Askai went to the wardrobe and pulled out his bag. His cellphone was sitting on top of it. He immediately grabbed it and dialed Jordan's number, the panic settling in. He had been so lost in his own predicament that he almost forgot about his friend.

  The ring was short; Jordan picked up immediately.

  "Where in hell are you? You just disappeared!" Jordan yelled into the phone, his voice shaking with repressed fear.

  "I am good. Fine. I am at Vance's place—which one, I do not know—but I'll be out of here soon. Did anyone seek you out at Mrs. Wells's?”

  "No one did. We've been clear. You know who those men were working for, Askai?” Jordan asked, his voice suddenly dropping to a low, tense whisper, as if someone was around.

  Askai heard a cheerful voice in the background, "Is it Askai? Tell him I said hello."

  "Will do," Jordan chirped back, shifting gears instantly. Then, back into the phone, “Mrs. Wells says hi. So, do you know the men?”

  "That was a false alarm," Askai almost sighed into the phone, relief and exasperation battling in his chest. "They were Vance's men. Apparently, he was having me stalked, and when he found out that I was visiting West Nolan—that too a hospital—he freaked out. Glad they somehow lost our tail or we could have been in real trouble."

  "Are you sure they lost us?” Jordan sounded skeptical, his street instincts still screaming caution.

  "Cent Percent," Askai answered, recalling the look of pure, entitled venom on Vance’s face when he spouted filth about the West. Vance would have Askai's head on a pike the day he realized Askai was the devil corrupting his East End 'angel.'

  "Good. Then stay there," Jordan said flatly, the command surprising in its severity.

  "What?!!" Askai asked, taken aback.

  "Because the West is not safe anymore. Not that it ever was, but it is almost like the '80s now. There are massacres going down in the streets, and no one seems to know who is behind them. There is panic and chaos. Yesterday, someone pointed the finger for Zeke's murder at Qurais, and this morning all his clubs were burned down. His boys were butchered and the girls were sold as slaves to Kazan. Nobody knows again who sponsored this massacre…”

  "Shit!" Askai weighed the consequences of his actions last night, the cold dread returning. Zeke's murder had clearly prompted Qurais's immediate fall, tilting the balance of power decisively in favor of Moraine Valez. Karla and Qurais hated each other, but the bitch knew his importance.

  "Nothing happened, Askai. Stay with Vance. It is the safest place right now for you.”

  Askai almost scoffed at Jordan's suggestion, but even he knew that this gilded cage was the best place to lay low for a while. It would have been, however, Jordan didn't know Vance like he did. This guy could be a bigger, more complicated trouble than Moraine Valez one day.

  "What about you?” he asked, the anxiety creeping back in. "How long can you stay at Mrs. Wells's? Moraine would be out on the streets soon for our blood. He holds grudges like a dog holds onto bones. This whole Qurais episode smells of him. Leave it to Moraine to manipulate the circumstances to his favor. Would you be safe there?”

  “I'll be perfectly fine, Ask," Jordan said without a thought, a little too quickly, which struck Askai as odd.

  "You know I can get out of here and see you at Mrs. Wells's place. We'll go and pick up Kael, then leave this goddamned city behind. Should have done that years ago. I think this way it would be—”

  "No, stay there. Mrs. Wells can pick up Kael, and we can wait out the storm here. Right now, the streets are not safe to attempt an escape. We could end up dead in cross-fire alone. Let's wait and watch.”

  “Okay…” Askai conceded, a little unsure, but accepting the logic. It would just be for a couple of days anyway, until they gauged the direction of the winds.

  Jordan hummed. "I'll let you know if I hear anything else. Sit tight until then!"

  Jordan walked back to the kitchen, the clean, bright space a stark contrast to the chaos still clinging to him. He watched as Mrs. Wells - Veronica fixed him a cup of coffee. The ritual was soothing, familiar.

  "Are you sure, dear, you don't want to take a nap? You barely slept last night.”

  Veronica asked, turning to glance at Jordan before going back to the brewing machine. She was a woman in her forties, but with a former model's innate grace, her blonde hair was perfectly styled, framing deep blue eyes that had only recently acquired fine lines around the corners, lending her whole persona a kind, worn beauty.

  At the outset, Jordan and Mrs. Wells looked so alike—the same shade of blonde hair, the intense blue gaze—that they might be mistaken for siblings. Veronica looked far too young for the trauma she carried. She was a woman who had made the devastating mistake of trusting the wrong people in a world that never forgave.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “Here it is,” she said, handing Jordan the steaming cup, for which he was utterly grateful.

  "Is Askai okay? You looked really shaken last night, and I didn't want to trouble you anymore than you were… ”

  "He is good, Mrs. Wells. Safe.” Jordan sighed, letting the steam warm his face, but Veronica looked at him with profound worry.

  "This is because of Valez, isn't it? You are running because he has succeeded Tommie. You should have come to see me when I called you months ago. I could have warned you much ahead.” Veronica’s eyes swam with unshed tears. She understood the terrifying predicament the boys were in. They had made a mistake years ago when they dared to make an enemy of the most powerful, most relentless man in the West.

  Tommie—Moraine Valez’s rival, and the gang boss who had caused their initial hell—had been living on borrowed breath, a cruel mercy granted by Valez’s bleeding heart for his third brother. Veronica still remembered the day she had first seen Valez. He was just a boy then—dark, lean, and so very tall for his age. They called him 'Spitfire'. He had ruthlessly named a street after himself when he was just fourteen, right after he burned the previous boss alive in his own house, along with his every last scion. His gang of unruly ragtags had hunted down every single one of the former boss’s minions before the dawn broke. He believed in complete annihilation.

  Somehow, that was just the beginning of a terrifying story awaiting the rise of a formidable power in the West. How she wished that the boys had never crossed paths with him. But even if she turned the clock backward, she still couldn't have prevented it.

  Askai, himself, had never been quiet on the street, stirring up storms that always made him the terrifying, undeniable center of attention. That boy was a magnet for dangerous troubles, and Jordan, his ‘second brother,’ was the most willing, fiercely loyal partner in all his reckless crimes.

  “I have been hoping to tell you, but I couldn't gather the courage,” Veronica confessed, her voice thick with pain. “When I finally did, I couldn't say it over the phone, and I couldn't come by myself without risking us all.”

  “You knew?” Jordan asked, bewildered, the cup frozen halfway to his lips. "How? How long has he been dead?!”

  "Oh, dear! Tommie has been dead for a year now.” Veronica reached out for his hand, squeezing it gently, knowing the devastating realization was soon to follow.

  "Does that mean…” Jordan couldn't finish the thought, his throat choking up due to the sudden, agonizing onslaught of emotions.

  "Tommie's death was not an accident. It was a just execution for the sins he committed on those we loved. And yes…” Tears finally spilled from her eyes as she broke into heart-wrenching sobs. Jordan put down his cup—careful not to break the china—to hug her tightly, squeezing strength into her, his own eyes moistening over the brutal truth.

  “He is gone…” She breathed between the sobs. “Selvis is gone forever. I sat next to him the whole night. The doctors said that he had many years ahead, and I thought… I thought I would see his smile again. But his heart… it gave away.”

  She wailed in his arms, her painful sobs breaking Jordan's heart. Fresh tears spilled from his eyes as he realized the depth of the pain Moraine must have been enduring. Archie had been his second brother, Selvis his third. In their fractured world in the West, the brothers were all the family one had. Now both of them were gone, taken by the same destructive forces.

  Moraine had loved them both more than his own life, and to watch the people you love meet a brutal, agonizing end—Jordan couldn't even begin to imagine his pain. It had been a whole year, but Moraine was a man who remembered everything—every slight, every moment of affection, every loss—way too vividly.

  A boon and a curse.

  He quietly patted her back until Veronica quieted down, her body shaking with residual grief. Mrs. Wells—another assumed identity, like Askai’s—had left her past behind after that incident that turned all their lives into a mini-hell. It had taught all of them, the so-called 'spawn of Satan,' what the West really was: a festering wound that gave nothing but pain and loss.

  As Veronica finally quieted, Jordan sat there holding her hand, his own mind reeling from the magnitude of the buried truth.

  "You and Askai should leave Nolan and run away with Kael while you still can. Moraine is too deeply invested in the West, and in… you." She clutched his hand so tight that it was almost painful. "If he chooses to be the King of Hell, he would want you to rot in there. ."

  Jordan gently disentangled his hand, a sense of self-preservation winning out over his fear. "Veronica, it has been so long already, and moreover, a year has passed since Uncle Tommie died; he didn't come after us." He paused, seeking logic in the insanity. "He probably has forgotten all about me. In the bloody mess that the West is in currently, I doubt he even has time to think about us. We would probably be safe for a while.”

  Jordan didn't know whom he was trying to assuage—himself or Veronica—but his own words, laced with false hope, sounded perfectly logical.

  Veronica straightened up, gently shaking her head. She had no way of getting through these mule-headed beasts who were too stubborn for their own good. Moraine did not realize it yet, but Jordan and Askai were the only ones he once called family who were still alive. He might even call them family once again someday—if they survived his wrath.

  "There are more dangers lurking in the West, besides Moraine, for you brothers.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, conveying the gravity of her terror. "There is a force in the East—more mythical than real—but they say it is coming to the West. They call them the East Guard—Protector of the Glass Wall—but no one knows about its mysterious leader. Only that he is powerful and ruthless enough to annihilate the West if he chose to. Their succession remains shrouded in secrecy, and I doubt even Valez knows who is pulling the reins. It's hard to defeat an enemy you know nothing about.”

  A cold chill went down Jordan's spine as he recalled the words of Askai: East held the stick. The ultimate Villains. Despite himself, another fear gripped his heart, one colder than Moraine’s anger.

  "Why are they an enemy of Moraine suddenly?” he asked, unable to come up with a reason himself.

  “Because of that bastard Tommie,” Veronica whispered, fury and dread warring in her voice. “He knew his end was coming. And instead of facing it like a man, he chose vengeance—invited the wrath of the East upon the West.” She shuddered, as if the weight of her knowledge scorched her nerves. “Only Moraine and a few in his Inner Circle know what he’s done. It isn’t common knowledge… not yet.”

  Her gaze lifted to Jordan—pleading, terrified. “There. More reasons for you to run. Leave before the storm turns into war.”