Jones’ Hideout – 9:15 PM.The room smelled of sweat, desperation, and the lingering scent of blood from their brutal defeat. Jones sat at the head of the table, a fresh bruise swelling over his cheekbone, his ribs aching with every breath. The dim lights flickered above, casting jagged shadows over the weary faces of his crew.They had barely made it out alive. But survival wasn’t enough.Lexi was still in Clinton’s grasp. And that wasn’t something Jones could allow.Victor leaned against the wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched. His knuckles were still raw from the battle. “We can’t rush in like last time,” he muttered. “We got played.”Jace, bandaged but alive, exhaled sharply. “Played? We got wrecked.”Kendra, her eyes dark with fury, slammed a knife into the table. “Then we change the game.”Jones lifted his gaze, scanning each of them. The fire was still there, burning through their exhaustion. Clinton had won the battle—but not the war.“Lexi is underground,” Jones stated, voice cal

Lexi thrashed against the restraints, her wrists raw from the tight ropes digging into her skin. A damp, musky stench filled the underground room, a forgotten chamber buried beneath Blackwood College, hidden so well that even Jones wouldn’t know where to look.Clinton stood over her, arms crossed, a slow smirk curling across his lips. The dim lighting cast eerie shadows on his face, making the cold amusement in his eyes even more sinister.“You really thought he’d save you?” he mused, crouching beside her. “Jones is out there bleeding for you, but guess what, sweetheart?” He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. “He’s already lost.”Lexi glared at him, fire burning in her eyes. She yanked at the restraints, but they only cut deeper into her skin.Clinton chuckled, standing up. “Struggle all you want. Scream, cry—it won’t change anything.” He straightened his collar, adjusting the cuffs of his blood-stained sleeves. “I have more important things to do.”He strode to the heavy stee

The door swung open with a forceful creak, and before Lexi could react—CRACK!A fresh wave of agony tore through her body as the whip lashed across her exposed back. The pain burned hotter than before, forcing a strangled gasp from her throat.Clinton stood before her, eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement as he dragged the whip across the floor. “I thought you’d have learned your lesson by now,” he murmured, rolling the handle in his grip.Lexi’s breath came in short, ragged gasps, but she refused to let him see her break. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth as she bit down, suppressing a scream.CRACK!Another lash. This time across her ribs.Her body convulsed against the pain, her wrists straining against the cuffs, but it was useless. Clinton had made sure of that.The sound of rattling chains echoed in the dim room as he stepped closer, dropping a second set of handcuffs onto the floor beside her. “I’ll admit,” he said, crouching so that their eyes met, “you surprised

The night stretched long and merciless, the shadows of Blackwood College twisting into something monstrous as Jones and his crew pressed deeper into enemy territory. Their breaths came in harsh rhythm, the sting of sweat mixing with the bitter taste of fear and fury. But still—no Lexi. No trace. No hope. Only the gnawing ache of time slipping away. “Damn it!” Jace spat, slamming a fist against the wall as they checked another wing, empty. His voice cracked with frustration. “It’s like she vanished into thin air!” “She’s here,” Jones said firmly, his voice low, unwavering. His eyes burned with resolve. “Clinton wants us to believe otherwise. But he wouldn’t risk moving her. Not yet.” Victor gritted his teeth. “So we keep searching. Floor by floor. Room by room. She can’t stay hidden forever.” But Jasmine shook her head, unease etching her face. “This doesn’t feel right. Too quiet. Too…” Her words were drowned by the sound of footsteps. Heavy, deliberate. From the darkness ahead,

Clinton went into the den—an underground chamber buried deep within the East Wing of Blackwood College. This was no ordinary hideout; it was his throne room, carved beneath the rotting belly of the institution, a place where the air was heavy with damp stone, cigarette smoke, and the quiet hum of illegal power lines snaking through the ceiling.Here, he was king. Here, no one dared question his authority.The heavy steel door clanged shut behind him, locking with an echo that rattled through the chamber. Around a long rectangular table sat his top circle: Logan, the blunt enforcer with fists like sledgehammers; Vanessa, razor-sharp and venomous, her cold beauty disguising cruelty; Troy, the tactician, thin-framed but sharp-eyed; Mickey, wild and unpredictable, a man who laughed too easily at violence; and Dwayne, loyal to the bone, steady as a rock.Clinton moved to the head of the table, his steps deliberate, his smirk fixed like a blade ready to cut. His presence drew silence instan