Vendetta: Throne of Betrayal

Chapter 4: Breaking Point

The trap was elegant in its simplicity. On Thursday, Bryce cornered Aiden outside the chemistry lab, a prime location, far from the security cameras, shadowed by the stairwell. 

His loyal followers flanked him: Drew, with his permanent sneer, and Caleb, a heavyset boy whose fists had solved many problems.

Aiden didn’t bother to back away. He knew better now. “What do you want, Bryce?" he asked, keeping his voice calm.

Bryce smiled, a slow, dangerous grin. “Heard you’ve been busy, Cole. Making friends in low places."

Marcus’s warning echoed in Aiden’s mind: “They'll come for you when you least expect it. When you’re alone.”

“Well," Bryce continued, stepping closer, “we can't have a roach crawling around our halls, can we?"

Before Aiden could react, Drew slammed him against the lockers. Pain exploded through his shoulder, but Aiden gritted his teeth and stayed standing.

“You think you’re tough, huh?” Bryce said. “Think you can play our game?"

Aiden’s eyes locked on Bryce’s. He didn't flinch. Didn’t speak. That seemed to enrage Bryce more than any insult would have.

"You're nothing," Bryce hissed. "Just a charity case they let in to make themselves feel better."

He leaned in closer, so close Aiden could smell the expensive cologne masking his rot. "You should have stayed in the gutter where you belong."

Then, with the kind of casual malice only the privileged could afford, Bryce raised his hand and slapped Aiden across the face.

The sharp crack echoed in the empty hall. For a heartbeat, no one moved. Aiden’s cheek burned, but his mind was already spinning, calculating. 

Three against one. No cameras. No witnesses who would speak up. A fight would only end one way, with him expelled, maybe worse.

He had to be smarter. So he smiled, a slow, dangerous smile of his own. “Is that all you’ve got?” Aiden said softly.

For a moment, Bryce looked almost stunned. Then his face twisted in rage. "Hold him," he barked at Drew and Caleb, but Aiden was already moving. 

He ducked Drew’s grab, spun, and slammed his backpack hard into Caleb’s gut. The bigger boy stumbled backward, gasping.

Adrenaline surged through Aiden’s veins. He bolted down the hall, heart pounding. Behind him, Bryce shouted curses, but Aiden didn’t stop. He wasn't running away. He was baiting them. Leading them.

The maintenance tunnels under Saint Augustine’s weren’t on any official map. Marcus had shown them to Aiden a few nights ago, during one of their secret meetings. 

Narrow, dusty corridors connecting different wings of the school, leftovers from the original 1800s construction. Perfect for losing pursuers. Perfect for setting traps.

Aiden yanked open the heavy access door and slipped inside just as Bryce and the others rounded the corner.

The old pipes and dim lighting swallowed him. He ran a few steps in, then stopped. Waited. Footsteps thundered behind him.

Bryce shoved the door open, breathing hard, fury burning in his eyes. “There’s nowhere to run now, you little.”

His words cut off with a choked sound. Aiden stepped aside. Marcus emerged from the shadows behind Bryce, swinging a fire extinguisher like a club.

The metal cylinder connected with Caleb’s knee with a sickening crack. Caleb went down with a howl.

Drew turned, wide-eyed, only for Marcus to jab him in the gut with the nozzle. Bryce backed away, hands raised. “Wait, wait, you don’t know who you’re messing with!”

"Oh, we know," Marcus said, voice low and dangerous. "The Vice President’s son. Big scary title."

He stepped closer, extinguisher still raised. Bryce stumbled back, tripped over Caleb’s sprawled body, and fell hard.

For a moment, it looked like Marcus would hit him too, but Aiden grabbed Marcus’s arm. "Not here," he said quietly. "Not yet."

Marcus hesitated, then nodded. He dropped the extinguisher with a clatter. Bryce stared up at them, breathing hard, face twisted in fear and hate. "This isn’t over," he spat.

"No," Aiden agreed, voice cold. "It’s just beginning." He turned and walked away without looking back.

Later that night, Aiden sat on the roof of their apartment building, the city lights sprawling below him like a sea of broken stars.

His knuckles were raw. His shoulder throbbed. But inside, he felt... clearer. The rules had changed. This wasn’t a game anymore. It was war.

And if Bryce wanted to fight dirty, Aiden would learn to swim in the mud better than anyone.

He heard footsteps behind him and glanced back to see Marcus climbing onto the roof. "Bold move today," Marcus said, sitting down beside him.

"I’m tired of playing defense," Aiden muttered.

"Good," Marcus said. "Because they won't stop."

He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over. Aiden opened it, and froze.

It was a photo. Grainy, black and white, but unmistakable. His mother, standing outside the dry cleaner’s where she worked, talking to a man in a dark suit. "Who’s that?" Aiden asked, heart pounding.

Marcus’s voice was grim. "That’s one of Maddox’s fixers."

Aiden stared at the photo, bile rising in his throat. "They’re not just coming after you at school anymore," Marcus said quietly. "They're going after your family."

The next morning, Aiden barely slept. He shadowed his mother and sister to school and work, scanning every face on the street. 

He saw nothing, no black sedans, no men in suits, but the photo burned in his mind. Paranoia whispered in his ear with every passing stranger.

He couldn't be everywhere at once. He couldn't protect them all. Not alone.

By Friday, the pressure was unbearable. At lunch, Aiden found a note tucked into his locker. No name. Just two words: “Tick Tock.”

Later, in chemistry class, his textbook had been slashed to ribbons. No one claimed responsibility, but everyone knew.

Bryce sat three rows back, smirking like a king surveying his ruined kingdom. Aiden clenched his fists under the desk.

He was nearing his breaking point. One wrong move, one slip, and everything could come crashing down. 

He had to think. He had to move faster than them. He had to hit back, hard enough they wouldn’t dare touch him again.

That night, the call came. He was sitting with Mia, helping her with homework, when the ancient landline phone rang, a shrill, jarring sound.

His mom answered. Aiden watched her freeze, color draining from her face. She slowly hung up. Her hands were shaking. "Who was it, Mom?" Aiden asked.

She looked at him, eyes full of terror. "They said..." she whispered. "They said if you don't leave Saint Augustine’s... they’ll come for us next."

Aiden’s world tilted. He felt Mia’s small hand slip into his, trusting and afraid. Something inside him, the last piece of innocence, of hope, shattered.

Bryce had made it personal. They had crossed a line, and they were going to pay.