The Castaway Supreme

Chapter 8: The Price of Terror

The sharp steel blade of the switchblade flashed in the grey light. Clara froze completely, her eyes wide with terror as Kane lunged toward her like a rabid dog. 

She could feel the cold wind from the moving knife just inches away from her skin. Her father Peter let out a weak cry, reaching out his frail hand, but he was far too slow to stop the mad criminal.

Kane’s face was twisted with an evil, crazy smile. He wanted to see blood. He wanted to see the quiet kitchen beggar weep in agony.

But Christian was already moving. To his elite, military trained body, Kane’s desperate attack looked as slow as a snail crawling through thick mud.

Christian leaped onto the wooden porch with a single, powerful bound. His large body blurred in the air. Before the sharp tip of the steel knife could scratch even a single hair on Clara’s neck, Christian’s large right hand shot forward like a striking cobra. His thick fingers clamped around Kane’s hairy wrist with absolute precision.

The knife stopped exactly one millimeter away from Clara’s throat. It could not move forward even a tiny fraction of an inch.

Kane’s evil smile vanished instantly. He blinked, trying to push the knife forward with all his weight, but Christian’s hand felt like a giant block of solid iron wrapped around his bones. He looked into Christian’s eyes and saw a terrifying, icy void that made his blood turn to liquid ice.

You like to terrorize innocent girls, Christian said, his deep voice incredibly quiet and calm. You like to use weapons on the weak.

Let go of me, Kane screamed, his voice cracking with sudden panic. I will kill you, I swear I will kill you.

Christian did not waste any more words. He simply tightened his grip and gave Kane’s wrist a quick, brutal twist to the left.

A loud, wet snapping sound echoed across the front porch of the diner.

The bones in Kane’s wrist shattered completely beneath his skin, breaking like a dry winter twig. The heavy steel switchblade slipped from his limp fingers, clattering loudly against the wooden floorboards.

Kane let out a high-pitched, curdling scream of pure agony. He dropped to his knees instantly, his broken right hand hanging completely loose and deformed. 

Tears and sweat mixed on his face as he rocked back and forth, cradling his ruined arm against his chest. He was no longer the fierce loan shark of the slum district. He was nothing but a pathetic, groveling worm.

Christian did not step back. He looked down at the floor and saw the crumpled paper debt contract that Miller had thrown in the mud earlier. The paper was wet and dirty, covered in black slime from the street. Christian bent down, picked up the filthy document with his left hand, and smoothed it out slowly.

You came here today to make this family sign a contract, Christian said, his voice dripping with deadly mockery. You wanted them to swallow your illegal terms. Since you love this piece of paper so much, I think you should keep it forever.

Christian gripped Kane by the back of his greasy hair, pulling his head back violently. Open your mouth, Christian commanded.

No, please, Kane wept, his teeth chattering in absolute terror. I am sorry, Marcus, I am sorry. Please let me go. I will never come back here again.

Christian did not care about his empty words. He used his strong thumb to force Kane’s jaw wide open. With his other hand, Christian rolled the dirty, muddy paper contract into a tight, thick ball. He shoved the wet paper deep into Kane’s throat, forcing the criminal to choke on it.

Swallow it, Christian said, his eyes burning with a dangerous light. Eat every single word of your debt.

Kane gasped and sputtered, his face turning a deep shade of purple as he was forced to gulp down the filthy, mud-soaked paper. He choked and coughed violently, tears streaming down his cheeks until he finally swallowed the last piece. 

He collapsed face-first onto the wooden porch, vomiting and groveling at Christian’s feet, begging for mercy with every breath.

Vance stepped up to the edge of the porch, looking at the pathetic criminal with an expression of total indifference. Master Christian, should my men take this trash away to the deep woods.

No, Christian replied, wiping his hands with a clean cloth from his pocket. Call the local police chief. Tell him that if Kane and his men are not behind bars for the next twenty years, I will buy his police station and fire every single officer by tomorrow morning.

Yes, Boss, Vance said, bowing deeply. It will be done immediately.

Two of the elite guards in black suits walked onto the porch. They grabbed Kane by his leather jacket, dragging his heavy body down the wooden steps like a sack of wet garbage. They threw him into the back of one of the black SUVs, slamming the door shut.

Clara stood behind Christian, her breathing heavy and fast. She looked at his broad back, feeling a strange mix of deep safety and intense mystery. The man standing in front of her was not the simple, quiet beggar she had fed for two years. He was someone who could destroy a millionaire landlord with a phone call and break a dangerous criminal with one hand.

Marcus, Clara whispered softly, her voice trembling. Who are you really.

Christian turned around slowly to look at her. The cold, murderous look in his eyes vanished completely, replaced by a soft, gentle warmth. He opened his mouth to speak, wanting to comfort her.

Suddenly, a loud, high-pitched screech of high-performance tires shattered the quietness of the street.

A sleek, ultra expensive luxury sports car painted in a blinding shade of bright red came tearing down the narrow slum road. It drifted wildly around the corner, splashing muddy water all over the neighborhood houses before slamming its brakes hard. The car stopped right in front of the diner’s entrance, blocking the path of Vance's SUVs.

The shiny gull-wing door of the sports car swung upward automatically.

A young man stepped out onto the dirty concrete. He looked about twenty-five years old, wearing a ridiculously expensive white designer suit, shiny gold sunglasses, and a diamond encrusted watch that flashed in the light. His hair was perfectly styled with expensive gel, and he had a proud, arrogant smirk on his face.

This was Julian Sterling, Christian’s spoiled cousin and the youngest master of the corrupt Sterling family. He had come to the slums to oversee the land project for his own secret business deal.

Julian took off his gold sunglasses, looking at the scene with a frown. His eyes passed over the black SUVs, then over Vance, and finally landed directly on Christian, who was still wearing his old, torn clothes.

Julian’s face twisted into an expression of pure, intense disgust as he stared at his cousin, though he did not recognize him through the dirt and scars yet. 

He stepped forward, pointing his expensive leather cane directly at Christian’s chest.