Shadow Of Kingscity

A cab rolled to a stop in front of a small neighborhood mechanic shop. The door swung open and a young man stepped out, holding a small travel bag like someone just returning from a long camp. He was tall, broad in the shoulders, with a clean jawline and a handsome face that would make anyone stare twice. His ocean-blue eyes caught the sunlight for a moment before he slung the bag over his back and looked up at the large signboard above the shop.

The Salvatores Workshop.

“Wow. This place is still in one piece,” Ethan said quietly, almost to himself.

“Hey!”

The shout cut through his thoughts. Ethan turned to see a slim guy in greasy mechanic overalls walking toward him. The boy looked younger, maybe early twenties, and his eyes darted up and down Ethan’s frame like he was sizing up a gym poster come to life.

Damn, look at all those muscles, the boy thought, though the only sign of it on his face was a quick blink and a tiny swallow. He doesn’t look rich. Probably not here to fix a car. Maybe looking for somewhere to crash. Or a job. Yeah... a job.

He straightened up, trying hard to hide how small he felt next to Ethan.

“What do you want?” he asked, giving Ethan a look that said he refused to be intimidated, even though he clearly was.

Ethan smiled, calm and easy. “Is your boss around?”

“What do you want with my boss?” the younger man shot back. “If you’re here for a job, save your time. We already have enough hands. And if you want a place to crash, there’s no space. And we don’t want to start losing tools or motorcycle parts or engine pieces.”

Ethan held the smile, unbothered. “Can you just call your boss? Tell him someone wants to meet him.”

Before the boy could reply, a rolling creeper board slid out from under a car nearby with a loud scrape across the floor. An older man in his late fifties lay on it, blinking up at the commotion. He wiped his hands on a dirty cloth and tried to lift his head high enough to see what was going on.

“Ben!” the older man shouted, his voice loud enough to shake a wrench off a shelf. The slim boy standing in front of Ethan snapped to attention. “Who is that and what is going on?”

He walked toward them, wiping sweat from his forehead. But the moment his eyes landed on Ethan, he froze. The long spanner in his hand slipped and clanged on the concrete floor.

“Ethan?” he said, his voice cracking with shock.

Ethan nodded with a soft smile. “Uncle Mark.”

The older man hurried forward and pulled Ethan into a tight hug. It was the kind of hug that came from years of worry and too many unanswered questions. Seven years was a long time, and it showed in the way Uncle Mark held him like he feared he might vanish again.

Beside them, Ben’s eyes widened. He looked from one to the other, confused, then slowly backed away. “Oh. Family. That explains it,” he muttered, retreating toward the workshop like he wanted no part of whatever emotional movie scene he had just witnessed.

“I never believed I would see you again,” Uncle Mark said, gripping Ethan’s hands as they finally pulled apart. His voice shook a little as he spoke, and he kept looking at Ethan like he still wasn’t sure the young man was real.

They walked toward the relaxation spot at the side of the workshop, where a few plastic chairs sat under a patched-up shade. The air smelled of engine oil and hot metal, but the place felt alive, full of noise and movement. Ethan glanced around, impressed at how neat and vibrant everything looked.

“Uncle Mark,” he said quietly, “I don’t see my younger brother anywhere.”

Uncle Mark pointed at one of the chairs without meeting his eyes. “Come sit down first.”

Ethan sat, but the unease quickly washed over him. His uncle’s silence was too loud, too heavy.

He leaned forward, voice low and tense. “Uncle Mark... I hope nothing happened to my brother.”

“My boy,” Uncle Mark said gently, “it has been seven long years since you disappeared. I kept asking Liam where you were. He told me you traveled to the countryside to sort out some business.”

Yeah… I told him not to tell anyone about my ghost mission, Ethan thought. Anyone who pokes their nose into that mess ends up dead.

Uncle Mark continued, still watching Ethan like he was afraid he might vanish again. “After that, I did not hear from you. The phone number Liam gave me never connected. And after some time he got upset whenever I asked about you. I had to keep quiet and just pray that you would come back alive.”

I am only here by pure luck, Ethan thought again.

“Uncle, I understand everything you are saying,” Ethan finally replied. His voice was calm, but there was a tired weight behind it. “Things did not go the way I planned. That is why I could not reach any of you. And I am sorry for that. But I need to know about Liam. Where is he? Did he go to deliver a car or something?”

Uncle Mark shook his head. A long, heavy sigh followed. The expression alone made Ethan’s stomach twist.

“Uncle… what is going on?” Ethan asked. His tone was sharper now, urgent.

“Your brother Liam has been missing for a month.”

“What?” Ethan shot up from the chair, eyes wide. “What do you mean missing? Did you reach out to his friends? Anyone?”

“He is not the social type, and you know that,” Uncle Mark said. “Same as you. And you also know he never goes home without checking if the workshop is closed for the day.”

“When and where was he last seen?” Ethan asked. His posture shifted, steady and alert, the old military instinct sliding into place like a switch flicked on.

“Liam went to deliver a car at the Vancroft mansion,” Uncle Mark said quietly. “And he was never seen again. I was away at the time. I came back to hear he had not shown up for two days and no one could reach him. They told me he left to deliver the car there, so I went to the mansion to ask.”

The older man looked down, fists trembling slightly.

“They humiliated me. They threatened to erase me and burn this whole workshop to the ground if I asked about Liam again. So I went to the police. But once they heard the name Vancroft, they lost interest. They were useless.”

Heat crawled up Ethan’s neck. His jaw tightened. His hands balled into fists until his knuckles turned pale. He could feel the anger boiling like a pot ready to spill.

Just then, the loud purr of engines filled the air. Three black SUVs pulled up in front of the shop, surrounding an older car that looked like a prized vintage collectible. The kind of rare machine car lovers worship. Something like a 1967 Shelby GT500. Old, expensive, and respected.

Uncle Mark stared at the vehicles and let out another sigh. “Speak of the devil. I think that is Damian.”

“Who is Damian?” Ethan asked, eyes narrowing.

“You might know him as the Black Wolf.”

The name hit Ethan instantly. “You mean the Vancrofts’ first son. The Black Wolf?”

“Yes.” Uncle Mark nodded slowly.

Ethan’s rage burned hotter. He stood up, ready to walk toward the men stepping out of the SUVs, all dressed in black.

Uncle Mark grabbed his arm. “Do not act rashly. These people will burn this workshop to ashes if we offend them.”

Ethan gave a small, cool smile. “Do not worry, Uncle. I will not cause any trouble.”

Both men started walking toward the arriving group, the heat of tension thick in the air as the Black Wolf’s men turned their eyes on them.

“Old man!” Damian shouted as he strutted toward them, a half-empty bottle of whiskey swinging lazily in his hand. His steps were confident, almost careless, like he owned the ground he walked on. “You are lucky my father likes your little mechanic shop. That is the only reason you were spared the day you came making noise at the mansion.”

Uncle Mark did not even flinch at the mockery in his tone. “What do you want, Damian?”

Damian pointed the bottle toward the 1967 Shelby GT500 like it was a prize he won at a fair. “That car. My father wants it looking brand new. No scratches, no dents, nothing. Change the color to black. He wants to gift it to someone special. And I want it done in three days.”

“Three days? You have got to be kidding,” Ethan cut in, unable to hold back.

Damian paused mid-sip and slowly turned to him. His face darkened, annoyance flashing across his eyes. He walked right up to Ethan, even though Ethan stood noticeably taller.

“You…” Damian said slowly. “I remember you. Liam’s older brother. I thought you were dead. Where did your rotten body crawl out from?”

He grabbed Ethan by the jaw, turning his face left and right like he was inspecting a piece of meat. “Do not let those muscles fool you. I can break every bone you have in seconds.”

Ethan stayed still and calm, not because he respected Damian’s threat but because something else had caught his eye. On Damian’s finger was a ring. A silver band carved with a dragon. Only one of those existed. Their father had given it to Ethan, and Ethan had passed it down to Liam before disappearing.

That ring should not be here. Not on this man.

As Damian began to pull his hand away, Ethan clamped down on his wrist.

⁸

“Where did you get that—”

Pow.

Damian’s punch slammed into Ethan’s jaw before he could finish. The hit was strong enough to break a weaker man’s neck, but Ethan’s head only shifted a little, like someone nudged him instead of punching him.

Damian yanked his hand free, face twisting with anger. “Are you stupid? How dare you grab my hand? Do you have a death wish?”

Ethan’s eyes met his. Calm but burning. Angry enough to melt steel. Damian’s confidence cracked for a second. He actually took a step back, and his men rushed forward, ready to defend him if anything happened.

Damian refused to answer the question about the ring. Instead he barked out, “If that car is not finished in three days, I will burn this entire workshop to the ground. And I will not pay a single coin. I only care that it is done.”

He pointed to three of his men. “You stay here. Watch everything.”

With that, Damian climbed into his SUV. The engines roared and the convoy rolled out, leaving black tire marks and tension in the air.

Ethan slowly turned away, fists clenched, and walked back inside the workshop. He did not say a word. Uncle Mark let out a long breath of relief. He knew Ethan as someone who never held back his anger. Something was different about him now, but he could not tell if that was a good thing or a bad one.

Inside, Ethan had barely taken two steps when his phone rang. He answered, and a voice he did not recognize spoke fast, almost panicked.

“Your identity is out. Enemies are hunting all of us. Stay hidden. Trust no one.”

The call ended before Ethan could respond.

He lowered the phone slowly, rubbing his temple as frustration and anger twisted inside him. His brother missing, the ring on Damian’s hand, and now his identity exposed. Every problem was crashing down at once, and none of them were something he could ignore.