The Enigmatic Alexander Chase

Chapter 6: Monroe

As Alexander left the banquet, “Maybe they are not all the same after all”, Alexander thought to himself about his meeting with Jacob Harrington as he walked down the dimly lit streets of Billiard Maze Avenue.

It was aptly named for its labyrinthine intersections and dead ends. The sky above was pitch black, a perfect backdrop for the unsettling silence that crept along the deserted road.  

Alexander’s footsteps echoed faintly, but the sound wasn’t solitary. Someone was following him—he could feel it. His instincts had been honed through years of hardship, and every fiber of his being screamed that he was being watched.  

He paused and glanced over his shoulder, catching a fleeting glimpse of a shadow slipping into the darkness. Alexander’s jaw tightened. Persistent.

He took the next left turn, quickening his pace, but the shadow reappeared at the next intersection. Another turn, then another—each corner only revealed more pursuers, silently closing in like wolves circling their prey. Finally, his path ended at a dead end.  

Alexander stopped and sighed heavily. He turned to face the shadows that had now converged behind him. Six men stepped out of the darkness, their faces hidden by the dim light of a flickering streetlamp.  

"Before we get started, does anyone here want to walk away?" Alexander asked, his voice low and icy.  

The calmness in his tone sent a shiver through the group. Some hesitated, murmuring among themselves, but no one moved to leave.

Suddenly, a loud, mocking laugh broke the tension as the group parted to reveal their leader—Julian Monroe. He stepped forward with his signature arrogance, clapping slowly.  

“You certainly are a man of character, Alexander Chase,” Julian said with a grin, stopping a few feet away from him. 

 “What do you want, Julian?”  

Julian raised his hands in mock surprise.

 “What do I want? I want you to do the smart thing and sign the divorce papers.” He held out the papers, his smile turning sinister.

“Julian? I had no idea we were on a first-name basis already”, Julian mocked.  

“I tell you what, I am feeling generous tonight, Alexander. Sign these, and I’ll let you walk out of here unharmed."

Alexander stared at the papers. Julian’s words repeated in his mind. "Sign and walk away unharmed." He let out a bitter laugh.  

“It seems I didn’t make myself clear earlier. I’m not signing those papers—not now, not ever.”  

Julian’s smile faded, replaced by cold fury. “It’s a shame, really,” he said, stepping back. “But you’ve left me no choice. Your wife will be mine. And if you have to disappear for that to happen…so be it ” 

“Over my dead body,” Alexander retorted.

Julian gave a coy smile, and snickered “O, that can be arranged…." He gestured to his men with a flick of his hand. “Boys, get him.”  

The six men charged at Alexander. He smirked, his adrenaline kicking in.

Finally, some action.

The first attacker swung an iron rod at his face. Alexander ducked smoothly, sidestepping the wild swing. Before the man could recover, Alexander struck him with a sharp blow to the neck, hitting a pressure point. The man crumpled to the ground, unconscious.  

The second came at him with brass knuckles, throwing a punch aimed at Alexander’s jaw. Alexander sidestepped, grabbed the man’s wrist, and twisted sharply. A loud crack followed as the attacker howled in pain. One punch to the face knocked him out cold.  

“Come on!” Julian shouted from the sidelines, his frustration boiling over. “It’s six against one! Do I have to do everything myself?!”  

The remaining attackers hesitated but began circling Alexander cautiously, looking for an opening.

The third man lunged with a knife. Alexander weaved to the side, grabbing the man’s wrist and disarming him in one swift motion before delivering a knee to his stomach. The man doubled over and fell to the ground.  

One by one, they fell. The fourth, the fifth—it was over almost as soon as it had started. Alexander stood amidst the fallen bodies, barely breaking a sweat.  

Only one attacker remained. His face pale, he staggered backward, pulling a gun from his waistband in a desperate last attempt.

Alexander’s eyes narrowed, his reflexes kicking in as he saw the man raise the weapon.  

The man fired, but Alexander twisted his body just in time, the bullet missing him by mere inches. The stray shot, however, found another target— Julian Monroe.  

The bullet struck Julian in the neck, and he dropped like a stone, blood pooling beneath him. The shooter froze, horrified by what he’d done, and then fled into the night without looking back.  

Alexander rushed to Julian’s side. He wasn’t dead, but he was unconscious and bleeding heavily. Without hesitation, Alexander tore a strip of fabric from his shirt and used two sticks nearby to create an improvised tourniquet, pressing it firmly against Julian’s neck to stop the bleeding.  

Julian’s life hung by a thread. Alexander looked at the cards in his pocket—the two connections he could call upon in a crisis. He made his choice. Pulling out Jacob Harrington’s card, he quickly dialed the number.  

The phone barely rang before Jacob picked up.

“Alexander!” Jacob said, excited. “I wasn’t expecting your call so soon. Did you forget something?”  

“No,” Alexander replied, his tone urgent. “I’m in a bit of a mess, and I’m hoping it’s not too soon to cash in on the favor you offered.”  

Jacob’s tone shifted immediately. “Of course. What do you need?”  

“I’ll send you my location. Bring help quickly—someone’s life depends on it.”  

Jacob didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be there. Hang tight.” 

 

 

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Hours later, Julian lay unconscious in a private hospital room, his neck bandaged, and his body hooked on life support. The room was guarded by six men, their stern expressions warning anyone against approaching.  

The atmosphere in the room shifted when the door opened, and Wilson Monroe, Julian’s father, entered. The man’s presence was suffocating, his aura heavy with power and menace.

As the head of Monroe Logistics, Wilson was a kingpin of both legal and illegal operations in Pantheon Valley—a man feared and respected in equal measure.  

He stopped by Julian’s bedside, his jaw tightening as he took in the sight of his son lying helpless. His voice was a low growl as he turned to the nearest guard.

“How did this happen?”  

“Sir, your son and his companions were attacked,” one of the guards reported nervously.  

Wilson’s eyes darkened. “By whom? A gang? A rival family?”  

The guard hesitated. “No, sir. It wasn’t a gang. It was one man.”  

Wilson’s eyes widened, his fury barely contained. “One man? Who?”  

“His name is Alexander Chase.”  

The name clearly meant nothing to him.

“And who the hell is Alexander Chase?”  

“Sir,” another assistant interjected, stepping forward. “We’ve received word that Jacob Harrington has canceled your deal. He claimed it was because of your son’s actions at tonight’s banquet.”  

Wilson’s fury erupted, his fist slamming into the wall. “And who was the guest Julian assaulted?”  

“Alexander Chase,” the assistant replied.  

Wilson’s rage burned hotter. The deal with Jacob Harrington was worth millions, a stepping stone to raising Monroe Logistics to new heights. Now, it was gone, and all because of this mysterious man.  

“Find him,” Wilson growled, his voice filled with venom. “I don’t care what it takes. Find Alexander Chase.”