The Untouchable God of War

Chapter 6

The eastern shipping docks smelled of salt water, diesel exhaust, and rusty iron.

Gabriel stood on the second-story walkway of an abandoned warehouse across the alley, hidden deep in the cool morning shadows. He wore his plain, dark coat, his hands resting in his pockets, his gaze fixed entirely on the open bay doors of Fletcher Logistics.

Down on the floor of the busy warehouse, a young man in his early twenties was carrying heavy wooden crates. He wore dirty denim jeans, a grease-stained work shirt, and a battered pencil tucked behind his ear.

It was Julian Fletcher, His brother.

Gabriel’s chest tightened as he stared at the young man's face. The soft facial structure, the bright, honest eyes, the way he rubbed the back of his neck when he was tired, it was like looking at a ghost.

Julian looked so much like their mother that it took every ounce of Gabriel's legendary willpower to keep his feet planted on the metal walkway.

Below, an older man with graying hair and a heavy limp walked up to Julian, holding a clipboard. That was Arthur Fletcher, the man who had raised Julian for the last Fifteen years.

"Julian, take a break son," Arthur said, offering the young man a cold bottle of water with a warm smile. "You've been moving pallets since five in the morning."

Julian wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve and laughed, taking the bottle. "If I take a break, Dad, who's going to fix your inventory tallies? You listed three crates of engine parts as wooden chairs."

Arthur chuckled, clapping a hand onto Julian’s shoulder. "That's why I pay you the big bucks, kid."

Gabriel watched the two of them laugh together. A warmth touched Gabriel's cold heart, followed by a sharp pain.

For Fifteen years, Gabriel had survived in the brutal dark, surrounded by blood, war, and endless violence. He had spent every night believing his entire family was dead, buried in an unmarked grave. But here was his brother, safe, happy, loved, and completely untainted by the filth of the city’s underground.

“I should go down there,” a small voice whispered inside Gabriel's mind. “I should call his name. I should tell him I'm his brother.”

Gabriel’s fists clenched inside his coat pockets as he shook his head, knowing he shouldn't.

Ezra Foster was dead, but the shadow of the Top Five still hung over the city. Inspector Woods was out there, and Shepherd Black's Iron Syndicate was hunting the streets.

If Gabriel revealed himself now, he would put a target on Julian's back, the monsters who destroyed their mother would use Julian to break Gabriel.

To keep his brother alive, Gabriel knew he had to remain a ghost for a while.

Suddenly, the warm atmosphere inside the warehouse vanished.

The iron doors of Fletcher Warehouse slammed open with a crash, and four men in black leather jackets walked into the building, their heavy boots echoing off the floor. The workers nearby instantly dropped their tools, scattering toward the back exits in fear.

At the head of the group walked a tall man with a scar running from his ear down to his collar. He carried a heavy metal pipe in his right hand, tapping it rhythmically against his thigh.

It was Silas, a high-ranking enforcer for The Iron Syndicate.

Arthur Fletcher turned pale, his hands shaking as he almost dropped his clipboard to the floor. He quickly stepped forward, putting himself between the thugs and Julian.

"Silas," Arthur said, his voice trembling despite his effort to sound steady. "I... I told you on Monday, I just need two more weeks, please."

Silas didn't stop until he was inches from Arthur's face. He picked up a small wooden crate from a nearby table and tossed it casually to the side, letting it shatter against the ground.

"Two weeks, Arthur?" Silas sneered, his voice loud and arrogant. "You've been telling me two weeks for two months. Boss Black doesn't like waiting. The interest on your loan doubled as of midnight."

"Doubled?" Julian jaw dropped, stepping up beside his adoptive father, his face flushed with anger. "That's crazy! My father took out a five-hundred-thousand-dollar loan to pay for my little sister's medical treatments! She's in the hospital right now fighting for her life. We've already paid back forty thousand dollars!"

Silas slowly turned his head toward Julian, as a nasty grin spread across his face.

"The rate is whatever we say it is, kid," Silas said smoothly. "You don't get to negotiate with the Syndicate."

"We would have paid the full amount by now," Arthur pleaded, tears filling his old eyes as he held his hands up. "But my delivery trucks were hijacked and robbed twice this month, and I lost all my cargo. I have no money left, Silas. I spent the last of my savings on my daughter's medicine!"

"Not my problem, old man," Silas replied coldly. He raised his metal pipe, pointing it straight at Arthur’s chest. "If you don't have the remaining balance in cash right now, we start taking payment in bones. Starting with your good leg."

"Don't you dare touch him!" Julian yelled, shoving Silas back with both hands.

The warehouse went dead silent.

Silas stumbled back half a step, his eyes widening in utter disbelief that a simple warehouse worker had laid hands on him.

The grin vanished from his face, replaced by murderous rage.

"Grab him," Silas ordered quietly.

The three heavy Syndicate thugs rushed forward. Arthur tried to pull Julian back, but one of the thugs kicked the old man hard in his bad knee, sending Arthur crashing to the floor with a cry of pain.

Julian fought back, swinging punches, but he was no match for trained street fighters. Two large thugs grabbed Julian's arms, twisted them violently behind his back, and slammed him face-first onto the cold floor.

The third thug drove a heavy knee into Julian's back, pinning him down so he couldn't move an inch.

"Let him go!" Arthur cried, crawling helplessly through the dust. "Please, he's just a boy! Take me instead!"

Silas stepped over Arthur, walking slowly up to where Julian lay pinned to the ground. He tossed his metal pipe to one of his men, spat on the floor next to Julian's face, and cracked his knuckles.

"You've got a loud mouth, kid," Silas spat, bending down so Julian could see his dark eyes. "You think because your old man is soft, the rest of the world will treat you nice? I'm going to knock every single tooth out of your mouth, and then I'm going to take your sister's medical money out of your skin."

Julian gritted his teeth, glaring up at the thug with defiance, refusing to beg. "Go to hell."

Silas's face twisted in fury, he pulled his right arm back, winding up a violent slap aimed straight for Julian's exposed face, putting his full body weight behind the strike.

Arthur closed his eyes, weeping. Julian braced himself for the bone-crushing impact.

The blow came down fast.

STOP!

Silas’s hand froze mid-air, stopping less than an inch away from Julian's cheek.

Silas blinked, his violent momentum instantly neutralized. He tried to push his hand forward to complete the slap, but it wouldn't budge. It felt as if his wrist had been caught inside an iron vise attached to a mountain.

Silas slowly turned his head around to look over his shoulder.

Standing right beside him was a tall man in a plain dark coat. The man wasn't sweating. His face was icy and his dark eyes were burning with terrifying fury.

Gabriel stood there, his bare hand clamping around Silas's wrist like a death sentence.

"You're using the wrong hand," Gabriel's voice cutting through the warehouse like a sharp blade.