Chapter 2

Old Frank still brought me food every day.

Hot soup, sandwiches, sometimes half an apple.

It wasn't much, but I knew he was going without to save it for me.

Half the time, he was chewing on moldy crusts himself.

Whenever I took that thermos from him, it felt heavy in my hands.

At noon that day, he came again.

"Jack, drink it while it's hot."

I took the cup. The warmth against my palms made my fingers tremble a little.

Old Frank sat down on a wooden crate beside me, stared out at the horizon, and stayed quiet for a long time.

"Amy... I heard she's working as a hostess at the Black Swan Casino, trying to pay off the loan-shark debt her father left behind."

Black Swan Casino.

That was Marcus Harrison's business.

"I've been trying to save enough to buy her freedom, but with these bottles..."

Old Frank looked down at the plastic bag in his hand and gave a bitter little laugh. "At this rate, I'll be dead before I get there."

I opened my mouth, wanting to say something, but my throat felt clogged shut.

What was I supposed to say?

That I used to be able to shut down the Black Swan Casino with a single word?

Or that now I couldn't even come up with the money to buy his granddaughter out myself?

All I could do was lower my head, stare at the thermos in my hands, and tighten my grip without realizing it.

Bang!

The thermos was kicked over, and hot soup splashed across the ground, scalding my shin.

Three thugs in leather jackets walked over. The one in front had a scorpion tattoo on his arm—the mark of the Harrison family.

"You old bastard, got the money yet?"

Tattoo Arm grabbed Old Frank by the collar and yanked him off the crate.

The old man's body swayed in his grip like a dead branch.

"I... I'm saving up..."

"Saving up?"

The thug laughed, and the sound made my fist clench on its own. "Your granddaughter's getting delivered tonight to entertain Young Master Luke's VIP guests, and you're still out here picking through trash?"

I stood off to the side, my nails digging deep into my palm.

Frank signaled for me to leave, not wanting me dragged into trouble.

But I could feel my breathing getting faster, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

"Please... just give me a little more time..." Old Frank begged.

"Time?"

The thug pulled out a switchblade. Sunlight flashed hard off the blade. "I'll carve you a reminder, then."

My muscles tightened. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to move.

But I couldn't.

I fucking couldn't.

I couldn't face the brothers who had died under me, and I couldn't face my mother.

The thug raised the knife and aimed it at Old Frank's face.

I bit down hard. Then, in the next second, I took a step back and put on a terrified look.

"D-don't... don't kill him..."

The thug glanced at me and burst out laughing.

"Look at this limp mutt. Scared pissless, huh?"

He turned, the knife tip driving toward Old Frank's shoulder.

I stumbled backward, caught my foot, and hurled the length of scrap steel in my hand straight into the crane pulley.

CRACK—

The massive steel cable snapped at once, and a pulley weighing hundreds of pounds came hurtling down through the air.

"AAAGH—!"

The thug's scream ripped through the dockside air.

The pulley crushed his right arm and knee. Blood flooded the ground, and the sound of bone splintering made my stomach twist again.

The other two thugs went white, scrambling as they dragged their partner away.

"An accident! This piece-of-shit machinery's falling apart! We've gotta report this!"

Their shouting faded as they ran.

The docks went quiet again.

I stood there shaking all over.

Old Frank dropped to his knees, picking up the shattered pieces of the thermos.

"The soup... the soup spilled..." he muttered, full of guilt.

A photograph slipped from his pocket and landed beside the blood.

I bent down and picked it up.

It was a young girl. Bright smile. Light still in her eyes.

"This is Amy?"

"Yeah." Old Frank took the photo and carefully wiped the blood from it. "Taken ten years ago... back when her father was still alive."

His hands were shaking.

I stared at the picture, and in my mind I saw it again—the slaughter from ten years ago. Their blood. Their screams. The way they looked at me before they died.

That was when I started to grow sick of killing, sick enough to want out of all of it.

So I ran.

For ten years.

But now...

Ten years ago, I chose to fake my death to protect certain people.

Ten years later, they were still suffering.

And I was hiding here like a dog.

"You okay, Little Jack?" Old Frank looked at me, worried.

"I'm fine." I got to my feet. My voice came out so raw it startled even me. "You should go back and get some rest."

Old Frank nodded and hobbled away.

...

Right now, I'm nothing but a cripple who picks through trash.

But I figured I could at least go see that girl.

Maybe make things a little less hard for her.

Night fell, and one by one, the lights along the docks went dark.

I put on my only black jacket, walking to an abandoned container truck parked nearby.