The silence after the slaughter was heavier than blood.
Smoke curled through the rafters. Boots crunched over bullet casings and broken radios. The emergency lights flickered, casting a red pulse over the bodies.
And then, Dee arrived.
His boots echoed against the concrete as he walked through the aftermath like a king inspecting his ruined kingdom. Leather jacket pristine. Chains jangling lightly on his wrist. Not a speck of blood on him.
Two trucks pulled up behind him.
More men. Twenty at least.
But Dee raised a hand.
"Stay outside."
The command was casual. Cold.
Inside the warehouse, Dee moved like this was his throne room.
He stepped over a body with a bullet hole between the eyes. Another with his throat slit. His grin widened.
"Shade," he called into the dark. "I gotta hand it to you. You never disappoint."
No answer.
Just the hum of fluorescent lights and the faint buzz of flies starting to gather.
He stepped deeper into the warehouse.
A blade clattered to the floor behind him.
He turned.
Aiden.
Standing in the corridor's mouth, shirt torn, arms streaked in blood—his own and others. Bruised, breathing hard, but steady.
Steel in his spine. Fire in his eyes.
Dee's smile sharpened. "Well damn, look who finally decided to show."
Aiden didn't speak.
He just raised the pistol.
Bang.
Dee sidestepped.
The bullet carved into his arm, a clean graze.
He didn't even flinch.
"Oh, we doin' this already? I was hopin' we'd talk first."
"You talked enough," Aiden growled.
The Fight Begins
They collided like titans.
Dee surged forward with a chain-wrapped fist, swinging like a wrecking ball. Aiden ducked, countered with a flurry of punches—jaw, ribs, side.
Dee laughed through the blood in his mouth.
"Still got that dog in you."
He slammed Aiden into a pillar. Rebar bent. Dust rained down.
Aiden kicked off the column, drove an elbow into Dee's throat, then swept his legs out from under him.
They hit the ground hard, scrambling for control.
Dee headbutted him—hard enough to daze.
Then he was on top, punching like a piston. Aiden's nose cracked. His lip split.
But Shade was still there. Buried under the pain.
Aiden twisted his hips, bucked Dee off, rolled to his feet, and grabbed the nearest crowbar.
Steel met bone.
He slammed it into Dee's side—once, twice—until Dee roared and tackled him again.
The Turning Point
Dee pulled a knife. A long, curved one.
"You think this ends with me dead?" he spat. "You forgot who made you."
He lunged.
Aiden caught his wrist mid-swing. Muscles locked. The knife wavered.
A footstep behind them.
A shot rang out.
Connie.
Bleeding. Staggered. But aiming.
The bullet went wide—but it bought Aiden a second.
Just one.
It was enough.
Aiden twisted the knife out of Dee's grip and buried it in his gut.
Dee gasped.
His smile finally broke.
"You... always were... a traitor..."
Aiden's voice was flat.
"No. I just stopped playing your game."
He shoved the knife in deeper.
Dee collapsed, blood pouring from his mouth.
The Aftermath
Aiden stood over him, chest heaving, jaw clenched.
His knuckles were raw. His arms trembled—but his spine didn't bend.
Behind him, Connie sank to her knees, coughing blood.
Rosalie stood in the warehouse entrance, wide-eyed, lit by the fire starting to catch from an overturned barrel.
Aiden turned slowly.
The war was over.
But he wasn't sure he survived it.