CHAPTER 1 – Marcus
There's a certain elegance to how blood pools on marble. It starts as individual droplets before gravity pulls them into rivulets, then puddles, then a crimson lake that mirrors the terror in a dying man's eyes.
I watch the pattern form as the bartender bleeds out, his throat opened precisely with my blade. He'd been skimming profits for months. Just enough to feed a gambling habit he thought I wouldn't notice. But I notice everything. Especially betrayal.
"Was that really necessary?" Gabriel asks, not looking up from his phone.
"No. But it was satisfying."
The underground lounge is empty this early afternoon. Neon lights pulse along the walls, casting everything in a soft purple glow that makes the blood appear almost black.
"Have Eli send in a cleanup crew. And find a new bartender. One who understands basic mathematics."
"Already handled. You have a reputation for making examples, boss."
"Good. That's the point."
I settle into a booth, pouring whiskey from the bottle kept specifically for me.
Gabriel slides a tablet across the table.
Daily earnings, territorial disputes, potential threats—all neatly categorized for my review.
This is my kingdom, built over twenty years of calculated violence and strategic alliances.
My phone buzzes. Unknown number. I nearly silence it, but something makes me answer.
"Drake."
"I have something that might interest you."
The voice belongs to Rivera, an informant who occasionally provides useful intelligence.
"Unless it's the head of Carlos Delgado, I'm not interested."
"Better. Information about a new acquisition of theirs. A woman."
"The Delgados acquire many women. Try again."
"This one's name is Varela. Leona Varela."
The name hits like ice water. "Send the details."
I hang up before he can negotiate the price. Leona Varela. Cody's little sister. A name I haven't heard in years—not since Cody disappeared after our last major operation against the Delgados, leaving me to clean up the mess.
Last I heard, Leona had built a respectable career away from her family's reputation. I'd glimpsed her once, years ago—a half-grown thing with fierce eyes that reminded me too much of her brother. Before he proved loyalty was just another currency to be traded.
My phone buzzes again. A video file. I press play, and the screen fills with a dimly lit room.
A woman sits in a metal chair, hands bound behind her back.
Her chin is raised defiantly, though I can see the fear she's trying to mask.
The camera pans slowly, deliberately, showcasing her for the viewer's benefit.
This isn't Cody's little sister anymore. This is a woman. Her dark auburn hair falls in tangled waves around a face that's too striking to belong in such a grim setting. No visible bruises, but her eyes tell the story of trauma contained.
A man moves into frame—one of Delgado's top enforcers. He addresses the camera directly.
"For Marcus Drake. We both know who this belongs to. We also know who wanted her protected. Funny how things work out, isn't it?"
The camera moves closer to Leona's face. She turns away, but the enforcer grabs her chin, forcing her to look directly into the lens.
"Tell him your name."
Her jaw clenches. "Go to hell."
The enforcer laughs, releasing her with a theatrical push. "Spirited. But she'll break eventually. They all do."
The video ends. I set the phone down carefully, aware of the rage building beneath my skin. This isn't just about Leona. This is the Delgados testing boundaries, seeing how I'll respond to a direct provocation.
They're using her to draw out Cody. And perhaps, to see what I'll do.
"Gabriel." My voice is ice. "Get me everything on Leona Varela. Current employment, residence, habits. And find out which Delgado safehouse they're using for captives."
Gabriel doesn't ask questions. He understands the tone—the one that precedes bloodshed on a scale that will be whispered about in fearful tones for months afterward.
"Already working on it." His fingers fly across his phone. "Preliminary data shows she's a forensic analyst for the Port Hollow crime lab. Lives alone in an apartment downtown. No significant relationships on record."
"How did they get to her?"
"Grabbed her last night after she left work. Clean operation. No witnesses."
I drain my whiskey, mind already calculating. "They'll expect me to inform Cody. They don't know we haven't spoken in five years."
"What's your move?"
I stand, straightening my cuffs. "They took something they believe is under my protection. The appropriate response is to correct their misunderstanding with extreme prejudice."
A small smile crosses Gabriel's face. He knows what's coming. "How many men?"
"Just us. Plus Ramos and Chen for perimeter control." I check my watch. "I want this handled before dinner."
Gabriel steps away to make the arrangements.
I pour another whiskey, but don't drink it.
Instead, I rewatch the video, studying Leona's face.
There's no mistaking the Varela bloodline—the same high cheekbones, the same stubborn set to the jaw.
But there's something else there too. A fire that Cody never had.
I catch myself staring at her lips, the curve of her neck, and immediately shut off the video. Christ. She's Cody's little sister. The girl who used to trail after us when we were teenagers, demanding to be included in whatever trouble we were planning.
Except she's not little anymore.
An hour later, we're in position outside a nondescript warehouse in the industrial district.
One of several Delgado safe houses used for temporary holdings before their human cargo is moved to more permanent locations.
The information cost me fifty thousand dollars and a promise of future consideration, but Rivera delivered as he always does.
Night hasn't fallen yet, but the setting sun casts long shadows across the cracked concrete lot. Gabriel hands me a tactical vest, which I ignore.
"Your funeral," he mutters, checking his own weapons.
"If I die in a Delgado safehouse, I deserve whatever funeral I get."
The place is guarded, but not heavily. Four men outside, probably another six inside. The Delgados are confident—too confident. They think the threat of escalation will keep me at bay.
They've drastically miscalculated.
"Remember," I tell Gabriel as we prepare to move, "the woman comes out unharmed. Everyone else is optional."
"Understood."
The first guard dies silently, my knife finding the gap between his vertebrae before he registers my presence. The second has time to reach for his weapon before Gabriel puts a silenced round through his temple. We move like shadows, years of partnership making words unnecessary.
By the time we reach the main entrance, the remaining exterior guards are cooling on the pavement. I adjust my gloves—supple leather that won't hinder dexterity but will keep blood from touching my skin. I hate the feel of it drying between my fingers.
"After you." I gesture to Gabriel.
He kicks in the door, and chaos erupts.
The interior guards react faster than their colleagues outside, but it makes no difference.
I take down the first two with targeted shots—one through the throat, one through the eye.
Gabriel handles the others with similar efficiency.
Blood sprays across concrete floors, painting Jackson Pollock patterns that would be almost artistic under different circumstances.
A guard rushes me from the side, desperation making him sloppy. I sidestep, catching his arm and using his momentum to drive my knife between his ribs. He gasps, eyes wide with shock.
"Nothing personal," I tell him conversationally as he slides to the floor. "Just business."
The last guard attempts to flee toward a back room. Gabriel takes aim, but I wave him off.
"Let him. He'll lead us to her."
We follow at a measured pace. There's no need to rush now. The guard fumbles with a door, throwing desperate glances over his shoulder. When he finally gets it open, Gabriel puts a bullet in his leg. He goes down screaming.
"Where is she?" I ask, placing my foot deliberately on his wounded thigh.
He howls. "Fuck you!"
I press down. His scream rises in pitch.
"Where is she?" I repeat, tone unchanging.
"Room at the end of the hall," he gasps. "Please..."
"Thank you for your cooperation." I put a bullet through his forehead, ending his suffering with more mercy than he deserved.
The hallway is dim, lit by flickering fluorescents that cast everything in a sickly yellow glow. Blood smears the concrete under my shoes, leaving macabre footprints as we advance. The metallic scent mingles with dust and fear.
The door at the end is locked. Gabriel takes position beside me, ready to breach.
"On three," I murmur. "One. Two—"
I kick the door open, weapon raised. The room beyond is small, containing only a metal chair in the center, illuminated by a single overhead bulb.
And there she is.
Leona Varela sits exactly as she appeared in the video, wrists bound behind her. Her head snaps up at our entrance, eyes wide but unclouded. She's fully conscious, which is a good sign. No visible injuries.
Our eyes meet.
"Marcus Drake," she says, voice steady despite her situation. "You're the last person I expected to see."
I holster my weapon, approaching her with measured steps. "I get that a lot."
Up close, the years since I last saw her are more apparent.
The girl I remember is gone, replaced by a woman with sharp edges and guarded eyes.
Her face is smudged with dirt but otherwise unmarked.
She's wearing what appears to be club attire—a fitted black dress, now wrinkled and dusty from her captivity.
I crouch in front of her, drawing my knife. She tenses, but I simply reach behind her to cut the zip ties binding her wrists.
"Can you walk?" I ask.
She rubs her freed wrists, eyes never leaving mine. "Why are you here?"
"That's not an answer to my question."
"Yes, I can walk." She stands, wobbling slightly before finding her balance. "Now answer mine."
Gabriel appears in the doorway. "Perimeter's clear. We need to move."
I ignore him, still watching Leona. There's no gratitude in her expression, only wariness and confusion. She knows rescue comes with strings attached.
"The Delgados made a mistake," I tell her. "They took something they thought was under my protection."
"I'm not under your protection."
"You are now."
She opens her mouth to argue, but Gabriel interrupts. "Boss, we need to go. They'll have called for backup by now."
I offer Leona my hand. She stares at it for a long moment before deliberately walking past me toward the door.
"I can see myself out," she says.
I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. "Definitely Cody's sister."
The mention of her brother makes her pause. "Where is he?"
"Not here." I place a hand on the small of her back, guiding her forward. "And unless you want to meet his former associates again, I suggest you come with me willingly."
She shrugs away from my touch but follows. As we navigate through the warehouse, she takes in the carnage without flinching. Blood spatter decorates the walls and floors. Bodies lie where they fell, eyes vacant, weapons still clutched in lifeless hands.
"You did all this? For me?" Her tone suggests she's not sure whether to be impressed or horrified.
"I did all this because they needed to understand boundaries," I correct her. "You were the excuse, not the reason."
Outside, Ramos waits with the car. Leona hesitates at the threshold, looking back at the warehouse and then at me.
"What happens now?" she asks.
I open the car door for her. "Now, you come with me, and we discuss your unfortunate predicament like civilized people."
"And if I don't want to?"
"Then you're welcome to wait here for the Delgados to send reinforcements. I'm sure they'll be much more hospitable the second time around."
Her eyes narrow, but she slides into the backseat. I follow, Gabriel taking the front passenger seat while Ramos drives.
As we pull away, I study Leona in the dim interior light. She sits as far from me as the confines of the car allow, her posture rigid, gaze focused out the window. Despite her obvious fatigue and the trauma of abduction, she radiates defiance.
I notice a subtle tremble in her hands, which she tries to hide by clenching them in her lap. Adrenaline crash, most likely.
"When did you last eat?" I ask.
She gives me a sidelong glance. "Why do you care?"
"I prefer not to have people fainting in my vehicles. It's messy and time-consuming."
"Yesterday. Before they grabbed me."
I reach into the car's minibar, retrieving a protein bar and a bottle of water. I offer them to her, and she accepts after a moment's hesitation.
As she eats, I find myself studying her profile. The last time I saw Leona Varela, she was a teenage girl with skinned knees and a permanent scowl, trailing after her brother like an angry shadow. Now...
Now she's a complication I wasn't prepared for.
"Thank you," she says quietly, breaking into my thoughts. "For getting me out of there."
"Don't thank me yet, Leona." I look away from her, back to the city streets passing outside. "I don't save people. I solve problems."
"And which am I?"
I meet her gaze again, noting the challenge in her eyes despite her exhaustion.
"That," I tell her with absolute honesty, "is what we're going to find out."