All Chapters of From Street Trash To Dragon Lord: Chapter 11
- Chapter 20
71 chapters
11
"My job was taken. My reputation is in tatters. My medical licence was rescinded. My life is practically over. And it is all because of that miscreant, Ethan Vale." Dr Chen was seated inside the cosy atmosphere of Xavier's Cheeseburgers, a fast food joint, and speaking to a companion with passion, pain and anger in his voice. He was dressed in a faded t-shirt with a tired pair of jeans and 90s sneakers. He was looking unshaven and unhinged, with his hair in desperate need of a trim, and he spoke with such palpable bitterness. His companion was a man named John Sanders, a doctor friend of his, who had heard all about his recent plight and the misfortunes that had befallen him. John, in appearance, was the exact opposite. His golden brown hair had been properly combed, his goatee was freshly carved and his white shirt, although not new, looked washed and ironed. His black trousers were complemented by black b
12
Chapter 12The door to Jesse McCarthy’s penthouse suite closed with a soft, expensive click. Dr. Chen stood on the plush welcome mat, his unkempt appearance a stark contrast to the gleaming marble floor visible in the hallway behind him. Jesse’s smirk faded, replaced by an expression of bored curiosity.He'd thought and hoped it would be Ava. Instead it was his old chum from medical school, with whom he'd done mischievous things. So very many mischievous things.“Chen. You look like hell.”“I am in hell,” Chen replied, his voice rough. He didn’t wait for an invitation; he brushed past Jesse into the spacious, minimalist living room. The air still carried a faint, musky scent. “I need to talk to you.”Jesse closed the door, his movements languid. “I just finished… entertaining. Make it quick. I have a board meeting at two.”Chen turned to face him. The controlled fury in his eyes was palpable. “My career is over. Thomas Ashford had my license revoked. All because of some street magicia
13
Chapter 13The lobby of Silverpeak General’s administrative wing was a monument to sterile authority. Polished granite floors, abstract art worth more than Ethan’s life, and a receptionist whose smile was as genuine as plastic.Ethan, in his clean but worn jacket and jeans, felt every gaze stick to him like lint. He was directed to a conference room on the twelfth floor.The room was long, dominated by a mahogany table that could seat twenty. Only five people sat at one end, their files arranged in neat piles before them. Four were in suits. The fifth was in a white coat: Dr. Jesse McCarthy.Ethan recognized him from an article he’d once seen online while waiting for a delivery. Chairman of the American Doctors & Nurses Association. His presence here was a message.“Mr. Vale.” A stern-faced woman with steel-grey hair spoke first. She was Meredith Thorne. “Thank you for coming. Please sit.”Ethan took the chair at the opposite end of the table, an island of space between him and the pa
14
Chapter 14 Driving home, Ethan's mind raced faster than the tired Nissan he was riding in. After Sophia Ashford had driven him and his mother home, his paranoia and distrust had driven him to fix his old car, though on borrowed money. He did not want a repeat of such proximity with an Ashford. The weight of the upcoming trial was a silent passenger in the car with him as he drove across town. He wasn’t going home. He was following an address texted to him from an encrypted number, one that had simply appeared on his phone: If you want to understand the game, come. 217 Riverbend Lane. 8PM. Riverbend Lane was in a quiet, older neighborhood of craftsman-style homes, far from the glittering towers of downtown. Number 217 had a well-tended garden, but the paint on the window trim was peeling. It spoke of faded, not lost, elegance. He knocked. The door was opened by a m
15
Chapter 15Vincent Shaw’s house was quiet. The kind of quiet that was full of words that had not been said yet. Ethan stood in the middle of the study. He did not look at the books. He did not look at the map. He looked at his own hands. They were fists.“They have my mother,” he said. The words were flat stones dropped into the quiet.Vincent sat in his worn armchair. He looked at Ethan over the rim of his teacup. “I gathered as much.” He took a slow sip. “Sit down. You are vibrating.”“I don’t want to sit down. I want to know where they took her.”“And then what?” Vincent asked. He set the cup down carefully. “You will go to that place. You will do what?”“I will get her back.”“How? With your hands? With the fire in your chest? Against how many men with guns? Against men who have her in a room and who will put a bullet in her the second you make the wrong move?”Ethan turned on him. The air in the room grew warmer. “What am I supposed to do? Nothing? Wait here?”“I am suggesting yo
Chapter 16
The boutique air was cool and smelled of folded money and floral perfume. Sophia Ashford moved through the curated silence with the automatic grace of something that lived in expensive water, her fingers brushing over silk and cashmere and linen without feeling a thing.The textures were just data, the colors just wavelengths. She was here because her calendar had a blank space labeled ‘personal appointment,’ because the pressure in the mansion had become a physical weight, her father’s disappointed gaze like a low-grade fever, her brother’s suspicion a constant itch between her shoulder blades.A sales associate materialized with a polished smile. Sophia dismissed her with a microscopic shake of her head, a gesture that cost fifty thousand dollars a year in practice. She needed the illusion of solitude, of not being observed, even here.She turned toward a waterfall of evening gowns, a wall of sequins and shadow, and he was there.Ethan Vale stood between a column of emerald green si
17
Chapter 17The back room in Vincent Shaw’s house was the quietest place. No bookshelves. Just one old armchair and a worn rug. Ethan sat on the floor in the middle of the room. He did not sit like a normal person. He sat with his legs crossed, his back straight, his hands resting on his knees.His eyes were closed.He was not sleeping. He was reaching. He was looking for a thread in the dark. A silver thread that was not his. The thread that was Sophia Ashford.He breathed in slow. He breathed out slower. He pushed the heat in his chest down. He made it quiet. He made it a listening thing, not a roaring thing. He thought of her face in the boutique. The sharp intelligence in her eyes. The fear underneath. The connection that had sparked between them, thin but real.Where are you? he thought into the quiet inside his head. What do you know?He did not hear words. He felt a pull. A direction. A sense of a place that was not here. A feeling of being trapped. And then, like a drop of cold
18
Sophia’s bedroom was too quiet. The kind of quiet that felt heavy, like it was pressing down on her. She stood by the window but she did not see the dark gardens. She saw the red circle on the map in her mind. Unit 7B. Sub-level.He said he would know. He said he would find her. But she had to be out there. She had to be somewhere he could reach. Sitting in this room was like being in a pretty box. A box with no air.She changed her clothes. Dark pants. A dark sweater. Soft shoes. She put her hair up. She picked up her small bag. She left her room.The hallway was empty. Her shoes made a sharp sound on the marble floor. Too sharp. She walked down the main staircase and turned toward the side hall. The hall that led to the courtyard. To the garages.Two men stood at the end of the hall. They stood in front of the glass door. They wore dark suits. They watched her walk toward them.“Miss Ashford,” the first man said. His voice was flat. It had no feeling in it.“I am going out,” Sophia s
19
Chapter 19The red light died in Ethan’s hands. It left only the cold, damp dark of the cell and the terrified breathing of the stranger in his arms.He released her. His hands came up, palms out, a gesture of surrender he never made.“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. His voice was flat. Hollow. “Who are you?”The woman shrank back against the pipe, her hands coming up to shield her face. “Edith. Edith Miller. Please. I don’t know anything.”“How did you get here?”“They took me. From the shelter. I was at the bus stop. They said they had a warm bed. They gave me a pill.” Her words tumbled out, broken by fear. “I woke up here. Tied up. They never said why.”Ethan’s mind was a blank white wall. Then the wall cracked. Rage flooded in. It was a cold, clear rage, so sharp it felt like a new kind of sight.They had taken a random woman. A homeless woman. Someone no one would report missing. They had used her as a prop. Bait. A way to confirm his connection worked.He stood up. The motio
20
The amphitheater at St. Michael’s was a monument to modern medicine and old money. Tiered rows of plush blue seats descended to a central circular stage, which was currently bathed in a sterile white light. A large digital screen hung above the stage, blank for now.At 8:30 AM, the room was beginning to fill with important people.Jesse McCarthy stood in the wings, adjusting his cufflinks. He wore a tailored navy suit, not his lab coat. Today was about performance, not profession. He watched the board members file in, the respected physicians, the select members of the press. He saw Thomas Ashford take a seat in the front row, his expression one of polite, detached interest. Perfect.Everything was perfect.Dr. Chen scurried up to him, his face shiny with sweat. “He’s ready. Finch. The cocktail is administered. His vitals are already showing… concerning fluctuations. It will look perfectly natural. Untreatable.”“The press?” Jesse asked, not looking at him.“The right ones. The ones w