1:18 AM.
The glow from Reese's phone lit up his face in the dark.
His thumb hovered over the contact list.
He'd already deleted and retyped the message three times.
This was stupid.
Desperate.
He didn't care.
His fingers tapped faster now. There was no more room for caution.
Yo. I need to talk. Serious. Urgent.
He hit send.
No response.
Then… "typing."
Meet at the garage. You better bring cash.
The "garage" wasn't just any garage.
It was the garage—abandoned on the edge of Southbridge, tagged wall to wall in red slashes, a hollowed-out husk of rusted shutters and broken streetlights. The kind of place you walked past quickly, eyes down, heart racing.
He stood under the flickering bulb and waited.
Wind bit at his jacket. Sweat clung to his back anyway.
Then came the sound.
Motorcycle engines.
Two.
No headlights.
They pulled up, cut the noise, and stepped off in near silence.
Both were older. Twenties. Leather vests. One bald, built like a wrecking ball. The other wiry with a cigarette tucked behind his ear.
Reese recognized them instantly.
Lars and Trigg.
They'd ruled Eastwood just a few years back.
Suspensions. Arrests. Rumors of what happened to the kid who reported them.
Now they wore the mark of the Iron Hounds—a low-tier local gang with real bodies on record.
Lars grinned when he saw Reese.
"Didn't expect Langford to come crawling."
"I didn't come to crawl," Reese muttered.
"You came to beg," Trigg said.
Inside the garage, it smelled of oil, old beer, and smoke. A single table. Four chairs. No heat.
Reese pulled out an envelope.
"Ten grand. Cash. No trace."
Trigg raised an eyebrow.
Lars whistled. "Big boy money."
"I need protection," Reese said. "Or retaliation. Maybe both."
"Protection from what?" Lars asked. "The damn IRS?"
Reese hesitated.
Then said the name.
"Kai Mercer."
The temperature dropped.
Lars leaned forward. "Mercer."
Reese nodded. "He's been tearing my crew apart. Kellan's gone. Devin got destroyed. Max too. Everyone thinks it's just coincidence—bad luck. But I know. He's doing it. He's smart. Surgical. I can't pin anything on him. And now I'm next."
Trigg stared for a second, then cracked a small grin. "You're getting bullied by a sophomore?"
Reese's jaw clenched. "He's not normal. He's been… trained. Fights like a pro. Always knows your moves before you make 'em. And he's got dirt. On everyone."
"Sounds like a problem," Lars said.
"That's why I came to you."
The two thugs glanced at each other.
Lars drummed his fingers.
"Back when we ran Eastwood," he said slowly, "we would've broken a guy like that just for fun."
Trigg nodded. "Now? Might still be fun."
"But it's gonna cost more than ten grand," Lars added.
Reese's face twitched. "That's all I could pull together fast."
"Then we'll start with pressure," Trigg said. "See what kind of rat he really is. You want a message sent? We'll send it."
"No guns," Reese said quickly. "Not… not yet. Just scare him."
"Scare him," Lars repeated. "Sure. Let's see if he scares."
They stood.
"We'll find him," Trigg said. "You just sit tight, pretty boy. And maybe next time, don't pick fights with wolves."
Three days later
Kai stood outside the gym, sweat rolling down his back, knuckles red from heavy bag work. It was late, past 10 p.m., the streets quiet.
He turned the corner and stopped.
Three men stood at the alley entrance.
Not students.
Too old.
Too still.
One lit a cigarette.
"Evening," the bald one said.
Kai didn't answer.
"You're Kai Mercer, right?"
Still silent.
"You've got some folks upset. Made some noise. Now we're here to teach you how to be quiet."
They stepped forward.
Kai cracked his neck.
Then his knuckles.
"Bad night to pick me," he said softly.
The first came in fast—cocky, wide stance, clearly used to brawling with scared kids.
Kai sidestepped, drove his palm into the man's nose, then elbowed his ribs on the way down.
The second grabbed his arm—wrong move.
Kai spun, broke the grip, swept his leg and drove a knee straight into the side of his face.
The third—Trigg—was smarter.
He backed up. Pulled a knife.
Kai stared at him.
Measured.
Then smiled.
A flash.
He ducked the slash, grabbed Trigg's wrist, and twisted until bone snapped like dry wood.
Trigg screamed.
Kai punched him once in the stomach—low and sharp—and the thug crumpled.
All three were down in under a minute.
Kai exhaled.
Looked at the bodies around him.
"Not wolves," he said aloud.
"Just dogs."
He walked away before the sirens came.
Reese's phone buzzed at 2:11 a.m.
You told us to scare him.He scared us.You're on your own.
He stared at the message for a long time.
Then punched a hole through his closet door.