Chapter 10: The silent assassin
The dimly lit club pulsed with the low hum of music, the air thick with the scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke. William tensed, expecting the sharp crack of a gunshot, when cold water splashed across his face. He blinked, wiping his eyes, and saw Zack grinning, holding a toy gun, its plastic barrel still dripping.
“Surprise! Guys, this is my club—I own it! Let the party begin!” Zack shouted, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the room. He bounced on his heels, popping the caps off beer bottles with a flourish, foam spilling onto the floor. The group—Billie, Bill-Board, Sane, and I—watched in varying degrees of amusement and unease. Before anyone could react, William’s fist slammed into Zack’s stomach. The impact echoed like a drumbeat, and Zack doubled over, retching his dinner onto the floor in a sour, wet mess.
William’s face was a storm of fury. “You don’t pull stunts like that in a room with an assassin! Are you crazy?” His voice trembled with rage, his finger jabbing toward Sane, who stood silently in the corner, his black-clad figure almost blending into the shadows. William’s point hit home—Zack’s recklessness could have deadly consequences in a group like ours.
We settled into a rickety booth, the cracked leather creaking under our weight. The others grabbed beers, the clink of bottles a sharp counterpoint to the tension. I opted for an energy drink, its metallic tang grounding me as I scanned the room. Sane, as usual, abstained, his masked face turned slightly, observing us with those piercing eyes. I wondered if beneath his stoic exterior, he was just socially awkward, maybe even longing to connect. The thought lingered as the club’s neon lights flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows across his form.
The mood shifted abruptly when the door swung open, revealing a man in a tailored suit, his polished shoes clicking against the grimy floor. Zack shot to his feet, his chair scraping back with a screech. Fear widened his eyes and trembled in his legs, visible even in the dim light.
“Brother!” Zack’s voice cracked as he faced the newcomer. “How did you find me? What are you doing here?”
It was Gun Vaughn, his elder brother, CEO of Vaughn Electronics—one of the many enterprises under their family’s sprawling empire. His presence filled the room like a cold wind, his sharp features set in a scowl.
“What a fucking mess!” Gun’s words sliced through the air. “Where have you been? You know what—it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s over. The police uncovered your little operations here. Father’s done with you. You’re cut off.
"What?" Zack exclaimed,