Chapter 4 004

• The old warehouse on the outskirts of Chicago reeked of rust, damp concrete, and tension. Chase Connor stood in the center of the dimly lit space, his sharp grey eyes scanning the room as he adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket. The air was suspiciously heavy, thick with the unspoken threat that always seemed to accompany meetings like these.
• Santiago’s second-in-command was a wiry man with a hawkish face. Tattoos snaked up his neck, disappearing into his collar, and his dark eyes held a glint of malice that Chase had seen far too many times before. He looked like someone who thrived in the chaos of violence, someone who enjoyed it.
• “Well, well,” the man drawled, his voice as slick as oil. “The infamous Chase Connor. Finally decided to step off your pedestal and join us mere mortals?”
• Chase didn’t rise to the bait, keeping his expression carefully neutral. “I’m here to talk business, not trade insults.”
• The man smirked, leaning against a rusted metal table. “Business, huh? You think you can just waltz in here and reclaim what you left behind? It doesn’t work that way, pretty boy.”
• Chase’s jaw tightened, but he kept his tone steady. “I’m not here to reclaim anything. I’m here to settle things. Peacefully.”
• “Peacefully,” the man repeated, his smirk widening into a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s rich, coming from a Connor.”
• Chase knew the man was testing him, prodding at the edges of his composure to see if he’d snap.
• “You act like we were the ones who initiated the war when it was you all who tried to steal from us.” He stepped closer until he was fully towering over the man. “Looks like some people never change. You are still the petty little thief I remember.”
• It was when the man’s hand drifted toward his waistband, where a gun was tucked, that the tension finally broke.
• In an instant, the room erupted into chaos. Guns were drawn, the metallic clicks echoing through the warehouse as both sides squared off. Chase raised his hands slightly, his voice calm but firm.
• “Everyone, drop your weapons. Now.”
• No one moved. The second-in-command’s eyes narrowed, his finger twitching against the trigger of his gun.
• “I’m serious,” Chase said, his voice harder now. “No one needs to die today. Put the guns down.”
• But Chase knew better. Deep down, he prayed that no one would force his hand, that he wouldn’t have to add another name to the growing list of lives he’d taken.
• And then it happened. The man pulled the trigger, the bullet whizzing past Chase’s ear as he moved instinctively.
• His own finger jerked on the trigger of his gun, a reflex honed from years of survival, and the sound of the shot echoed like thunder.
• The man crumpled to the floor, a single, bloody hole in the center of his forehead.
• For a moment, there was silence. Then, one by one, the others lowered their weapons, the environment filled with unspoken understanding.
• Chase swallowed hard, his throat dry. He didn’t wait for the aftermath. He holstered his gun and walked out, his steps heavy as if the weight of the man’s death had settled onto his shoulders.
• The neon lights of the club felt too bright, too loud, but Chase needed the distraction. He sat at the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey and a cigarette, the smoke curling around him like a ghost.
• He thought he’d left that life behind. He’d promised himself, promised God, that he wouldn’t kill again. Yet, here he was, with blood on his hands once more. All thanks to the old bastard.
• The guilt churned in his gut, making the whiskey taste bitter. He stared into his glass, the amber liquid swirling like the storm in his mind.
• And then he saw her.
• She moved through the crowd like she didn’t belong there, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders and her figure catching the light in a way that made his breath hitch. Her blue eyes scanned the room, and when they met his, something clicked. Something dirty, possessive and feral erupted from within him.
• ♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎
• The club was fully packed, the sound of music vibrating through the walls and into Isabella's chest. Isabella weaved her way through, clutching her bag tightly. She wasn’t here for the noise or the drinks, she was here for Gina.
• “Over here, babe!” Gina’s voice rang out from a booth in the corner, her hand waving wildly.
• Ella sighed in relief and slid into the booth opposite her friend. Gina was already halfway through a cocktail, her cherry-red lips curved into a knowing grin.
• “Well, don’t you look like life kicked you in the ass and then stomped on your face,” Gina teased, taking a long sip from her drink.
• Ella groaned, leaning back against the booth. “It’s been a week from hell, Gina. I got fired, caught my boyfriend cheating on me, my mom’s in the hospital, and now my brother’s been taken away by a gang. A gang, Gina! What even is my life right now?”
• Gina raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed by the chaos. “Damn, girl. That’s a lot. But you know what? You’re here now, and we’re going to drink until you forget every single one of those assholes. Bartender!”
• “No, I don’t think—”
• “Shh,” Gina interrupted, wagging a finger at Ella. “No negativity allowed tonight. You’ve been dealt a crappy hand, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy a little escape. Now drink, we will figure out everything together, i promise you.”
• Ella hesitated as the bartender placed two shots of tequila in front of them, but Gina was already holding one out to her.
• “To forgetting jerks and finding something better,” Gina said with a wink.
• Ella clinked her glass against Gina’s and downed the shot. It burned all the way down, but it was the kind of burn that numbed everything else.