Twilight of Shadows | LingOrm (GxG)

TEN

Lada's Mansion

Lada slammed the phone down, her fury barely contained. Wut's voice had been clear: someone was infiltrating her territory, peddling drugs and disrupting her carefully controlled operations. The thought made her stomach churn with rage, the final straw in an already tense situation.

She stormed into her private dressing room, discarding her usual polished outfits for the gear that symbolized the part of herself she rarely showed. The leather jacket slid on smoothly over a tactical vest. She felt its weight, but it was familiar, like an old companion ready for war. Her fingers moved with precision as she holstered her Glock 17.

As the storm outside raged, rain pelting the city streets, Lada mounted her Yamaha YZF-R1M, the engine roaring to life. She barely glanced at her entourage as they fell into formation behind her, a silent acknowledgment of the hunt that was about to begin.

They arrived at the warehouse-a dark, crumbling monument to the city's underbelly. Lada's bike screeched to a halt, her men dismounting, their movements sharp and in sync. The doors had been forced open, and inside lay a scene of carnage. Her enforcers had already subdued the group-faces bloodied, hands bound, fear now replacing the bravado they'd arrived with.

Lada stepped inside, the water dripping from her jacket hitting the concrete floor in sharp, rhythmic taps. Her eyes swept over the captives before landing on the leader-a man with a scar running down his cheek. His eyes flickered with panic as Lada approached.

"Who's behind this?" Her voice was low, barely a whisper, but it cut through the air like a blade.

The man shifted, refusing to meet her gaze. "I don't know anything," he muttered, his words slurred through swollen lips. "You're wasting your time."

A smirk tugged at the corner of Lada's mouth, though her eyes remained cold. "Wrong answer."

Without warning, she struck. Her fist connected with his jaw in a fluid, precise motion. He groaned, blood spurting from his lip, but Lada wasn't done. Her knee slammed into his ribs, the crack audible in the grim silence of the warehouse.

"Last chance." Her voice was calm, as if she wasn't delivering punishment but simply asking for a favor. "Who sent you?"

"I told you," the man spat blood onto the floor, defiance still burning in his eyes. "I'm not saying anything."

Lada's patience snapped. She grabbed him by the collar, pulling him to his feet before slamming him against the wall. Her face was inches from his, eyes blazing with barely restrained fury. "Do you really think this is a game? Do you understand who I am?"

His breath came in shallow gasps, but he still said nothing.

Lada's fist flew again, then her elbow followed, cracking his nose with the kind of precision that spoke of her Muay Thai training. His body slumped against the wall, blood pouring from his face, his resolve crumbling.

"Wait... wait," he gasped, eyes wide with terror now. "Alright! I'll talk."

Lada released him, stepping back with a cold, controlled look. "Speak. Now."

"It's... it's Bella's crew," he stammered, his voice trembling. "They're trying to move in, take control of the distribution here. We were just following orders."

Lada stared at him, her eyes narrowing. "Bella," she repeated, the name like poison on her tongue. "I should've known."

She turned away from him, her hand resting on the grip of her Glock. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" Without looking back, she called to her men, her voice sharp. "Finish it."