The Urban God Of Riverdale

Chapter 3: His True Identity

They dragged Rowen outside like he was a piece of garbage.

"You dare to upset someone as powerful as Fred? I see you really do have a death wish!" They glared at Rowen.

They expected him to shiver and grovel. They expected his knees to hit the ground with a thud, his legs wobbling beneath him as he begged for mercy like his life depended on it—which, in truth, it did.

Instead, he stood perfectly still. His breathing remained calm, unhurried, and his eyes were steady, regarding them as though they were the ones beneath contempt.

It caused Joel, the gang leader, to expel a sharp breath from his lungs in hot, explosive bursts.

His face twisted and his hands curled tightly into fists.

He stepped forward while the other men held Rowen in place, closing the distance until Rowen could feel the heat of his stale breath against his skin.

"You've really got some nerve for someone who's about to die, haven't you! We are the Trinity Bloodhounds, and our torture methods are among the most feared in this city.

If you really think you're some tough guy who's going to walk away from this easily, then you had better think again!" His tongue clicked and spittle sprayed across Rowen's face as he spoke.

It was revolting.

Rowen's expression remained blank, almost as though he were staring at something he had stepped in.

"I'm not acting tough. I just know my worth," Rowen responded calmly.

His words were first met with silence, after which a burst of laughter tore through the air.

Joel's gold teeth caught the light as his mouth stretched wide, his hands pressed against his stomach as he roared with unrestrained amusement.

"You know your worth?"

The others fell silent the instant he stopped laughing, not daring to push further, well aware of their leader's explosive temper.

"You must be out of your mind talking about worth. You're nothing but a washed-up nobody, a pathetic fool who got dumped by his girl for someone with more power and standing—someone actually worth her time—and you dare to claim worth?

Fred knows the most powerful men in this city, men whose names alone would make you lose your nerve. That's the man you chose to offend!"

Rowen scoffed, and everyone in the alley instantly froze as a drop of saliva landed on Joel's face.

Their breath caught in their throats and their bodies tensed on Rowen's behalf, knowing what he was about to endure.

They all knew Joel's most sacred rule—that no one dared to spit on him.

"Consider yourself dead!" he snarled, and the rest of the gang cracked their knuckles, falling into step behind their leader.

They were ready to attack and tear Rowen apart. Afterward, they planned to scatter his remains across the city as a warning.

"You wouldn't dare touch me." Rowen's arms folded across his chest.

He delivered the words with such certainty, and the weight of his composure was enough to make even the air around them feel different.

"What did you just say?" the gang leader demanded, his expression darkening in a way that seemed to drop the temperature by several degrees.

"I said you wouldn't dare touch me. You don't want to know what will follow."

The air grew thick and still, every man's breath catching in their dry throats.

Thought after thought hammered through their minds as they watched Rowen defy their leader twice over—first by spitting on him, then by having the audacity to issue a threat.

"He's as good as dead."

Then Joel laughed. The sound startled everyone, and the members joined in almost immediately, though none could afford to provoke him further at this point.

"What are you going to do, you worthless nobody? Everyone already knows you're pathetic, so what exactly is your plan here?

Call in a sniper to knock me off? Who do you honestly think is coming to save you? Even the president and the mayor would step back from this fight!"

"I know someone."

Joel's expression hardened and a sharp sound escaped his throat. To Rowen, the man was nothing more than an arrogant and powerless oversized rat.

"I know Hagen," Rowen said.

The gang members erupted into laughter. The name meant nothing to them. If the man were truly powerful, they would have heard of him—assuming Rowen even knew anyone with enough influence to pull him out of this situation.

But Joel wasn't laughing.

The color drained from his face and his jaw dropped open, hanging slack as though the muscles had simply given way.

When he spoke, his voice had dropped to something low and quiet, but it carried far more weight than any of his shouting had.

"How do you know Hagen?" he growled.