Rule 7 : Rage

CHAPTER 16: Veiled Secrets.

In the heart of Shaque's tower, Lord Maximus occupied the final building, a dimly lit haven for his covert dealings. Two towering guards flanked his office, the air within hazy with the lingering scent of cannabis.

Seated in his imposing chair, Lord Maximus swirled around, engaging in conversation with an enigmatic Arab figure whose features remained concealed behind a veil of secrecy.

Yet, his attention momentarily drifted to the collection of firearms neatly arranged upon his desk. His hand hovered over them before selecting one, feeling its cold weight in his grasp.

With an air of nonchalance, he raised the firearm, its mechanism emitting a sharp click that shattered the room's tense silence. A sudden, thunderous crack echoed as the gun discharged, the deafening sound reverberating off the walls. The bullet tore through the ground below, leaving a gaping hole in its wake.

For a moment, the office held its breath, suspended in an eerie silence. The scent of gunpowder lingered in the air as Lord Maximus's steady gaze remained fixed on the newly created cavity, a silent witness to his authority and the unspoken power he wielded.

Outside, the setting sun cast elongated shadows, painting the office in warm tones. It was different from the darkness concealed within its walls, an atmosphere suffused with authority and an unspoken threat.

In a chilling display, Lord Maximus inspected the gun with an eerie fascination, running his tongue along its sleek surface with a sly smirk. After savoring the moment, he carefully nestled the weapon inside a crimson briefcase, nodding affirmatively as he gestured to one of the guards, Hardin, to take charge of the firearms.

The Arabian visitor, fixated on Lord Maximus, communicated silently, urgency etched in his gestures.

Pulling out a scarlet briefcase, Lord Maximus presented it to the guest, who eagerly opened it, confirming its contents—money. "I eagerly await our next venture," the Arabian man expressed before departing, leaving the office with a sense of unfinished transactions and agreements.

Hardin returned, offering a respectful bow to Lord Maximus as he assumed his position by his side. A subtle signal from Lord Maximus prompted Hardin to lean in, receiving a hushed instruction: "Fetch Zayn for me."

With a reverent nod, Hardin swiftly exited the room to carry out the command. Meanwhile, Lord Maximus leisurely retrieved another gun, placing it deliberately on the table. He resumed spinning in his chair, the lingering haze of cannabis smoke swirling around him as he engrossed himself in his phone.

His focus abruptly shifted upon the arrival of Zayn and Hardin, their entry marked by an unsettling tension. Hardin assumed his position once again, while Zayn, visibly awestruck, sank into a seat. As his gaze locked onto the gun, an unmistakable shiver coursed down his spine, amplifying the tangible air of dread that had settled within the room.

In a startling motion, Lord Maximus rapped sharply on the table to command Zayn's attention. "Welcome, Zayn," he began, his tone measured yet dripping with a sinister edge. "We've yet to exchange words. Address me as Lord Maximus. I am the proprietor of the Shaque. Does that name ring a bell?"

Zayn's uncertain nod barely registered. Lord Maximus, wearing a calculated expression, pressed on, "Why the inclination to return to the orphanage?" His voice, thick and commanding, sliced through the tense air.

Fidgeting uncomfortably, Zayn mumbled, "I... I know my way there, Lord Maximus."

A waft of cannabis fumes escaped Lord Maximus as he calmly retorted, "Seems the orphanage is your only haven."

Zayn's agreement was reluctant, backing his earlier claim. Lord Maximus, seizing the gun, aimed it unflinchingly at Zayn's face. "Zayn Orson," he intoned sharply, "The Shaque detests falsehoods, especially from a twenty- six-year-old."

Zayn recoiled in fear as he stuttered, "I... I'm telling the truth."

"You think of me as a fool?" Lord Maximus's voice was a controlled menace. "How is it you remember the orphanage but forget the apartment you lived in?" The distinct click of the gun being cocked punctuated his statement.