Chapter 5: The Gift

The West District warehouse sat deep in LA's industrial zone. Abandoned for years. Only the homeless and dealers bothered with it anymore.

Jack parked two blocks out. Approached on foot. He didn't draw his gun, but his right hand stayed loose at his hip.

The steel door hung half-open. Inside: male laughter. Leah screaming.

"Let go of me!"

"Drop the act, Leah. You liked me just fine before."

"You said you'd do anything I asked, remember?"

"So what's the problem? Just spend one night with Ethan. That's it."

"Tell me. Why won't you do it?"

"You know what, bitch? One night with him gets us five grand."

Brad's voice. Drunk. Unhinged.

Jack pushed the door open.

Emergency lights dangled from the ceiling, casting sickly yellow pools across the concrete. Leah was zip-tied to a folding chair, cloth stuffed in her mouth.

Brad and three thugs circled her. Beer bottles. Baseball bats.

Brad saw him first.

His face was flushed—alcohol and adrenaline. Band-Aid still plastered across his nose.

"Well, well. Look who showed up." Brad swung his bottle lazily. "Come on in, Jack. We've been waiting."

Jack stepped inside. Measured. Controlled.

"Let her go," Jack said. "And I'll let you walk."

"What?" Brad burst out laughing. The others joined in. "Did I hear that right? You'll let me walk? That's the funniest shit I've heard all day."

He jerked his chin toward the side.

A shaved-head thug raised his bat and swung for Jack's shoulder.

Jack didn't dodge. Left hand up. Caught the bat mid-swing. Twisted.

The thug's grip tore. He screamed, let go.

Jack reversed the bat. Cracked it across the man's kneecap. Bone splintered audibly.

Baldy dropped.

The other two charged.

One threw a punch. Jack sidestepped, drove an elbow into the back of his skull. The guy face-planted. Didn't move.

The third wrapped Jack in a bear hug from behind, trying to drag him down.

Jack snapped his head back. Cartilage crunched. The thug let go, stumbling backward with both hands over his bleeding nose.

Brad's face went white.

He shoved away from Leah. Pulled a switchblade from his waistband.

"You're fucking crazy—" Brad's hand shook. "Don't—don't come any closer—"

Jack stepped forward. Brad lunged with the knife.

Jack shifted. The blade scraped his jacket. Missed.

He grabbed Brad's wrist. Twisted. The knife clattered to the floor.

Then drove a knee into Brad's gut.

Brad folded. Vomited bile.

Jack didn't stop. He grabbed Brad by the hair, slammed his face into a nearby steel shelf.

"I gave you a chance, Brad." Jack's voice was low. Cold.

Brad sobbed. Snot and tears smeared his face. "I'm sorry—I won't do it again—please—"

Jack bounced his head off the shelf one more time. Let go.

Brad collapsed. Spineless.

Jack walked to Leah. Cut the zip ties.

She threw herself into his arms, shaking violently.

"Jack... Brad, he's a... he's a monster..."

Tears streamed down her face.

"It's over," Jack said, patting her back. Eyes locked on Brad's crumpled form. "Let's go home."

On the drive back, Leah stayed silent.

Just before they reached the apartment, she finally spoke.

"You've changed."

"I'm still me."

"No. No, you're not." She stared at his hands on the wheel. "You've killed people. Haven't you?"

Jack didn't answer.

"I won't ask what happened to you out there," Leah said softly. "But you have to promise me something. Don't die. Because if you do, May will never recover."

"I'll try."

Leah gave a bitter smile. Leaned back in her seat.

"You'll always be my little brother. No matter what you've done."

Jack's grip tightened on the wheel. He didn't look at her.

Back home, Leah had already passed out—exhaustion finally catching up. Jack carried her inside, laid her gently on her bed.

In his room, Jack pulled out his phone. A message was waiting.

"Zero. Multiple rats near your residence."

Jack's expression darkened. He typed back:

"Identify the source. Maintain surveillance. Also—send me the most isolated location near campus."

Tomorrow, the 24-hour deadline would expire.

Time to give Ethan his gift.

The next morning, Jack arrived on campus to a different atmosphere.

The parking lot entrance was blocked by men in black T-shirts. Tattoos peeking out from their collars. Muscle for hire.

Jack walked toward the exit. A figure stepped out from behind a concrete pillar.

Ethan.

Tailored navy suit today. Hair slicked back with gel. That trademark rich-boy smirk plastered across his face.

"Jack. Brad already accepted my deal." Ethan's tone shifted—harder now. "So why are you still making stupid decisions? You think last night made you some kind of superhero?"

"Maybe I am a superhero," Jack said. Shrugged.

Ethan's expression flickered—like he'd just heard the punchline to a bad joke. But his eyes stayed cold. Vicious.

"Wow. Incredible. I don't know how you pulled that off, but it doesn't matter. The 24-hour deadline stands. Don't try anything clever."

Jack stared at him. Said nothing.

"Do you even know who my father is?" Ethan's voice dropped lower. "Derek Hawkins. The underground king of this city. And also—"

"Also a political bagman," Jack interrupted. "I know."

Ethan's face went rigid.

"The fuck did you just say?"

"I said your father launders money for California politicians. Your uncle Carter's on the school board—gets gangster kids through the back door. Your family does real estate on paper. But the real work? All dirty."

"Shut your mouth!" Ethan's face twisted. He waved toward the shadows of the parking garage.

A dozen men emerged from different angles.

Not campus thugs. These were older—thirties, maybe forties. Black tactical pants. Combat boots. Some had prison ink crawling up their forearms.

They moved differently. Low center of gravity. Controlled steps. Trained.

The one in front was bald. Mid-forties. Scar bisecting his nose. Eyes like frozen steel.

"This is Mr. Marcus Darden," Ethan said. "My father's head of security. Former pro fighter. Seventy-three underground bouts. Undefeated."

Marcus didn't waste words. He walked straight up to Jack. Looked down at him.

"Hope your skills match that attitude of yours." Marcus's voice scraped like sandpaper on iron.

Jack met his gaze. Calm.

"You want to find out?"