"You want me dead? Then you're coming down with me!"A roar tore through the sterile quiet of the private hospital room, sharp enough to rattle the blinds.The sound jolted Marcus Reeves out of his half-doze in the corner chair. He was on his feet before his mind caught up with his body, already moving toward the bed."Boss? Boss, you're awake!"Damon Sterling was sitting bolt upright, chest heaving, both fists clenched around fistfuls of the bedsheet. Marcus shoved a pillow behind his back and started firing off questions like bullets."How do you feel? Is your head still killing you? You feel sick? Dizzy? Say something, man, you're scaring me"When Damon just sat there, staring straight ahead like he'd forgotten how to speak, Marcus's stomach dropped. He spun toward the door."I'll get the doctor""Tiger."The old nickname stopped Marcus cold. Damon's hand had shot out and caught his wrist."I'm fine. Just... give me a second."Damon closed his eyes.And in that single second of dar

Uncle Frank was barely three steps into the ward when the first rays of dawn broke through the window, spilling golden light across Damon Sterling's bare back.And in that light, a masterpiece slowly revealed itself across every inch of muscle and skin.The first image to catch the eye was Vlad, the Impaler a cold, merciless face carved in ink, the kind of stare that belonged to a man who'd built an empire out of corpses. The blade gripped in his fist looked wet, like the paint hadn't fully dried on the blood. Every line of the piece radiated slaughter.Beside it sat Saint Jerome, the Suffering Pilgrim hunched, weary, his expression heavy with sorrow for a world he couldn't save. His whole posture seemed to strain forward, as if still dragging himself through some endless, thankless road.Then came the Inferno Griffin, rendered so lifelike it seemed ready to leap off his shoulder blade. Wings spread through curling flame, every feather catching invisible firelight, its talons braced m

Inside a warehouse big enough to swallow sound whole, rows of men stood waiting in loose, restless lines.Different ages, different builds, different styles but every single one of them carried the same low, simmering menace, the kind you couldn't fake.They hadn't gathered here for a war, a hit, or a heist.They were standing in line for tattoos.And despite the discipline in their posture, patience was clearly running thin. It was written all over their faces."Somebody tell me why Frank's making us all line up for this garbage. We've bled for this family since when did loyalty need ink to prove it?""Tell me about it. I genuinely don't know what's gotten into that old man.""Word is this whole thing was the kid's idea. Guys without ink get forced to get some and the ones already covered? Getting stripped down to one or two pieces, max.""The kid. God, don't even get me started. I used to think the apple doesn't fall far from the tree with that family, but apparently one bad hit to

Bang!!A heavy thud rang out, followed by a burst of dust and grit.Jonah Doyle hit the concrete floor hard enough to crack it, driven down by a force that didn't look remotely human.Is that even possible?Every man in the warehouse froze, staring at Jonah pale, bleeding from the corner of his mouth, flat on his back.Damon looked out at the wall of blank, stunned faces and finally broke the silence."That power wasn't for show. It was proof for what I'm about to tell you."He raised his right hand.Across the room, the medical kit sitting in the corner began to rattle.A murmur of unease started rippling through the crowd and then Damon spoke, low and clear, and the mark between his brows flared to life with pale gray light."Come here."The kit tore itself off the shelf, sailed clean across the warehouse in a smooth arc, and landed squarely in Damon's outstretched hand.He knelt beside Jonah, pulling out supplies, setting bones and treating the worst of the bruising as he spoke wit

Once they were clear of Talon Enterprises, alone in the back of the Maybach, Uncle Frank finally voiced the question that had been sitting on his tongue."Young Master, you really think Marchetti's going to hit every one of those deadlines?""Of course he will."Damon's mouth curved into a faint smile. "And even if he can't pull it off himself, the people standing behind him will make sure it happens on time.""It's all in writing. Signed, legally binding. Men with that kind of backing don't take chances on breach-of-contract lawsuits down the line."Frank barked out a laugh at that."Young Master, you've been sharp since you were in diapers, I swear."Because here was the beautiful irony of it those scheming idiots thought they were bleeding their own cash reserves dry to buy themselves a golden future.In reality, the world was ending in a day or two. Every share, every dollar, every carefully cultivated connection they were counting on was about to become worthless overnight.When