Slept With An "Ex-convict Nobody" - A Hidden Trillionaire!

Chapter 5: Only one man did…

Morning rays filtered lazily through the tinted windows of the Electric Viper nightclub, now a silent shell of the chaos it had witnessed the night before. The scent of stale alcohol and disinfectant hung heavy in the air, mingling with the iron tang of blood.

Mela, the head waitress, paced the club’s wide interior, her eyes sharp and instructive. She barked orders at her younger colleagues as they scrubbed down tables and mopped the sticky, stained floor. Despite the club’s near-pristine design, a trail of red marked where Cobra and his men had bled. Broken glasses crunched under shoes. A shattered bottle of whiskey sat like a grave marker near the bar.

Mela had been in this business for years. She’d seen fights. She’d seen gunmen. She’d even seen some street-level mafia bosses lose their temper. But last night… last night was something else entirely.

“Move faster!” she ordered sharply. But even as she tried to focus, her ears couldn’t help catching the buzzing whispers of the staff around her.

“That guy last night,” a petite brunette said, scrubbing a blood smear, “looked like he couldn’t take a breeze, but he dropped Cobra’s men like they were nothing.” 

A redhead with a mop nodded, eyes wide. “I swear, he didn’t even move—those punches landed like lightning. A god of war, maybe?” 

A third, still pale from witnessing the fight, clutched her broom. “How’d he throw five guys twenty-five feet without touching them? Like a damn whirlwind!”

The gossip swirled, each tale wilder than the last. 

“He’s gotta be supernatural,” the brunette whispered, “magic or something.” 

The redhead scoffed, “Nah, a martial arts grandmaster—knows all the ancient secrets, controls the elements.” 

Another chimed in, “Bet he’s one of the country’s four Gods of War, undercover.” 

Mela’s lips tightened, her clipboard lowering. She’d spoken to him—Ethan, the lanky stranger with the shy face—and dismissed him as soft, a pampered kid. 

Now, her stomach twisted with regret. ‘If only I’d known.’

Mela marched over and clapped her hands. “Enough! This isn’t a marketplace. Get back to work!” she snapped.

The group scattered, but the tension stayed. Mela paused, gripping a rag as her thoughts pulled her inward. She remembered his calm voice, his focused eyes, his unassuming appearance—and how she had, like a fool, judged him before even hearing him speak.

Now, she wished she had asked him more. Where he came from. Who he was. What he was.

Then—

BOOM.

The club doors slammed open with a deafening force. The sound echoed across the hall like thunder.

A dozen heads snapped toward the entrance. Hearts skipped beats.

Twenty men walked in like they owned the world—armed to the teeth with machetes, batons, and automatic pistols under leather jackets. Their footsteps were heavy. Deliberate.

They were led by a man whose name alone could silence entire streets.

King Locust.

Cobra’s uncle. The Third Man of the Red Serpent Fraternity.

He was broad-shouldered and draped in black and red—traditional gang colors. His skin was inked with serpentine tattoos that snaked across his neck and into his shirt. His stare was cold—the kind that made men forget how to breathe.

The club froze.

No one moved.

Even the music speakers seemed to go mute.

Locust didn’t speak as his men stormed in and rounded up everyone, dragging the workers to the center of the floor. Mela stepped back, her instincts telling her danger had just taken on a new form.

Locust finally spoke.

“What happened to my nephew?”

The silence was loud.

No one dared to speak.

Locust’s eyes narrowed. He turned to one of his men and flicked his chin.

WHACK!

The first blow landed on a bartender’s back.

WHACK!

Another to a dishwasher. Cries of pain echoed.

Mela stepped forward. “Enough!” she shouted.

All eyes turned to her. The bold waitress who didn’t cower like the rest.

Locust tilted his head. “You have something to say?”

She nodded. “I’ll tell you what happened. But leave them out of it. They know nothing.”

Locust raised a brow. “Bring her forward.”

Two men grabbed her roughly and pulled her to the center. She stood firm.

“Speak,” Locust ordered.

Mela swallowed, her words steady. “Last night, Cobra and his men were harassing a drunk woman—new in town, red dress. A guy, also new, stepped in. Cobra wouldn’t back off, so the guy… destroyed them.” 

Locust’s face darkened, his ringed hand twitching. “Destroyed? Cobra’s my blood—he rules this town. Who dares touch him?”

Mela’s voice wavered but held. “Just one man. No one else.” 

Locust laughed, a harsh bark that echoed off the club’s walls. “One man? Impossible—unless he’s a God of War.” 

His men snickered, but Mela pressed on, reckless now. “Cobra picked the wrong night. A new sheriff was in town, and he checked him.” 

The words hung, bold and dangerous, the staff gasping behind her.

Locust’s men surged, one shouting, “Burn this place down!” 

Another gripped his bat, eyes blazing. “No one’ll question us!” 

Locust raised a hand, silencing them. “No,” he said, his voice cold. “This club’s ours—money laundering, product deals. It stays.” 

He turned to Mela, his eyes slits. 

“You said he’s new in town?”

“Yes.”

“And he took the girl with him?”

“He did.”

Locust’s eyes gleamed with hate.

“Find this man. I want him alive—to suffer.” 

His men nodded, their weapons glinting with purpose.

“CCTV footage,” Locust demanded. 

Mela hesitated, then led them to the security room, her hands shaking as she pulled up last night’s feed. 

The screens flickered, showing the club’s chaos—Ethan’s slim figure, the woman in red, Cobra’s booth. 

But the key moments—Ethan’s strikes, the whirlwind—were blank. 

Cobra had long demanded his corner be a black zone, cameras off. 

Still, the footage caught Ethan’s face, his shy features stark, and the woman’s, her auburn hair framing a defiant glare. 

“That’s her,” Mela confirmed. “That’s the girl Cobra tried to take.”

Locust leaned close, memorizing them, his fist clenching the ruby ring.

“I’ll have him,” he vowed, his voice a low snarl. “And that woman—she’s Cobra’s toy when he wakes.” 

Cobra lay in a hospital, critical, his chest pierced by his own knife, and Locust’s rage burned for them both. 

He turned to his men. “Spread out. Comb the city. Pay off who you must, kill who you must. But bring them to me. This week will not end until I taste vengeance.”

The staff shrank back, Mela’s heart racing—she’d seen Ethan’s power, and Locust’s vengeance was a storm about to break.