The Return of the Almighty Dragon Jackal

Chapter Eight: Let's run together!

Under the cover of the moonless night, Cynthia and Andrew make their desperate bid for freedom. The air is thick with the scent of rain, thunder snarling in the distance like a beast awakening. The mafia estate lies behind them—a fortress of torment and blood—and ahead, only the unknown.

Cynthia grips Andrew’s hand tightly as they navigate the jagged backwoods, rain pelting their skin like needles. Every branch snapped underfoot feels like a gunshot, every howl of wind like a warning. The plan was simple: slip past the south fence during the storm’s peak. But nothing ever stays simple in Edward Romano’s world.

They are spotted.

Searchlights blaze through the darkness. Shouts ring out. Dogs are unleashed.

The chase begins.

They run like hunted prey through the drenched forest, hearts pounding in rhythm with the storm. Cynthia trips—her leg grazed from an earlier beating still raw—but Andrew scoops her up, refusing to slow. They reach the river. It rages, swollen and furious, but it’s their only chance.

With a whispered goodbye and one last look, Andrew lifts Cynthia into the currents. She floats away into the storm, vanishing like a ghost into the blackness.

Andrew turns—too late.

Flashlights blind him. Boots stomp through the mud. The guards descend like wolves. He fights—hard, feral, defiant—but he is outnumbered. They beat him mercilessly. Blood mixes with rain. His body crumples beneath steel-toed fury.

As lightning splits the sky, Andrew is dragged back through the mud, unconscious and broken.

The pain came in waves. It was the only thing Andrew could register, sharp and unrelenting. His body was nothing but a vessel of agony as fists slammed into him, boots stomped him into the earth, and rain washed away the blood only to make room for more. They hauled him through the soaked jungle like a captured animal, never pausing, never relenting. Every step back toward the compound felt like another nail sealing him into a coffin.

Cynthia was gone. That single image kept looping in his mind. Her silhouette vanishing between the trees, swallowed by the night. It hurt worse than the fists. Worse than the steel-capped boots. Worse than the rain that lashed his skin like whips.

They threw him through the iron doors like garbage, his body crashing against the cold concrete of the inner chamber. His breath came in broken rasps. A thick trickle of blood ran down his lip and dripped to the floor. The guards didn’t even look at him as they shut the gate behind, locking him in like a trophy.

Time passed. Maybe hours. Maybe minutes. He couldn’t tell. The pain blurred everything. But Andrew never passed out. He refused to. He couldn’t let this be his end.

He heard boots echoing in the corridor.

The door creaked open.

Shark stepped in first, jaw clenched, hands behind his back, but the smug arrogance that usually danced in his eyes was gone. There was something forced in his composure, like a man holding on to the last pieces of pride.

Then came Edward.

The Don walked slowly, every step deliberate. He didn’t speak. He only stared.

"You disappointed me," Edward said finally, his voice low but full of fire. "I gave you power. I made you something. And you repay me with betrayal?"

Andrew lifted his head with effort, his lip split and swollen. "You made me a slave."

Edward’s eyes narrowed. "You became a symbol. And symbols don’t get to choose their fate."

Shark took a step forward. "I say we end him."

Edward raised a hand, stopping him. "Not here. Not like this."

He turned to the guards outside. "Chain him. We’re taking him to the hollow."

They dragged Andrew again, this time toward the loading bay of the compound where an armored vehicle waited. The rain hadn’t stopped. It beat down on them in sheets as they drove into the jungle.

Inside the truck, Andrew sat between two guards, wrists chained and head bowed. The pain in his ribs flared every time the vehicle hit a bump, but he kept silent. If they thought they had broken him, they were wrong. Deep in his mind, where no one could reach, a fire still burned.

Shark, one of Edward's loyalists, sat across from him, arms folded.

"You know," Shark said, voice tinged with contempt, "this didn’t have to be like this. You could’ve stayed in your place. You could’ve kept your head down. But no… You had to be the hero."

Andrew didn’t respond.

Shark sneered. "What was it? The girl? The dream of escaping? You think love survives in this world? You think you’re different? You’re just another dog in chains."

The truck slowed. The brakes hissed.

The door opened to the jungle. They had stopped at an isolated clearing deep in the woods.

Shark and Edward stepped out first. The guards pulled Andrew from the vehicle and shoved him into the wet grass.

Thunder rolled above. Lightning illuminated the tree line in bright white flashes.

Edward turned to face Andrew.

"This place," he said, arms stretched slightly, "is where I bury my failures."

Andrew stood, fists clenched despite the pain. His chains were gone now. Perhaps Edward wanted him to fight. Perhaps he wanted sport.

"You should’ve stayed loyal," Edward said. "I would've made you a king."

Andrew spat blood. "I was never yours to make."

Shark charged.

Andrew ducked the punch, pivoted, and slammed his elbow into Shark’s ribs. The man doubled over, but recovered quickly, pulling a blade from his boot.

"You think you're untouchable!" Shark snarled.

He lunged. Andrew sidestepped and twisted Shark’s arm, driving his knee into his gut, making him drop the knife. The two clashed like wolves, raw and brutal. Fists flew, bones cracked, blood spilled. Every hit Andrew took fed his resolve. Every punch he gave felt like justice.

Shark tried to go for his throat, but Andrew slammed his head into the man’s nose. Blood exploded from it. Shark staggered. Andrew didn’t stop.

He tackled him to the ground. His fists rained down. Shark’s face quickly became a pulp of red. The guards stepped forward but Edward raised his hand again.

Shark gave a last feeble shove before Andrew drove a final punch to his jaw, knocking him unconscious.

Silence fell.

Edward stared at the crumpled form of his captain, then slowly turned to Andrew.

The guards rushed forward. Andrew fought them too. He ducked a baton, elbowed one in the throat, grabbed the other’s weapon, and cracked it across his skull. One by one, they fell. Bruised and bloody, Andrew stood alone.

Then he heard the sound.

A slow, deliberate click.

Edward stood in the clearing, pistol raised.

“Enough,” he said, voice low.

Andrew turned. His breath heavy. Clothes torn. Blood on his hands. He stared into the barrel.

“On your knees,” Edward ordered.

Andrew didn’t move.

Edward cocked the gun. “I said on your knees.”

Andrew dropped slowly. He raised his hands.

The rain had eased, now only a mist across the jungle. Thunder grumbled in the distance.

Edward stepped closer. “Do you know what loyalty costs?”

Andrew didn’t answer.

Edward’s finger tightened on the trigger.

“You should’ve just died silently before I found you.”

His finger curled.

“But it's not too late”

Andrew didn't flinch nor frightened, at least he had saved Cynthia, he said to himself.

Then a gunshot rang out.

But unexpectedly, it was not from Edward's, and Andrew wasn't shot.

It was Edward that was hit!

Edward screamed. The pistol flew from his hand. Blood sprayed from his forearm.

Both men turned, eyes wide, scanning the jungle.

And there, in the trees, someone stood with a rifle raised.

The shooter stepped forward.