“ID,” the taller guard said at last, flat and businesslike. He moved with a casual hand to a radio clipped on his vest while the other man’s fingers curled near the butt of a pistol. It was the kind of choreography Dane knew well—security theater built to intimidate and to test. He kept his face neutral and slid his hand into an inner pocket. His fingers closed around the fake ID Butcher’s crew had crafted: glossy, with the right laminate, a believable photograph, and the name Francesco printed in clean letters. He handed it over like he was giving someone change.The guard took the card, scanned it once under the harsh light, then tapped a code into the radio. The tiny speaker crackled. “Hold for one. Boss asked about you earlier?” the guard muttered, then cocked an eyebrow at Dane. He could have searched him. He could have made this a long, humiliating delay. Instead, after a long, slow inhale, he waved a hand toward the door. “Fine. You can go up. Elevator at the back. Don’t attrac

The corridor shook with the sound of fists colliding, flesh on flesh, bone on bone. Dane and Neon hammered at each other with reckless fury, their strikes echoing down the hall. Neon suddenly leapt, both legs snapping forward like steel pistons. His boots crashed into Dane’s chest, sending him flying backward. Dane slammed into a door so hard it burst open, the wooden frame creaking as he stumbled into the room beyond.The room was empty, stripped bare, the walls cold concrete. Dane staggered upright, coughing for air, but Neon was already on him—charging with relentless speed. Neon’s foot shot out in a vicious kick, but Dane twisted aside, feeling the wind of the strike whistle past his ribs. Dane countered with a desperate elbow toward Neon’s side, but the man moved with serpent-like precision, slipping past.Dane tried to bolt for the doorway, but Neon’s hand clamped around his collar and yanked him back. They crashed to the ground, the fight spilling into chaos. Dane’s fingers fum

The two women darted at Dane like shadows, striking in perfect rhythm. Their fists came from opposite sides, aiming for his head and ribs at once. Dane bent low, weaving between their blows. His body twisted, his breath sharp, the air hissing as punches sliced past his ears.He snapped a kick upward, boot slamming into one twin’s stomach. The impact drove her back, her body folding before she crashed against the wall.The second twin didn’t pause. She leapt, her heel slicing down like a blade toward his skull. Dane caught her leg mid-air with his left hand, muscles straining, and with a grunt he swung her sideways, tossing her into the plaster. The wall cracked with the force.But the twins were relentless. They scrambled back to their feet, almost as if choreographed. Their eyes glinted with excitement, not fear.Dane charged forward, launching himself into the air, trying to land a double kick against their chests. But they pivoted, catching him mid-flight—one gripping his lap, the

The twin snapped the whip again. The other sister shifted back a little, giving her room.The leather hissed through the air before cracking toward Dane. He raised his arm instinctively to block it.SNAP!Pain tore through him. His skin split open instantly, blood spilling down his forearm.“Shit!” he roared, clutching the wound.The whip cracked again, the sound sharp and merciless. Dane stumbled backward, dodging as best he could, each strike barely missing his face, his chest, his legs.He bent low, eyes tracking the whip’s deadly arc. His breath came ragged.Damn it… just one touch and it ripped my flesh like paper. What the hell is this thing? What the hell are these women?The whip lashed out again. Dane dodged, twisting sideways, sweat flying off his face. Another snap followed immediately, and he barely ducked under it.Then came the feint. She flicked the whip short, making it seem like it was aimed for his head. Dane leaned back, thinking he had dodged it. But the strike was

Butcher sat hunched over the table, an iPad resting heavy in his hands. The screen glowed faintly in the dim room, the small camera pinned to Dane’s suit streaming every detail of the battle. Each crack of the whip echoed through the tinny speaker, and Butcher’s jaw clenched harder with every strike. Beside him, Jane leaned forward, her eyes fixed on the screen, her knuckles white from gripping the edge of the table.“Damn…” Butcher muttered under his breath, his voice low, almost a growl.On the screen, Dane staggered, his back ripped open by the whip. He bled freely, but his eyes—those sharp, furious eyes—never lost focus. The twins moved with terrifying precision, one attacking without pause, the other conserving energy, standing back like a predator waiting for its turn.Jane exhaled slowly, almost in disbelief. “He’s in big trouble. This is bad… real bad. They’re tearing him apart. But look at him… he’s still pushing forward.”Butcher didn’t answer at first. He simply watched as