Chapter 24
LEGION
The engine of my Harley screamed against the backdrop of the West Side Highway, a metallic roar that drowned out the chaotic thrum of Manhattan traffic.
I leaned into the curve, the wind whipping past my leather jacket, smelling of salt, exhaust, and the looming threat of rain.
I headed toward the Far West Side, where the city started to fray at the edges.
Near the piers, the glitz of the high-rises vanished, replaced by the skeletal remains of old industry and the grey, oppressive weight of the Hudson River.
This was their nest. The Bloody Scorpions had turned this area into their safe house, a place where they could hoard their filth and plot their next move without the NYPD sniffing around.
I approached the side entrance, stepping over a pile of rotting pallets.
The air here tasted of brine and diesel fuel.
I slipped through a gap in the corrugated metal siding, entering a dim corridor that smelled of damp concrete and stale cigarettes.
A single lightbulb flickered overhead, casting long, jerking shadows that danced across the walls.
Two men stood at the end of the hall, leaning against a rusted locker. They wore the red-and-black leather cuts of the Scorpions, their arms tattooed with jagged ink.
"Who the fuck is that?" one of them barked, his voice a grating rasp.
I didn't answer. I stepped into the light, the barrel of my gun leveled at his chest.
"You're in the wrong neighborhood, sweetheart," the second guard sneered, reaching for the holster at his hip.
I fired. The first bullet caught him in the throat, a wet thud that silenced the insult. He hit the floor with a heavy crash, blood spraying across the lockers in a vivid, hot crimson arc. The other guard froze, eyes wide, his hand still inches from his weapon.
"Please," he gasped, the word bubbling through a throat tight with panic.
"Please what?" I asked, my voice a low growl. "Please let you live? I don't do favors for insects."
I pulled the trigger again. His forehead snapped back, and he collapsed like a limp puppet.
I stepped over the bodies, my boots clicking on the concrete.
I pushed open a set of double doors that led into the main hub.
The space was cavernous, a cathedral of grime.
Old refrigerators, stripped of their motors, served as makeshift tables.
Stacks of crates held crates of smuggled gear and piles of cash.
In the center of the room, a dozen Scorpions were lounging, drinking cheap whiskey and laughing.
At the far end, seated on a throne made of reclaimed car seats and duct tape, was Vane.
He was a slab of a man with a shaved head and a jagged scar that ran from his temple to his jaw, splitting his lip into a permanent, mocking smirk.
He’d been one of the Scorpion’s members back in Louisiana. We’d always had issues with him.
The room went silent. Twelve pairs of eyes locked onto me.
"Legion," Vane called out, his voice booming through the warehouse.
He didn't stand up. He just leaned back, swirling a glass of amber liquid.
"I heard you were coming. I expected you to bring a whole army, not just a fancy bike and a bad attitude. "
"I find that a small group is more efficient for cleaning," I replied, my gaze scanning the room. "Less one to keep track of."
Vane laughed, a dry sound that reminded me of gravel grinding together. "You've got balls, I'll give you that. But balls don't stop bullets."
"Neither does a throne made of garbage," I said.
Vane's smirk vanished. He snapped his fingers. "Kill him."
The room erupted. I dove behind a heavy steel workbench just as a hail of gunfire shredded the air. The sound was deafening, a chaotic symphony of cracks and bangs that echoed off the high ceilings. Plaster rained down from the rafters.
I leaned out, sighting a Scorpion who was trying to flank me. I squeezed the trigger twice. He folded, a bullet through the shoulder and another through the temple.
"Come out and fight like a man, you coward!" one of them screamed from behind a stack of crates.
"I'm not here to fight," I shouted back, my voice cutting through the noise. "I'm here to evict you."
I tossed a flashbang toward the center of the room.
A blinding white light exploded, followed by a roar that shattered the remaining windows.
The screams of blinded men filled the space.
I moved fast, weaving through the chaos.
I caught a man trying to rise and jammed the barrel of my gun under his chin, pulling the trigger.
The recoil jarred my arm, but the result was a clean exit through the top of his skull.
I spun, catching another in the gut. He gasped, clutching his stomach as he slumped against a refrigerator, his blood staining the white enamel.
Vane was standing now, his face contorted in rage. "I'm gonna carve your heart out, Legion!" he roared. “I’ll leave it on Jameson’s doorstep.”
I chuckled. “I dare you to try!”
I stepped out from the shadows, my boots crunching on broken glass. I took a hit to the shoulder a searing line of fire that ripped through my jacket and grazed the skin. I didn't flinch. I didn't stop.
I fired three times in rapid succession. The first hit Vane in the thigh, dropping him to one knee. The second caught him in the shoulder, spinning him around. The third hit him square in the chest, blowing a hole through his leather cut and into his lungs.
Vane collapsed, his breath coming in ragged, wet wheezes. He looked up at me, blood bubbling from his lips.
"You... you can't... kill us all..." he whispered.
I walked over to him and looked down, my expression cold.
"I don't have to kill all of you," I said. "I just have to burn you down."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a flare. I looked around the room, noting the puddles of spilled gasoline and leaked oil that coated the floor. The Scorpions had been sloppy. They’d turned their hideout into a tinderbox.
I knelt beside Vane, leaning in close. "Tell the devil I sent you," I whispered.
I struck the flare. A brilliant, blinding red light hissed into existence. I dropped it directly into a pool of gasoline and stepped back.
The fire didn't start slowly. It leaped.
A wall of orange flame roared upward, feeding on the oil and the old wooden crates.
The heat hit me instantly, a physical blow that pushed me back toward the exit.
The warehouse transformed into a furnace, the screams of the wounded being swallowed by the crackle of the inferno.
I walked out of the building just as the first explosion ripped through the back wall, sending a plume of black smoke and burning debris high into the Manhattan sky. I didn't look back. I didn't care who was still inside.
I reached my bike, the heat of the fire still radiating against my back. My shoulder was throbbing, the blood soaking into my shirt, but the adrenaline was still humming in my veins, a electric current that kept the pain at bay.
“You good,” Hoax spoke in my ear.
“Couldn’t be better.”
“That was badass, dude!”
I smiled. “I like to think so.”
As I swung my leg over the saddle, and my phone vibrated in my pocket, interrupting our celebration. I pulled it out. The screen read Roulette’s name.
I answered it on the first ring. "Roulette," I said, my voice tight.
Roulette's voice came through, and for the first time since I'd known her, she sounded shaken. The usual confidence was gone, replaced by that of anxiety.
"Legion, we have a problem," she said.
My grip tightened on the handlebars. "What happened?"
"Vesper," Roulette replied, her words coming fast. "We lost her. She slipped through the perimeter in the chaos. We can't track her signal."
I closed my eyes for a second, a surge of fury boiling in my chest. "How the fuck did you lose her?"
"It doesn't matter right now," Roulette snapped, though her voice trembled. "Legion... Lantana's injured."
The world stopped. The roar of the fire behind me faded into a dull hum. The air felt like it had been sucked out of my lungs.
"What?" I whispered. "What do you mean injured?"
"She took a hit," Roulette said, her voice softening. "It's bad, Legion. We're rushing her to the hospital now. We're at St. Vincent's."
I didn't wait for her to finish. I didn't ask how it happened or who did it. I kicked the Harley into gear, the engine screaming as I tore away from the burning warehouse.
"I’ll be there soon. Don’t move until I get there!” I roared over the wind.
"We'll handle getting the bitch," Roulette answered, her voice regaining some of its steel. "Just get to the hospital. Now."
I hung up and twisted the throttle to the stop. The bike leaped forward, weaving through the evening traffic of Manhattan. I didn't care about red lights. I didn't care about the sirens wailing in the distance or the pedestrians diving out of my way.
My mind was a blur of red and black. I could still smell the smoke from the Scorpions' hideout, but all I could think about was Lantana.
I pictured her pale skin, the way she looked when she slept, the softness of her voice that always managed to quiet the storm in my head.
The thought of her bleeding, of her lying on a sterile hospital bed while some nameless shadow walked free, made my vision tunnel.
I pushed the bike harder, the speedometer climbing. The city became a smear of neon lights and grey concrete. Every second felt like an hour. Every block was a mountain.
I shifted gears, the engine vibrating through my bones, echoing the frantic beat of my heart. If Vesper had hurt her, if she had left a single scar on Lantana's skin, I wouldn't just kill her. I would tear the world apart to find her, and I would make her pray for the mercy of a quick death.
I roared past a line of stopped cars, the wind whipping my hair, my eyes locked on the horizon. I didn't know what I would find at the hospital, but I knew one thing.
The fire I'd started at the piers was nothing compared to the one I was about to light under that bitch’s ass.