Chapter 36 Koa
Koa
Something’s off.
The air feels heavier—not from the usual shit, not from drugs or sweat or the metallic tang of fear that always hangs in this place.
This is different. This is movement. Quiet, calculated movement that sets my teeth on edge.
Cars outside, engines idling low. Shoes scraping against gravel in patterns too deliberate to be random.
The kind of sound you don’t notice unless you’ve been trained to listen for it, unless survival has taught you to catalog every deviation from normal.
I don’t look toward the sound. Don’t flinch. Don’t give anything away. I just stand there, hands shoved deep in my pockets, pretending to stare at the concrete floor while I count the shadows between the beams overhead. One. Two. Three figures moving in the rafters.
Vincent’s voice cuts through the warehouse. “You brought friends, Koa?”
My jaw tightens. I don’t answer because it doesn’t matter what I say, it will always be the wrong thing.
His men are scattered around the space like discarded toys—restless, high, stupid. All of them weapons but none of them soldiers.
And there, in the center of it all, are Lexi and Axel.
Both tied to chairs. Both gagged. Lexi’s thrashing against the ropes still, her eyes wild and furious, muffled curses trying to fight their way past the gag. Axel’s staring at me like he’s already planning exactly how he’s going to kill me, which methods will be the slowest and most painful.
I deserve every second of what he’s imagining.
Vincent nods at one of the guards—some thick-necked asshole I’ve seen around but never learned the name of. The guard pulls something from his pocket.
A needle. The liquid inside catches the dim light, amber and poisonous.
I inhale before I do something stupid. My fists clench. I’m about to open my mouth, but the words die in my throat. I know if I speak, if I move, Vincent will fuck me up and make it worse for her. Right now I’m on his good side where I need to stay.
Before I can react, before I can do anything, the needle’s already buried in her arm, plunger depressed, poison flooding her system.
Lexi jerks once, her whole body going rigid. Her eyes—those brown eyes that looked at me with trust not too long ago—go wide, meeting mine. There’s accusation there, and betrayal, and underneath it all, a terror so raw it makes my chest cavity feel hollow.
Welcome to my hell. This is what I’ve been living in.
Then she goes still. Not limp exactly but loose. The fight drains out of her like someone pulled a plug, and her head lolls to the side.
I clench my fists so hard my nails cut into my palms. The pain is grounding, necessary. It reminds me not to react, not to give Vincent the satisfaction of seeing me break.
Vincent exhales smoke, grinning like he just won something. “There we go. Pretty little thing. Should’ve seen your face, boy.”
He’s laughing now, reaching for his phone as it buzzes. Answers the call without looking away from me, testing, always testing.
“Yeah?” His voice is jovial, performative. “No, no, we’re all good here. Just having a family reunion.”
The sound of his laughter echoes off the walls, bouncing back at us distorted and ugly.
This was supposed to be it. The end. Deliver the Kane siblings to Vincent, debt cleared, obligations fulfilled.
No more running product for him. No more collecting debts from desperate people.
No more being his attack dog. Just hockey and drums and grades and maybe a future that didn’t involve blood under my fingernails.
Maybe even a future with Lexi.
Instead, I’m here again, drowning in his filth, watching the one good thing I had slip away.
Then—silence.
Not the kind that’s peaceful or restful. The kind that comes before a storm, before violence, before everything goes to hell. A whisper of motion from somewhere I can’t pinpoint. The sound of a latch clicking open, metal on metal.
I look up.
The side doors burst open like they’ve been hit with a battering ram.
Shadows pour in—tall figures dressed in black, faces covered with masks that make them look inhuman. Weapons drawn and ready. They move like a unit, trained and coordinated in a way Vincent’s men could never manage.
Vincent laughs, but there’s an edge to it now. “Reapers? Koa? Reapers, really?” His tone is pure amusement, but I catch the way his eyes flick toward the exit. Calculating. Already planning his escape route. “Oh, ho ho,” Vincent laughs. “You’re dead, Koa. Fucking dead.”
“I didn’t plan this,” I spit out.
Vincent ignores me as he raises both hands slowly, like he’s surrendering. “Alright, alright. Let’s not make a mess, yeah? We can work this out like we’re civilized.”
Fake surrender. It’s always a show with him, always performance. But I know the signs—the way his breathing changes, the tension in his shoulders, the slight shift of his weight onto the balls of his feet.
He’s ready for blood.
He inhales deeply, filling his lungs, and then screams at the top of them. “Son! Where are you?”
The word echoes, bouncing off concrete and steel.
I don’t move. Don’t flinch. Don’t give him anything.
“Son!” he shouts again, desperation creeping into his voice.
Through the main doors, another figure steps in. This one unmasked, controlled, moving with the kind of confidence that comes from knowing exactly how dangerous you are.
Revan.
Our eyes lock across the warehouse. His are cold, calculating, but there’s something else there too—something that might be understanding or might be disgust. Hard to tell with him.
Then both our gazes shift to Vincent.
Vincent’s grin cracks wider, more teeth showing than should be possible. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite little monster. I made you everything you are, you piece of—”
He doesn’t finish.
His hand moves faster than it should for someone his age, someone that high. The gun appears, arm extending, and he fires.
One of the Reapers goes down hard, clutching his shoulder.
Not Revan.
Revan moves like liquid, diving forward, tackling Vincent before he can get off another shot. They hit the ground together and the gun skitters across the floor, spinning away into the shadows.
Then all hell breaks loose.
Gunfire erupts from every direction—Vincent’s men firing wild, the Reapers returning fire with precision. The sound is deafening, overlapping cracks that make my ears ring. Muzzle flashes light up the warehouse like strobe lights.
Oxy slams into me from the side, dragging me down behind an overturned table. He shoves something cold and heavy into my hand—a pistol.
“Use it!” he yells over the chaos.
I shake my head, already moving, crawling toward Lexi on my hands and knees. She’s completely limp now, her head rolled to one side, eyes half-open but vacant. The drug’s fully taken hold, stolen her consciousness, left her vulnerable.
“Fuck,” I hiss.
Oxy grabs my arm way before I can reach her, yanking me back. “You move, you die, you idiot!” He pulls me behind the couch.
Across the room, Revan’s on top of Vincent, raining down blows. Fists connecting with flesh, the wet sound of impact mixing with Vincent’s grunts. The gunfire’s dying down now, replaced with shouts and the clang of metal against concrete.
And then the doors creak again.
Everyone freezes.
Another man enters, and this one walks like he owns the place. Gray beard, steady gait, eyes cold and alive in a way Vincent’s never were—Vincent’s eyes are always clouded with chemicals and madness, but this man’s are clear as winter ice.
Vincent stops fighting.
Revan freezes, his fist raised mid-strike.
Oxy mutters beside me, “No fucking way it worked.”
Vincent stumbles to his feet, bleeding from his lip, nose, probably broken ribs. He points a trembling gun at the new arrival—where the hell did he get another gun?—and his hand shakes with rage or drugs or both.
“Hello, old friend,” Vincent sneers, blood spraying from his split lip. “We meet again.”
Gilbert Kane smiles, slow and venomous, a snake deciding whether to strike. “Vincent.”
“You...” Vincent’s laugh is evil, unhinged, the sound of someone who’s lost touch with reality. “You’re actually here. You fucking clown.” He continues laughing, doubling over with it. Then his eyes cut to me, and there’s something there—reassurance, pride, the twisted affection of a monster.
He’s always preferred me over Revan because his blood son refuses to play his games. But Vincent knows the truth—I’m harder than Revan ever could be. I’ve had to be. So Vincent chose me to do the real bullshit, the dirty work, while his son got to pretend at power.
Vincent stands, dusting himself off like this is a business meeting. “Let’s have a talk.”
Gilbert stares at him, unblinking. “No.”
“Give me double what you owe.” Vincent’s trying to sound commanding, but it comes out desperate.
“I’m not here for negotiation,” Gilbert says quietly.
I’m sick to the stomach with enjoyment. Finally someone to stand up to the big bad drug dealer who’s been kicking my ass since I was a kid. And it’s none other than Lexi’s blood, her father.
Vincent swings his gun toward Lexi and Axel, both drugged and unaware of the danger they’re in. “You will pay me back because you fucked me! You fucked me, Gil! Half a mil!? I will blow their fucking brains out, Kane. Watch me do it. Watch me—”
Revan moves fast—faster than I’ve ever seen him move.
A hard smack to Vincent’s wrist, precise and brutal. The gun hits the ground and slides under a pallet.
Gilbert doesn’t even blink. “Let’s handle this the old-fashioned way.”
And then he charges.
Fists fly. Teeth bare. Grunts and impacts fill the space. Years of hatred crystallizing into pure violence, both men trying to kill each other with their bare hands.
Revan shouts orders. “Get them out! Now!”
Two Reapers rush forward, cutting the ropes off Lexi and Axel with tactical knives, dragging them clear of the fight.
I stay where I am, paralyzed. The gun Oxy gave me is still in my hand but it feels like it weighs a thousand pounds.
If I move toward her, Vincent sees. If I shoot, I’m a traitor to the only family I’ve ever known—toxic and terrible as it is. If I don’t shoot, he’ll destroy me for not being on his side.
Maybe I already am a traitor. Maybe I became one the moment I let myself care about her.
I make my choice.
I turn. Start walking toward the side exit. If I time it right, I can intercept them while they’re loading her into the car. Maybe explain, maybe fix this, maybe—
Vincent’s voice cracks through the chaos like thunder.
“Koa!”
I keep walking.
“Koa!”
He’s pleading now, actually pleading for my help.
But that’s the thing about monsters—they’ll carve pieces out of you, hollow you out until you’re nothing but edges and survival instincts, and then they’ll expect you to save them when their own darkness comes calling.
They’ll make you suffer a thousand small deaths and still demand your loyalty, as if trauma creates obligation instead of scars.
The sound of his voice mixes with the wet crack of bones breaking, Gilbert’s rage finally finding its release after years of being buried.
I push the door open and step into the night. The cold air hits my face like absolution, like judgment.
I’m not letting Lexi get away. Not until I can explain. Not until I can make her understand that this was the only way to keep her alive.
Behind me, my stepfather screams—a sound of pure rage and disbelief that someone he made would abandon him.
And I don’t look back.
I never look back.