Chains rattled with every shallow breath Aiden took. His arms ached, shoulders stretched to the point of tearing, but his mind was sharper than it had been in weeks. Maybe months. The haze of pain was nothing compared to the fire in his chest.
He wasn't dead. Not yet.
The metal door creaked open, and footsteps echoed off the concrete like war drums—slow, deliberate. A figure stepped into the dim glow of the flickering warehouse light.
Reese. A young face, inked with a fresh serpent coiled around his throat. New blood. One of Dee's lieutenants, trying too hard to walk like a boss.
He stared at Aiden with that crooked, twitchy smile that never quite reached his eyes.
"Never thought I'd see a legend like this," Reese said, gesturing at the chains. "Shade, on a hook like meat."
Aiden didn't answer.
Reese paced a slow circle around him, letting silence build tension.
"You fucked up," Reese said, leaning in close enough for Aiden to smell cheap cologne and cigarettes.
"You dipped with money that wasn't yours. Left Dee scrambling to keep order. People died trying to cover the hole you blew in our operations."
Aiden's lip curled, his voice rough and low. "That money was never yours to begin with. It was mine. Every dime earned off my name. Off my blood."
Reese's smile faltered.
"You think this is about pride?" he snapped. "This is about loyalty. Rules. The gang doesn't run on feelings, Shade. You taught us that."
Aiden's eyes burned with a dangerous calm. "The gang was a tool. It was never a family."
He tilted his head back against the wall, chains groaning.
"I built it to find the ones who ruined my life. The ones who hurt my mother. My brother. I didn't build it for a fucking legacy. You all turned it into a throne of rot."
Reese's jaw tightened. "We kept it alive. Dee's trying to hold the pieces together. But you—you ran like a coward."
"No," Aiden said. "I left like a man who finished what he started."
His voice dropped an octave—calm, cold, lethal. "You know what I learned? Revenge doesn't fill the hole. It just changes what you're hungry for."
Reese looked uncertain now. Younger. His bravado cracked at the edges.
"You left us bleeding," he said, softer now. "You were supposed to be the foundation. The standard."
"I was a storm," Aiden muttered. "Not a savior."
Reese stepped back, unsure.
"You keep saying Dee's fixing things," Aiden said. "But he's patching holes in a sinking ship. And you? You're just rearranging the deck chairs."
Reese glanced toward the door—like he was about to leave. But he hesitated.
"What now?" he asked. "You gonna preach from the chains?"
Aiden gave a small, bitter smile. "No."
He leaned forward, the steel groaning. "I'm just waiting for the right moment."
The flicker in Reese's eyes was pure, uncut fear.
Second later Reese's phone buzzed.
The vibration cut through the still air like a warning. He glanced down, thumbed the cracked screen. His eyes narrowed. Then his mouth twisted into something ugly.
"Speak of the devil," he muttered, and answered.
Aiden couldn't hear all of Dee's voice, but the tone said everything. Cold. Controlled. Dangerous. It was the voice of someone giving orders like he was ordering lunch.
Reese's expression darkened.
"You sure?" he asked.
A beat of silence. Then, a nod.
"Yeah… I can do that."
He hung up, pocketed the phone, and turned to face Aiden again. The smirk was gone. Replaced by something colder. Hungrier.
"Boss wants a message sent," Reese said, walking to a covered workbench. He pulled back a tarp to reveal a car battery wired with jumper cables. Grease-stained. Already scorched at the clamps.
"You know how this goes," he said. "You taught us half of it."
Aiden didn't flinch.
"I also taught you when to stop."
Reese grinned, grabbing the cables.
"Guess I missed that day."