Fury and Flame | 3

5 | 3

J A K E

I walked down the sidewalk alone, my own footfalls the only close sounds in the night, though the city never really slept. The freezing air caressed my face as I walked swiftly to my intended target. I didn't shiver.

Half-heartedly surveying the darkened city around me, I took in its splendor, its opportunity. Before Hundsen's betrayal, everyone with ties to the criminal underworld knew my name. The city itself bowed to me, for it knew what would happen if it didn't.

It had been mine once. And it would be mine again.

Piece by piece, shred by shred, I was knocking Hundsen down from the pedestal he'd built for himself. We'd never been equal. I'd known that since I was a child: that if I wanted power, that I'd become the most brutal criminal to get it. More brutal than my father. More brutal than Hundsen. No, we'd never been equal. He was nothing more than the blood beneath my nails.

I'd been happy to chip his power away for years if it meant his ultimate downfall, but even I grew impatient. My plan had come together and I could now check off the things I'd taken from him with more satisfaction instead of the constant desire for more, more, more. His eye. His wife. His home. His lieutenant and sister. His other business. And piece by piece, his power. But I still wanted more.

Now, I turned my sights to the Club.

It had been mine too. Never by birthright, not by being born into it, despite the fact that I was. That wasn't how things worked. I'd gotten it by clawing my way to the top, by not caring whose head I had to put a hole into in order to get there. I still didn't.

The thought echoed through my mind as I became aware of another presence, another source of warmth following me. The city was far from vacant, but I'd been followed for blocks now. It was not a coincidence.

Not breaking my stride or changing my demeanor in the slightest, I wrapped my fingers around the cold handle of my gun. And stopped.

"I know you're there," I said, facing away from the person tracking my movements. "You can stop pretending to be casual."

"Evans." A deep, raspy voice behind me. Only then did I turn, gun aimed for the man's head.

He stumbled back a few steps, though I knew he wasn't as stunned as he let on. When the yellow light from above hit his face, I recognized him as Scotty—one of the men Hundsen had ordered to bring me to him after I'd 'killed' his wife. I'd let Scotty live, not wanting to waste Club blood. Now, I wondered if I'd made a mistake. 

      "The last time I saw you, you were with the men who tried to cut my eye out." The gun was frozen in the air before his tanned face. "You have five seconds to explain yourself before I pull this trigger."

      "I'm not here to kill you." He spoke normally but I caught the sense of urgency in his voice as he sought to explain himself in time. "I'm here to deliver a message from Hundsen himself."

      I nearly scoffed. "What, the old man couldn't tell me himself? He's losing his nerve."

      Scotty shook his head once, seriousness etching across his rough face. "You'll understand when you read this." He held a folded piece of paper out to me and I took it.

      Gun still in the air, I unfolded the paper with one hand and saw that it was a letter. Knowing that it was a trap from the second I saw it, I began reading.

      Evans,

      I hope you'll understand why I haven't delivered this message to you myself. We are at war. We have been for years now. Things have been taken away in the crossfire, but the object of desire for both of us is clear: the Club. I know you want it. It hasn't escaped me that some members remain loyal to you. I also know you wish to restore yourself to your former glory. You'd do anything to have it again, I think.

      Prove me right. Prove me right by putting an end to this secrecy and spying and simply facing my power like a man. If you truly want the Club, you'll fight for it. And believe me when I say there are many Club members loyal to me who want your head. They are hungry for your blood.

      I'll put it frankly: fight my men in front of the ones loyal to you, and if you win, the Club is yours. If you lose, I let my men have their way with you and then take your head for a trophy. No tricks, no scheming. Just us, in a fight for what we both want.

      But only one can have it.

      May the most cunning man win.

      At the bottom of the letter, an address and a date was listed.

      He'd said no tricks, no scheming. But this was a trap. I knew it. And he didn't even care that I did. Hundsen insulted my pride and was forcing me into fighting to prove myself because he knew that I wouldn't refuse.

      My gaze flicked to Scotty and I removed the safety on the gun with a click. He barely jerked back. "Don't shoot. I want to see you win. Not him." There was no extra warmth emanating from a telltale heart—he wasn't lying. 

      "Even so," I said, dropping the gun to his shoulder and pulling the trigger. His hand went immediately to the wound, but he looked back up at me like it hadn't been entirely unexpected. "That's for tailing me. Tell Hundsen you burned the letter. Now go back to your master before I change my mind about not killing you."

      Clutching his shoulder, he nodded and I saw determination in his deep-set eyes. He'd taken the bullet well, as if a friend had shot it rather than an enemy. When he turned and disappeared into the night, I lowered both the gun and my gaze onto the letter.

      It was a trap.

      But I was still going.