante nods at me, his eyes sharp and cold, and Attila’s grin flashes for a second, the kind that tells me he’s eager to spill some blood.
“Let’s get this done,” I growl, my hand tightening around the grip of my gun.
We move in, as silent as the sleeping world around us.
I hear the first shot just as my foot crosses the threshold into the main room. The crack of a rifle, sharp and loud, cutting through the air. One of my men drops—too fast for me to react. The flash of a muzzle, the hiss of a bullet that ricochets off the wall next to me. My instincts take over. I drop, rolling behind the nearest pillar, and pull the trigger before my brain can catch up.
The shot finds its mark, one of Kadri’s men crumpling to the floor with a gurgling scream. I don’t even watch him fall. I’m already moving, shifting positions, finding cover behind an old wooden crate. Dante and Attila are already engaging, their guns roaring as they take out each shadow as it steps out into the light.
But I’m not about to let this be a clean sweep.
I hear the scrape of a blade before I see the man. One of Kadri’s men, tall and wiry, a scar running across his cheek. His eyes are wild as he charges me with his knife in hand, a jagged thing that looks like it’s seen too many fights.
I duck just in time, the blade slicing the air above me, and then I’m on him. My fist cracks into his jaw with a sickening thud, knocking him back a step. He stumbles, but he’s fast. Too fast. He spins, his blade flashing under the dim light, slashing across my arm. I feel the cut, the burn of it, but I don’t slow down. I slam my elbow into his gut, the air forced out of him in a grunt. The knife falls from his hand, and I grab him by the throat, slamming him into the wall.
“You played for the wrong side,” I growl, tightening my grip. His eyes bulge, panic setting in as I choke the life out of him. He’s struggling, weakly clawing at my hand, but it’s too late. A final push, and his body goes limp.
I throw him to the ground, blood dripping, from the deep gash on my arm.
But there’s no time to rest.
Dante is in the thick of it, fists flying, his body a machine of violence. He’s already taken down two more men, but I see the flash of a blade coming for him, the edge gleaming under the dim light. I shout his name just as the knife sinks into his side.
"Fucking hell," he curses, grabbing the guy by the wrist and pulling him in close. In one fluid motion, Dante slams the butt of his gun into the man’s skull. The knife falls, and Dante doesn’t wait. He’s already shooting another guy who’s trying to sneak up behind him.
I move toward him, but the chaos pulls my attention. Attila’s got a man by the hair, dragging him across the floor. The man is begging, pleading, but Attila doesn’t care. He slams a blade into the guy’s heart, twisting it with a grin that could make anyone sick. Blood pools beneath them, painting the floor red.
“Kanyan!” Dante yells, pulling my attention behind me.
A man steps out from behind a pillar, a shotgun raised. He’s aiming straight at me, but I don’t give him the chance. I fire, hitting him square in the chest. He doesn’t even get a scream out before he hits the floor.
“Keep moving!” The Jekyll growls through the comms. “We got more incoming.”
More? It’s hard to keep track. Kadri has more men than we anticipated, but they’re no match for us. We push forward, sweeping through the building, taking them down one by one. Blood and gunpowder fill the air, thickening the already stale smell of the room.
The last of Kadri’s men comes rushing in. He’s bigger, older, his face hardened by years of fighting. I see the flash of recognition in his eyes, and that’s all the warning I need.
He swings a blade, aiming for my throat, but I’m already moving. I dodge to the side, feeling the breeze of the blade missing me by inches. I grab his wrist, twist it, and hear the sickening crack as his bones as they break. The knife drops. I don’t give him time to scream. My fist slams into his gut, knocking the air out of him. Before he can recover, I grab his head, twisting it to the side with a sickening snap.
This is for Lula and Allegra.
I stand in the center of the room, my body bruised and aching, as I survey the carnage around me. Dante’s wiping the blood from his side, whilst Attila’s kicking a body aside, grinning like the devil himself.
Kadri’s empire is crumbling, but there’s one more brick in this house we have to smash.
Altin Kadri himself.
A slow clap echoes from the depths of one of the rooms. The sound is deliberate, taunting, a smirk given shape. We move toward it, boots heavy against the rotting floor, while more of our men spill into the space behind us, weapons raised, ready to finish what we started.
Inside, a massive screen glows against the darkness. A live feed flickers to life. Altin Kadri’s face fills the frame, his smirk razor-sharp, his eyes gleaming with sick amusement.
“Gentlemen,” he purrs, clapping his hands together like a game show host. “Where are my manners? I’d offer you tea, but I wasn’t expecting guests.”
I want to reach through the screen and crush his windpipe. He’s smug for a reason—this whole battle, every body on the floor, every drop of blood soaking into the rotting wood, was his design. And he’s nowhere near us. The stark white walls behind him tell me that much. He set the stage, played his part, and now he watches from the safety of whatever hole he’s crawled into.
I step closer, fists clenched. He can see us. But the feed is one-way. I let the curse words spill from my lips anyway, knowing they land in silence.
“There will come a time, I’m sure, when we’ll meet again.” His voice is velvet, laced with poison. “I’d like to say it was a pleasure, but really, it wasn’t. I’m off now—to some faraway exotic land. A little rest, a little regrouping, and then—” He leans in, eyes burning. “When I return, I will burn your city to the ground. I will not?—”
“Altin Kadri! FBI! Hands above your head!”
The barked command cuts through his speech like a bullet. The screen jolts, a sudden shift in movement. Then I see them—agents swarming, guns raised. Altin’s face twists, rage cracking through his carefully crafted mask as hands seize him, wrenching his arms behind his back. His shouts ring out, furious, venomous, but they don’t matter.
Because in that chaos, just before the feed cuts to black, a pair of green eyes find me through the screen.
Cold. Familiar. Watching.
Saxon. The vagabond.