The basement meeting room beneath King's Paradise smelled like stale metal and blood.
Jack sat at the head of the table, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge.
Steely sat across from him, his shoulder wrapped in gauze, his face pale but his eyes burning with fury.
Bones stood near the door, arms crossed, his jaw tight.
The silence was suffocating.
Finally, Steely spoke.
"We need to reach out to Marcus."
Jack's head snapped up. "No."
"Jack—"
"I said no."
Steely leaned forward, wincing as his shoulder protested. "We just lost nine men. Nine. We have no idea where Cage is. No intel. No leverage. He's picking us apart piece by piece, and we're sitting here with our dicks in our hands."
Jack's jaw clenched. "Reaching out to Marcus makes me look weak. Desperate."
"You are desperate," Steely shot back. "We all are."
"If I go to Marcus for help, I owe him," Jack said, his voice cold. "I'm not giving him that."
Steely slammed his good hand on the table. "Then what's your plan? Wait for Cage to kill us all?"
Jack didn't answer.
He just stared at the table, his mind racing.
I need time.
Time to think.
Time to figure out where Cage is hiding.
Time to—
The door burst open.
Maya stood in the doorway, her face pale, her eyes wide.
"Jack," she said breathlessly. "There's a cop at the front door."
Jack's blood ran cold.
"What?"
"A cop," Maya repeated. "He's registered in our system as a police officer. He's asking for you."
Jack stood slowly, his mind already calculating..
He looked at Steely and Bones. "Stay here. Don't do anything stupid."
Steely opened his mouth to argue, but Jack was already moving.
***
The warehouse level of King's Paradise was dimly lit.
Jack walked toward the front entrance, his footsteps echoing.
The bouncer—a massive man named Trent—stood near the door, his hand hovering near his waistband.
Jack shook his head. "Don't."
Trent hesitated, then stepped back.
Jack pushed open the door.
A man stood on the other side.
Late thirties. Plain clothes—dark slacks, a button-down shirt, a leather jacket. His badge was clipped to his belt.
He looked up as Jack stepped outside.
"Jack Morris?" the man asked.
Jack's expression didn't change. "Who's asking?"
The man pulled out a badge and held it up. "Detective Borne. Uptown PD."
Jack glanced at the badge, then back at Borne. "You're a little outside your jurisdiction, aren't you?"
Borne smiled faintly. "I have an arrest warrant. That gives me jurisdiction anywhere in the city."
Jack's jaw tightened, but his voice stayed calm. "What's the charge?"
Borne pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket and handed it to Jack.
Jack unfolded it, his eyes scanning the text.
Prostitution. Illegal gambling. Racketeering.
Jack's expression didn't change.
He folded the paper and handed it back. "This is bullshit."
"Maybe," Borne said. "But it's a warrant. So turn around and put your hands behind your back."
Jack didn't move.
For a long moment, the two men stared at each other.
Then Jack turned slowly, placing his hands behind his back.
Borne pulled out a pair of handcuffs and snapped them around Jack's wrists.
"You have the right to remain silent," Borne said, his voice flat. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney—"
"I know my rights," Jack interrupted.
Borne smiled. "Good."
Maya appeared in the doorway, her face pale. "Jack—"
"Call my lawyer," Jack said, his voice calm. "And tell the others to enact code zero."
Maya's eyes widened. "Code zero?"
"Do it," Jack said.
Maya nodded and disappeared back inside.
Jack looked at Borne. "Let's go."
Borne led him toward an unmarked sedan parked at the curb.
Jack climbed into the back seat, his hands still cuffed behind him.
As the car pulled away, Jack stared out the window, his mind racing.
***
The interrogation room was small and cold.
A metal table. Two chairs. A mirror on one wall.
Jack sat in one of the chairs, his hands still cuffed behind him.
Detective Borne sat across from him, a folder in front of him.
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
Finally, Borne opened the folder.
"So," Borne said. "Jack Morris. King of Southside. Owner of King's Paradise. Quite the empire you've built."
Jack didn't respond.
Borne smiled faintly. "Not much of a talker, huh?"
Jack stared at him, his expression blank.
Borne leaned back in his chair. "That's fine. I'll do the talking."
He pulled out a stack of papers and spread them across the table.
"We have witness testimonies," Borne said. "Participants. People who've been inside your establishment. People who've seen what goes on there."
Jack's expression didn't change.
Borne pulled out another document. "And we have a confidential informant. High-profile. Someone with access. Someone who's given us pictures. Videos."
He slid a photograph across the table.
Jack glanced down.
It was a picture of the fighting pits.
Two men in the cage, fists flying. A crowd surrounding them, money changing hands.
Jack's jaw tightened, but he didn't speak.
The door opened.
A man in an expensive suit walked in, his briefcase in hand.
"Detective Borne," the man said. "I'm Richard Calloway. Mr. Morris's attorney. What's going on here?"
Borne gestured to the chair next to Jack. "Have a seat, counselor."
Calloway sat down, his eyes scanning the photographs on the table.
"We have witness testimony," Borne said. "Participant testimony. And a confidential informant with photographic and video evidence that pins your client as the ringleader of a prostitution and illegal gambling ring."
Calloway opened his mouth to speak, but Jack beat him to it.
"There's no prostitution in that picture," Jack said, his voice calm.
Borne raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
Jack leaned forward slightly. "That's a picture of two men fighting. And I can't help it if people decide to bet money at my completely legal, licensed, and permitted bar and nightclub."
Borne's smile widened. "And the two men fighting?"
Jack shrugged. "Bar fight. Two drunk guys. Nothing to do with me."
Calloway put a hand on Jack's arm. "Stop talking."
Jack ignored him.
Borne collected the photographs and slid them back into the folder.
"Your best option," Borne said, "is to plead guilty. That way, you'll get a lighter sentence. Otherwise, this goes to court, and I'll treat it as a RICO case. Racketeering. Organized crime. You'll be looking at twenty years minimum."
Jack's expression didn't change. "No."
Borne's smile faded. "No?"
"I'm not pleading guilty to something I didn't do," Jack said.
Borne leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. "Then I'll see you at your detention hearing. Twenty-four hours. Be there."
Calloway stood. "Is my client free to go?"
Borne nodded. "For now."
***
The lawyer's car smelled like leather and expensive cologne.
Jack sat in the passenger seat, his hands finally free of the cuffs.
Calloway drove in silence for a few minutes, his jaw tight.
"You need to prepare for war," Jack said.
Calloway glanced at him. "Jack—"
"I don't care what it takes," Jack interrupted. "Win this."
Calloway sighed. "If there's an inside informant, and if Detective Borne has more evidence than he's showing—and I have a feeling he does—this is going to be a tough fight."
Jack's jaw tightened. "I don't care. Win it."
Calloway was silent for a moment.
Then he nodded. "I'll do my best."
Jack stared out the window, his mind already moving to the next step.
Inside informant.
Who the fuck is it.
Jack's hands clenched into fists.
I'll beat this.
And then I'll destroy him.
***
The Rose Garden didn't look like much from the outside.
A converted warehouse on the edge of Southside that used to be Rider's sole brothel. Its windows blacked out, its entrance guarded by a single bouncer.
But inside, it was something else entirely.
Red velvet curtains. Dim lighting. The smell of perfume and sweat.
Leena stood in the office on the second floor, her phone pressed to her ear.
"I understand your concerns," the voice on the other end said. "But the investment plans you're proposing would require tens of millions of dollars. And in the timeframe you're suggesting—"
"Your job," Leena interrupted, her voice cold, "is to draw up the investment plans. My job is to get the money."
The man on the other end hesitated. "Leena, I don't think you understand—"
"I understand perfectly," Leena said. "You underestimate me because I'm a woman. You think I'm some desperate whore trying to play businesswoman."
"That's not—"
"I'll show you," Leena said. "I'll get the money. You just do your job."
She hung up.
For a moment, she stood there, her hands shaking with rage.
He thinks I'm nothing.
They all think I'm nothing.
But I'll show them.
She took a deep breath and walked out of the office.
The Madam was waiting at the bottom of the stairs—a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and a tired smile.
"Ma'am," the Madam said.
Leena stopped. "It's My Queen."
The Madam blinked, then nodded. "My Queen. How can I help you?"
"How's business?" Leena asked.
The Madam's smile faded. "Slow. The cops are getting rowdier. And King's Paradise is still taking our customers."
Leena's jaw tightened. "There's going to be a change of plans."
The Madam frowned. "What do you mean?"
Leena turned to face her, her eyes cold. "The time for women selling themselves to the pleasures of men for a few scraps of money is over. From now on, the men will kneel."
The Madam stared at her, confused.
Leena didn't explain.
She just turned and walked toward the basement stairs.
***
The basement level of the Rose Garden was cold and damp.
The air smelled like mildew and old alcohol.
Leena walked past rows of shelves stocked with bottles, her heels clicking against the concrete floor.
At the far end of the basement was a caged dungeon.
And inside the cage was Rider.
He was chained to the wall by one ankle, the chain just long enough to let him move a few feet.
He was naked.
A chastity belt was locked around his waist, trapping his cock.
His chest was bandaged where the bullet had gone through, but the rest of his body was covered in bruises and scars.
He looked up as Leena approached, his eyes blazing with fury.
"You bitch," he snarled.
He lunged toward her, the chain snapping taut, his hands reaching through the bars.
Leena didn't flinch.
She just stood there, smiling.
"Let me out," Rider demanded. "Let me out or I swear to God I'll make you pay."
Leena tilted her head. "You know my demands. Sign over your shares of your company to me, and I'll let you go."
Rider spat at her. "Fuck you."
Leena's smile widened. "That's what I thought."
Footsteps echoed from the stairs.
A man appeared—mid-thirties, muscular, with a shaved head and a prison tattoo on his neck.
He looked at Leena. "Someone called the Queen told me to come down here."
Leena turned to him, her expression shifting.
Softer. Flirtatious.
"That's me," she said.
The man's eyes flicked to Rider, then back to Leena. "What do you need?"
Leena stepped closer, her voice dropping. "If you can get him to talk, I'll reward you. Handsomely."
The man's lips curved into a grin. "It's been a while since I've had a release."
He unbuckled his pants and walked toward the cage.
Rider's eyes widened. "No. No, wait—"
The man opened the cage door and stepped inside.
Rider backed up, his hands raised. "Don't—please—"
The man grabbed him by the hair and slammed him to the ground.
Leena turned and walked away, her heels clicking against the concrete.
Behind her, Rider's demands turned into desperate pleas.
Leena didn't look back.
She climbed the stairs, her mind already moving to the next step.
Rider is just the first.
Every man who used me will kneel.
Every single one.