Chapter 11 Luther made a move.
Landon stepped through the steel doors and the stench of smoke, sweat, and cheap booze hit him hard. The place was a den of shadows and red lights. Filthy leather couches, card games, half-naked girls dancing on poles, guns lying on tables, and bottles everywhere. Tattoos covered almost every arm, but none matched the black mask he was hunting.
He moved slowly, eyes scanning every face.
“How the hell did you get in here?!” a thunderous voice boomed behind him.
Landon turned. A massive brute shoved through the crowd, eyes bulging with rage. “Who gave you permission?! Get the fuck out!”
The man reached for Landon’s shoulder.
Wrong move.
Landon pivoted, planted his foot, and drove a brutal punch straight into the man’s sternum. The impact lifted the brute clean off the ground. He flew back, crashing into a stripper and slamming onto the floor with a deafening thud.
The music died. Cards froze mid-air. The entire room went silent.
Landon walked over, knelt beside the crumpled man, and ripped his shirt open. There it was — the black mask tattoo burned across his chest.
“Found you,” Landon muttered.
But the man wasn’t breathing. Too much force.
“Who the hell are you?! Why are you causing trouble in my base?!” a sharp voice rang out from the back.
A man in his mid-forties stepped forward through the parting crowd. Clean button-down shirt, polished shoes, a cigarette between his lips. He looked more like a businessman than a gangster.
“Are you the owner here?” Landon asked coldly.
The man squinted. “Yes, and who do you think—”
Landon didn’t let him finish. His fist cracked across the man’s jaw with vicious speed. The boss dropped hard, knees smashing the floor as blood poured from his broken nose.
The crowd gasped. No one dared move.
“Good,” Landon said, standing over him. “Now that I have your attention, let’s talk about the tattoo.”
Landon grabbed the bastard by his collar and yanked him up until they were eye-to-eye. He shoved the dead guard’s body aside like trash. The boss’s nose was still bleeding, his eyes darting wildly for an escape.
Landon shoved the tattoo mark on his own forearm right in the man’s face. “Do you recognize this?”
The boss’s eyes twitched. He knew.
Landon tightened his grip, nearly lifting the man off the ground. “Where are they?” he growled.
He grabbed the boss’s jaw with his other hand, squeezing hard. “Do you want me to cut that tongue out before you start speaking? Start. Talking. Now.”
The boss’s lips trembled. “I swear—I swear on my life, I know nothing! They just came to my club one day, asked for a place to stay for a few nights. That’s all! I didn’t ask questions!”
Liar.
His mouth said one thing, but his eyes screamed guilt.
Landon pressed harder on the man’s jaw. “Keep lying and I’ll carve every artery out of your body and let you feel yourself die piece by piece. Don’t test me.”
The boss was sweating buckets. “Please… I—”
Landon’s phone buzzed. He kept one hand on the boss’s collar and answered.
“I’m listening,” he said, voice still burning with rage.
Carter’s tone was urgent. “Boss, the Cross just made a move. Luther left the compound ten minutes ago. He’s on the road now, heading east.”
Landon dropped the boss like a sack of garbage. The man gasped and scrambled backward across the floor.
“Don’t lose him,” Landon ordered, already walking through the crowd that parted in fear. “Stick to him like glue. Keep your eyes on that bastard every second. And Carter… don’t you dare lose sight of him.”
