Daniel woke as the car slowed. That moment between sleep and wakefulness hit him like a wave—dizziness, the hum of air, the weight of stillness. He blinked, not sure how long he'd been out, but felt the grit of tension next to him. James was already stepping out of the car, silent as a shadow.
A pair of well-dressed guards flanked the black sedan. Their faces were still, professional. Daniel climbed out, bracing himself against a rush of cold air. The stretch of pavement ahead was lit by broad, low-slung lamps. Nothing like the base—it was too polished, but eerily quiet.
James walked first. Daniel followed one pace behind. They passed more guards—Dane's men—before reaching a set of sleek double doors.
Inside, the muted click of polished floors and soft lighting marked the transition. This wasn't a hallway. It was a private lounge––reserved, silent, and exclusive.
No windows. No spectators. Just the room.
A soft hum of air conditioning filled the space. A black-marble table stretched along one side of the room, chairs set perfectly around it. At the far end, a man sat—calm, unmoving, composed like a statue. Gideon Graves. There was power in his stillness, arms resting on the table like he weighed the world without flinching.
Beside him sat another figure—leaner, quieter, sharper. Eyes like glass, posture unshaken. Kieran Huxley. His gaze flicked to Daniel for only a second, but it was enough to send a ripple down his spine.
Daniel's gut knotted.
And then—Dane. Lounging slightly off to the side, relaxed. No announcement. No fanfare. Just that same careful smile that never gave away anything but suggested everything.
James didn't slow. He walked in and pulled a chair opposite Gideon, scraping it slightly as he sat. Daniel remained standing, beside James's men—four of them.
Dane's gaze drifted to Daniel. That smile came again. The kind that didn't mock—but didn't reassure either. It hid things. Familiar things.
The silence pressed.
James leaned forward slightly, eyes on the table, then on the three of them.
"I wasn't expecting you guys here," he said, his voice low. Calm, but edged. "If you lured me here, there's something behind it. So let's not waste time."
There was a pause.
Gideon's head tilted the slightest bit, as if amused.
"It's been a while," he said, voice deep, slow. "And that's how you greet us?"
James shrugged, no warmth in his response.
"If you two are here without good reason, it won't be anything pleasant. So keep your bullshit where it belongs. Talk."
A flicker of tension moved across Kieran's jaw. But his voice was even.
"That's fair," he said, eyes narrowing slightly as they flicked toward Dane. "You called him here. Tell him yourself."
All attention shifted.
Dane didn't move right away. He let the quiet stretch a little longer. Then he looked at James. A light sigh escaped him—as if even now, he hated to say it out loud.
"James," he began slowly, "the boss no longer wants you to be the one controlling Brookhaven."
He let the words settle.
James didn't flinch. He simply leaned back slightly, gaze unmoving.
"So you lured me here thinking you could take me down and take over?"
A small chuckle escaped Dane. Not amused. Not mocking. Just inevitable.
"Not exactly," he said. His fingers played with the seam of the couch for a moment. Then, with a slow blink, he continued. "Like I said—the boss doesn't want you there anymore. He told us to take you down. That's what we're doing. We follow orders."
He paused, his eyes briefly sliding toward Daniel, then back to James.
"You really took me lightly, didn't you?"
He exhaled again, but this one was slower. Measured.
"And while we're at it—your base is being ambushed. Right now. While you're here. That means the power structure you built? It's going to crumble overnight. We wanted you away from it. Them away from you. So tonight—"
He stood up as he finished, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve.
"—tonight will be the last day of your reign over Brookhaven."
The words hit like a gunshot through glass.
Daniel's heart stopped for a second.
Ambushed. The base. His friends.
He didn't move—but something inside him did.
James was quiet. Not stunned. Just… letting it sink in.
Then he pushed his chair back and stood.
His tone came with a sharp edge this time:
"So who's first?"
"Let's not waste time shit-chatting."
A flicker of amusement passed across Dane's face.
Kieran and Gideon exchanged a glance. Something unreadable passed between them.
Gideon stood.
The legs of the chair scraped softly against the marble floor as he rose. There was nothing flashy about his movements—just slow, deliberate confidence. The kind of confidence that didn't need proving.
Kieran stayed seated, his fingers now lightly tapping the table again. He looked toward James.
"You really have to fight?" he asked. "You could just stay here, James. Let the rest play out."
James didn't look at him. Didn't answer. It was like Kieran didn't exist.
The room shifted.
James and Gideon stepped out into the open, moving away from the table. Their steps echoed faintly off the polished floor. Tension gripped the air like static.
Daniel stood frozen. Still near James's men. But his pulse—fast.
This was different.
He had fought strong people before. Hell—he had fought James.
But the way Gideon moved… the stillness in his body… it wasn't normal. The room itself seemed to shrink under his presence.
Daniel wasn't sure James could win.
He clenched his fists. It wasn't fear—it was instinct. The kind that only kicks in when you're standing in front of people who have survived too many fights.
Then, without warning—Gideon moved.
His fist cut through the air like a hammer.
James sidestepped just in time, but the wind pressure made his hair whip sideways. The sound of it alone was violent.
If that had landed—
James wouldn't be standing.
James didn't speak. He slipped into stance — the kind Daniel had seen once before during their fight, but this was sharper. Cleaner. It was as if James had peeled away all the restraint, all the calm, and now stood as something far more dangerous.
Gideon came in again. A hook aimed at the ribs.
James deflected with his elbow and countered — two lightning-fast jabs to Gideon's chest followed by a low sweep aimed at his knees. But Gideon didn't budge. His legs barely shifted.
A punch came back — this time low, targeting James' side. It connected.
A heavy thud rang out as James took the shot. His body twisted from the impact, but he didn't fall. Instead, he turned the motion into momentum, swinging behind Gideon and landing a clean uppercut to the base of his jaw.
Blood spilled from Gideon's mouth.
But it only made him smile.
He stepped forward like a beast unchained, lifting James with a sudden shove and slamming him against the nearby wall. A deep crack echoed through the room as plaster splintered.
James shoved back hard — and the second he broke free, he drove his knee straight into Gideon's gut.
Then an elbow to the nose.
A crunch.
Blood poured freely now — Gideon's nose clearly broken.
He stumbled back a step.
James didn't waste the moment. He closed the distance again — a blur of movement — and tackled Gideon to the ground.
In seconds, he had his back. Arms snaking around his neck.
Rear naked choke. Tight. Locked in.
Gideon's hands clawed at James' arm.
His breath faltered.
Daniel's heart was in his throat.
For a second — a full second — it looked like it was over.
But then—
Wham.
A punch — straight to James' thigh.
Another.
And another.
Gideon was hammering the same nerve spot again and again, knuckles digging into muscle, deep and brutal.
James' leg began to tremble.
His jaw clenched, holding the choke, but pain bloomed like fire through his leg.
He couldn't hold it.
With a strangled breath, his grip loosened—just enough.
Gideon twisted hard, throwing his weight. The two crashed to the floor in a tangled heap. James rolled away, just in time to dodge a stomp meant to cave his ribs in.
He got back on his feet, but his leg dragged slightly.
He'd taken damage.
Heavy.
Daniel exhaled sharply.
This wasn't a normal fight.
His fingers curled into fists.
He was here with James—watching him get tossed around like this made his adrenaline spike.
He didn't rush in—not yet. But his body reacted on its own, shifting, ready to move.
And that's when Dane turned to him.
A smirk.
A subtle, knowing smile—like he had been waiting for this exact reaction.
Daniel froze.
What was that smile?
It wasn't mocking.
It wasn't taunting.
It was as if Dane had expected Daniel to get involved.
Back in the center of the room, James was limping slightly now. He shook out his leg, forcing the pain down.
Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but he lifted his hands again.
"Tch… This bastard hits hard," James muttered, just loud enough.
Gideon rolled his shoulder, cracked his neck, then charged.
The two met mid-room.
Blow for blow.
A left jab.
A body shot.
James ducked.
Gideon spun and slammed his elbow into James' side, but James retaliated immediately with a cross to the face that made Gideon stagger.
Another punch — to Gideon's ribs.
The same spot James had targeted earlier.
A crack this time.
Gideon winced. His breath came short.
But he didn't fall.
He came back swinging. A brutal overhand — James blocked — but the follow-up kick caught his injured thigh.
James dropped to one knee.
But only for a second.
He rose, grabbed Gideon by the collar, and with a raw roar — slammed his forehead into Gideon's nose again.
Blood exploded. Gideon stepped back.
Both men were panting now.
Bruised. Battered. Breathing hard.
Daniel watched, unable to blink.
This isn't a battle between men.
This is a war between monsters.
Gideon lunged again — but this time, James didn't dodge.
He stepped into the punch.
It collided with his side — a brutal shot that should've knocked him out. His leg twisted under him. He collapsed to one knee again, nearly done.
But…
He stood.
Slow.
Shaky.
But he stood.
Chest heaving. Arms loose. Eyes sharp.
Ready for more.
Gideon stared at him, blinking slowly. The blood still ran down his face. His ribs ached. He exhaled.
"You were always someone who wouldn't admit your loss," he said. "I forgot that."
James didn't respond.
He just stood there.
Silent.
Unyielding.
Gideon smirked — not with mockery, but something else.
Something almost… proud.
He raised a hand, palm open.
"I forfeit."
The word landed like thunder in the silence that followed.
James didn't move.
His fists were still clenched. Eyes still burning. But slowly, slowly… his stance lowered.
Daniel didn't breathe.
Even though Gideon had said the words, there was no weakness in them.
No shame.
Just acknowledgment.
Gideon turned, rolling his shoulder as if shaking off the fight. "You win." He said it so casually, as if the outcome didn't really matter to him. But before James could even process that victory, the real shift in the room happened.
A slow, deliberate clap.
Kieran Huxley.
Kieran leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting lightly on the black-marble table. His fingers tapped once against the polished surface before he rose to his feet, adjusting his cuffs.
"Done already?" His voice was smooth, almost amused.
Gideon let out a breath, stepping aside. "Not my fight anymore."
Daniel's gut twisted slightly. This was what he'd been wary of since the beginning. Kieran had never intended to stay out of this.
Kieran's gaze flicked toward James, scanning him with the precision of someone measuring an opponent—not by their strength, but by their weaknesses.
"I expected more."
James exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah? Disappointed?"
Kieran chuckled, the sound soft, controlled. "Not really."
Then, he took a single step forward.
Daniel tensed.
James shifted his stance.
Even Gideon, now off to the side, gave Kieran a glance—not of concern, but of recognition.
Kieran continued walking until he stood directly across from James. The difference between him and Gideon was immediate. Gideon was raw power—he fought like a brawler, overwhelming opponents through sheer force.
Kieran?
Kieran was different.
The way he moved, the way he held himself—there was something dangerous about his calmness. Unlike Gideon, who had been ready for a fight from the start, Kieran looked as if he'd been waiting for his turn.
James exhaled through his nose, shaking off the lingering pain in his legs. "So what? You stepping in now?"
Kieran tilted his head slightly. "It'd be rude to let you leave without giving you the proper experience."
His fingers flexed briefly before he settled into position.
"Shall we?"
The real fight was about to begin.
James clenched his fists, his breath steady but not unaffected. His body had already taken a brutal beating from Gideon—his limbs ached, his lip was busted, and blood stained the collar of his shirt. Still, he didn't step back.
Kieran's gaze never left him, though there was no urgency in his stance. He tilted his head slightly, almost studying James. Then, he sighed.
"You're barely standing."
James exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders despite the pain. "Still breathing."
Kieran chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "That's what I hate about guys like you. Never know when to back down."
Then, he moved.
James barely had time to react.
A blur—Kieran was fast.
The first punch slammed into James' side. A clean hit. Sharp, precise. Unlike Gideon's raw power, Kieran's strikes weren't about brute force. They were controlled, calculated—each blow meant to break an opponent down piece by piece.
James staggered. His feet dragged half an inch back, but he still stood. His teeth clenched as he forced his body forward, throwing a counter.
Kieran slipped through it.
Before James' fist could connect, Kieran's second hit landed—a jab to the ribs, perfectly placed. James felt his breath hitch, his already bruised body screaming in protest.
He was being dismantled.
Another punch. A strike to the temple. His vision blurred for half a second.
Kieran exhaled through his nose, stepping back slightly, letting James catch his breath—not out of kindness, but out of boredom.
"This isn't even a fight anymore." His voice was calm, unwavering.
James swallowed the blood in his mouth, jaw tightening. He refused to fall.
Kieran's gaze flicked around the room. He sighed again, shaking his head before looking toward Dane. "You called them here for this?"
Dane smirked, but didn't respond.
Kieran turned his attention back to James.
"I'm fighting a wounded warrior." His voice carried a slight edge of disappointment. His hands lowered slightly, as if he was done throwing punches. "Is there someone to volunteer?"
The words hung in the air.
Daniel's pulse spiked.
The thought hit him instantly. He was the second-in-command here. He had come to support James. And yet… now, in this moment, no one else stepped forward.
Daniel's fingers twitched.
His entire body screamed at him not to move. He wasn't weak, but this wasn't his fight. This wasn't his category. He wasn't supposed to be the one here.
But his body betrayed him.
He took a step forward.
And in that instant—
"Stop."
A voice.
Someone else had moved before him.
Daniel turned, breath still tight in his chest.
A man had stepped in front of him, pushing past. A figure he knew all too well.
Cyrus Hale.
James' closest ally. His strongest subordinate.
He was taller than Daniel, built with a frame that carried both speed and power. A man who had stood beside James through more battles than Daniel had even been part of. He wasn't just a soldier—he was a warhound.
Cyrus rolled his shoulders, his stance loose but firm. He barely even glanced at Daniel before locking eyes with Kieran.
"I'll do it."
A slow smirk tugged at Kieran's lips. "Finally."
Daniel let out a quiet breath. He hadn't even realized how tense his body had been until now.
It wasn't him.
But as he watched Cyrus step forward, standing in front of Kieran, something in his gut twisted.
This fight wasn't for Cyrus to win.
The air felt different.
Gideon's fight had been raw power. A clash of sheer brute strength where every blow felt like an earthquake. But this? This was precision against adaptability.
Cyrus and Kieran faced each other at the center of the room, both relaxed but focused. The moment the fight began, it was clear—this was a different kind of battle.
Kieran moved first.
His steps were light, smooth, like a predator circling its prey. No wasted movement. No unnecessary force. Sharp. Efficient. Deadly.
Cyrus wasn't stiff either. His eyes followed Kieran's movements, his stance loose, his fists raised in a careful guard. He was reading Kieran just as much as Kieran was reading him.
Then—an opening.
Cyrus lunged.
A sharp left jab. It was fast—almost too fast—but Kieran tilted his head just enough for it to miss by a fraction. In that split second, Kieran's hand whipped forward.
A counter.
Cyrus twisted at the last second, blocking the attack with his forearm, but the force behind it sent a shiver up his arm.
Kieran wasn't just fast. He was calculated.
Cyrus didn't stop. He pushed forward, throwing a combination—a feint followed by a low kick aimed at Kieran's ribs.
Kieran didn't just dodge. He disappeared.
A blur—Cyrus' leg struck empty air.
A ghost-like step.
And then—
Boom!
A fist sank into Cyrus' ribs.
The force behind it wasn't like Gideon's. It was precise. It was meant to break down an opponent piece by piece.
Cyrus staggered back.
A fraction of a second later, Kieran was on him again.
A sharp hook—Cyrus barely managed to duck. But Kieran was already adjusting, pivoting on his foot—
A knee to the gut.
"Kh—!" Cyrus coughed.
He stumbled back, feet dragging against the marble, but he didn't fall.
Kieran exhaled through his nose, light on his feet. No wasted movement. No expression. It was like he was toying with him.
Cyrus regained his breath.
And then—he smiled.
He lunged again.
This time, he didn't hold back.
A flurry of punches—fast, aggressive. Not wild, but adaptable. Cyrus wasn't a brawler. He was a fighter. And he was learning.
Kieran dodged—left, right, duck, weave. But Cyrus wasn't letting him breathe.
A low kick. Kieran avoided it.
A feint—another strike from the side.
This time—it landed.
A solid hit to Kieran's ribs.
A split-second opening—Cyrus pressed in.
He followed up instantly. A straight punch, backed by his full weight—
And Kieran smiled.
Before it landed—
Kieran's hand snapped up, catching Cyrus' wrist.
In the same motion, he twisted.
A shift of weight. A counterbalance.
Boom!
Cyrus' body slammed into the floor, hard enough to crack the marble beneath.
Daniel's eyes widened.
It was over.
Before Cyrus could even react, Kieran was already on him.
He straddled Cyrus' chest, one hand pressing against his throat, the other already cocked back for another punch.
The air felt heavy.
James clenched his fists. His entire body screamed in protest, but his anger burned hotter than the pain. He started to move—
Crack!
A fist connected.
Not James'.
Dane's.
The hit was fast. Unannounced. A single, fluid strike—right across Kieran's face.
The impact sent Kieran off Cyrus, his body tilting as he caught himself with one hand against the floor.
A moment of silence.
Then—
Kieran wiped his mouth.
He ran his tongue over his teeth, tasting the faint metallic tang of blood. His grin widened, eyes locking onto Dane with a glint of amusement—not anger.
The room held its breath.
James, still bruised and aching, felt his fists tremble. His fury was raw, boiling over—he had been ready to throw himself back into the fight, ready to break Kieran apart if his body could just hold up. But Dane had stepped in.
Why?
The same thought passed through everyone's minds.
Dane flicked his wrist, shaking off the force from the punch. His smirk was still there, but his eyes—they were sharp. Serious. Calculated.
Kieran rolled his jaw, exhaling through his nose. "That was a solid hit," he admitted, tilting his head. "But, tell me, Dane—"
His eyes darkened.
"Who said you could step in?"
The tension in the room coiled like a spring about to snap.
Gideon, who had been standing silently, finally took a step forward. His broad frame cast a long shadow over the space, and when he spoke, his voice was low—dangerous.
"You're picking a side, Dane?"
Dane chuckled, slipping his hands into his pockets like this wasn't the defining moment of the war they had all been fighting.
"Picking a side?" he echoed, his tone light. "Nah. I'm just leveling the playing field."
Gideon's eyes narrowed. Kieran's expression, however, remained unreadable. But the shift in the air was undeniable.
Dane had just thrown the first punch—not at the enemy. But at his own ally.
James' breaths were shallow. He didn't trust Dane. Not fully. Not yet. But one thing was clear—the battlefield had changed.
And then—
The doors burst open.
The impact echoed through the space.
Dane didn't move.
But Kieran and Gideon did.
In an instant, their men rushed in.
James' body tensed—ready for another battle, even if his wounds screamed otherwise. But something was off.
The flood of figures pouring into the room wasn't just Gideon and Kieran's forces.
Dane's men trailed behind.
They were turning against Kieran and Gideon's men.
The room erupted into chaos.
Kieran's smirk faded. Just slightly. Gideon's eyes burned with realization.
They had just been betrayed.
One of Kieran's subordinates lunged at Dane.
Dane didn't move.
Instead—
His men intercepted.
A blur of motion—punches landed, bodies slammed against the walls, the sound of fists meeting flesh filled the space.
James and his men held their ground, confused but ready. They weren't being attacked—they were being defended.
Gideon's glare was molten. "So this is how you play, huh?"
Kieran licked his split lip, grinning once again.
"Interesting."
"Retreat," Kieran commanded.
Kieran's and Gideon's men hesitated for a moment but they moved as their leader's commanded.
Kieran turned back as he reached the door. His eyes, though still carrying amusement, had something deeper lurking within them.
"Your base is already ours," he said. "This changes nothing."
"Don't underestimate my crews," James replied. "When you fight for something greater than yourself, you don't give up."
Dane smirked, a hint of respect flashing in his eyes. He turned slightly, glancing at James and Daniel.
Before long, only Dane's forces and James' men remained.
"Let's go." His voice was calm, but it carried a weight that couldn't be ignored. He gestured toward them.
"We've got a base to reclaim."
They made their way out.
The hallway outside was just as bright as when they'd walked in—spotless lights overhead, wide open space. But now the aftermath was undeniable.
Streaks of blood cut across the floor like forgotten brushstrokes. A trail marked where someone had been dragged away in a hurry. Two bodies—still breathing, barely conscious—lay crumpled near the far wall.
Dane's men were already moving them. Quiet. Efficient. Like this was protocol.
Daniel's eyes flicked toward the blood, toward the distant groan of someone waking back up. He didn't know whose side they were on.
Neither did it seem to matter.
No one looked back. Not Kieran. Not Gideon. Not even James.
Outside, the night waited.
The glass doors opened silently, and the sharp scent of rain on concrete greeted them. The cars were already parked—engines warm, idling.
No words.They stepped in.
The car door slammed shut.
Almost instantly, the vehicle lurched forward—smooth, but fast. The tires whispered against the wet pavement as Dane pulled them into motion without a word.
James exhaled, leaning back into the seat, his muscles finally acknowledging the toll of the fight. His legs protested, his knuckles still raw, but his mind was elsewhere—piecing together everything, trying to see the full picture.
Daniel sat beside him, quiet. Not out of fear, not out of shock, but because he was thinking. Processing. Trying to figure out what the hell they had just been thrown into.
Dane sat in the front, one hand lazily on the wheel, the other flicking a lighter open and shut. Click. Click. Click. The rhythmic sound filled the silence. He hadn't even looked at them since they got in.
Finally, James had had enough."Start talking."
Dane's smirk barely flickered. He glanced at James through the rearview mirror. "Talking about what?"
James' jaw tightened. "Don't play dumb. What was all that back there? Why the hell did you step in?"
Dane exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Because you were losing."
James shot him a glare, but Dane only chuckled.
Daniel leaned forward slightly. "That's not the real reason, though."
Dane glanced at him now, his smirk stretching just a little wider. Smart."No. It's not."
He let the silence linger again, the weight of unspoken things filling the car. Then, finally, he spoke.
"You've seen it now, right?" His voice was quieter, but not weak. Measured. Serious. "This fight, your crew, their crew, all of it? This isn't just about territory. It's not just about strength. It never was."
James didn't respond, but his stare told Dane to keep going.
Dane exhaled. "Everything you've been through—everything you think you know—has been leading up to something bigger. And the ones pulling the strings?" He let out a humorless chuckle. "They've been at this game long before you ever stepped in."
Daniel frowned slightly. "Who?"
Dane flicked his lighter again. Click. Click.
Then he let go of the wheel with one hand, reaching into the passenger seat. A newspaper slip. He tossed it onto the backseat.
James and Daniel stared at it.
A newspaper from 17 years ago—its edges worn, the title still legible: "Country on Lockdown."
"That," Dane said, eyes still on the road, "is where it all begins."