Nyx Brighton

Chapter 1

THE air hung thick with the scent of stale beer and cheap perfume. The flickering neon sign above the bar cast a sickly green glow on the faces of the men gathered around the table. Nyx sat at the head of the table, his back straight, his gaze unwavering. He was a king, a king of shadows, a king who ruled by fear, but he was also a brother, a protector, a man who would do anything, no matter the cost, to keep his little sister safe.

The men around him were not his friends, they were his pawns, his tools. They were the men who did his bidding, who carried out his orders, who kept his empire running. They were the men who owed him their lives, and they knew it.

"The shipment is due tomorrow," said a man with a scar that ran from his ear to his chin. His voice was rough, his eyes wary.

Nyx nodded, his gaze fixed on the flickering neon sign. "Make sure it arrives on time," he said, his voice a low growl. "And make sure it's clean."

"It will be," the man said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "We've taken care of everything."

Nyx knew he was lying. He knew there was always a risk, always a chance that something could go wrong. But he had to trust them, he had to rely on them. He had no choice.

"Good," Nyx said, his voice cold. "Because if anything goes wrong, you'll be the first to know."

The men around the table exchanged nervous glances. They knew Nyx was not a man to be trifled with. He was a king, a king of shadows, a king who ruled by fear.

"What about the Red Hand?" another man asked, his voice trembling slightly. "They've been making moves, trying to muscle in on our territory."

Nyx smiled, a cold, predatory smile. "The Red Hand is nothing," he said. "They're just a bunch of amateurs, trying to play a game they don't understand."

"But they're getting bolder," the man said. "They've already taken out two of our boys."

Nyx's smile widened. "Two boys," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "They're not even worth mentioning."

"But they're a threat," the man said, his voice pleading. "We need to do something about them."

Nyx leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowed. "We will," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "We will deal with them, but not now. Not until the time is right."

He knew the Red Hand was a threat, a growing threat. They were ambitious, ruthless, and they had a hunger for power that matched his own. But he was not afraid of them. He was Nyx Brighton, king of the shadows, and he would not be defeated.

"I need you to do something for me," Nyx said, his voice changing, becoming softer, more intimate. "I need you to find something for me."

"What is it?" the man asked, his eyes wide with curiosity.

"A painting," Nyx said, his voice a whisper. "A painting of a young girl, with hair the color of spun gold and eyes the clear blue of a summer sky."

The men around the table looked at each other, their faces filled with confusion.

"A painting?" one of them said, his voice laced with disbelief. "What kind of painting?"

"It's a special painting," Nyx said, his voice filled with a strange intensity. "It's a painting of my little sister."

The men around the table fell silent. They had heard rumors about Nyx's sister, Lilith, a beautiful girl who lived a life of privilege, a life shielded from the darkness that consumed her brother. They had never seen her, but they had heard stories about her, stories that spoke of her kindness, her innocence, her beauty.