Her words fell like weights in the room, each one slamming into the boss's chest. His breathing was loud, shallow, his eyes darting around like he was looking for a way to escape—but there was none.
He was still on his knees, his hands sweaty and shaking. He knew he wasn't supposed to say anything. That was the rule—one of the strict codes of their gang. You don't snitch. You don't name names. No matter what, you carry the secret to your grave if you have to. That was the law. Breaking it meant death, a painful one.
But here… this wasn't the usual street beating. This was Rebecca. The woman people feared to even mention by name. The Queen. The Evil. The Demon.
He looked at the equipment inside the briefcase again, then back at Rebecca's cold face. And in that moment, something in his gut told him—if he stayed quiet, he wouldn't even make it to the grave.
