New grooves

The fluorescent lights flickered as the doctor entered Sam's hospital room, clipboard in hand.

"Good news, Mr. Edwards," he announced, his voice echoing in the sterile space. "You're being discharged today.

Sam nodded, but his relief was tinged with unease. He glanced at the empty chair beside his bed, where Paul had sat during his last visit, and was worried because no one from the police station had visited him except Paul. And he hadn't seen Paul in a while.

"Doctor," Sam said, his voice hoarse from disuse, "can I make a call?"

The doctor nodded, handing Sam the bedside phone. With trembling fingers, Sam dialled his wife's number.

When she answered, his voice cracked, thick with emotion. "They're... they're letting me go today," he managed, fighting back tears.

"I'm on my way," his wife assured him, concern evident in her tone.

After hanging up, Sam stared at the phone for a long moment before dialling again. This time, he called Sophia's mother. The first attempt went unanswered, the ringing echoing mockingly in his ear. On the second try, Mrs Lopez's familiar voice came through.

"Sam? Is everything alright?"

"I'm being discharged," Sam explained, his words tumbling out in a rush. "But I haven't heard from Paul, and I... I was wondering if I could stay at your place for a while?"

There was a pause, then a soft, "Of course, Sam. You're always welcome here.

As Sam hung up, relief and apprehension warred within him.

Leo lay in bed, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. Jared poked his head in, concern etched on his face.

"You sure you're okay,? You don't look so good.

Leo coughed theatrically. "Just a bug, I think. I'll be fine.

As soon as Jared left, Leo's eyes snapped open. He sat up, crossing his legs into a meditation pose. Bruce's teachings echoed in his mind as he focused on the root chakra, determined to unlock whatever potential lay dormant within him.

Aaron sat on his balcony, he couldn't stop thinking about how the Posse gang had attacked his house. He was very worried and couldn't relax

Sam sat on the edge of the hospital bed, his bags packed and ready to go. He had been in the hospital for several weeks. Just then, the door to his room opened and his wife walked in.

"Hey, you," she said with a warm smile, crossing the room to give him a gentle hug. "I'm so glad to see you're being discharged today.

Sam looked at his wife with worried eyes. "We can't go home," he said quietly. "We need to go to Mrs. Lopez's house instead.

His wife looked confused. "Why? What's wrong?

Sam glanced around nervously before answering. "I'm scared those gangs might come to our house. I haven't seen Paul in a long time, and I'm really worried.

He reached into his pocket, his hand shaking a little. He pulled out a small drive and showed it to his wife.

"Paul gave me this," Sam explained. "He told me to guard it with my life. Those were his last words to me.

His wife's eyes went wide as she looked at the drive. Sam held it tightly like it was very important.

"That's why we need to go somewhere safe," Sam said. "I don't know what's on this drive, but I think it might be dangerous for us to go home right now.

"Me too," Sam replied, returning her embrace. "I'm ready to get out of this place.

His wife nodded in understanding. "I brought the car around the front, so we can head out when you're ready."

A nurse then entered the room, holding a clipboard. "Alright, Mr. Sam Edwards, let's go over your discharge paperwork one more time." She reviewed the instructions for Sam's continued care at home, explaining the medications he would need to take and any follow-up appointments he had scheduled.

Sam listened carefully, nodding along as the nurse spoke. He was relieved to have his wife there to help him remember everything. When the nurse finished, she smiled and said, "Looks like you're all set. Just sign here, and you're free to go."

Sam signed the forms and then turned to his wife. "Ready?"

"Absolutely," his wife replied, taking his hand and helping him to his feet. Together, they made their way out of the hospital and to the car, and his wife drove to Mrs. Lopez's home

George Kabal stepped out onto the marble steps of his River Oaks mansion. He adjusted his Brioni tie, the fabric smooth against his calloused fingers—a reminder of how far he'd come from the oil fields of his youth.

"Michael! You'll be late!" George called, his voice echoing across the manicured lawn.

A lanky boy of twelve burst through the front door, backpack slung haphazardly over one shoulder. Michael Kabal was all elbows and knees, awkward in the way only middle schoolers can be, but his eyes sparkled with his father's intensity.

"Coming, Dad!" Michael shouted, nearly tripping over his untied shoelaces.

George knelt, his $5,000 suit trousers pressing against the cool stone.

Here, let me get that for you, champ.

He tied the laces with practised ease, a tender moment at odds with the gun holstered discreetly beneath his jacket.

As he stood, George placed a hand on Michael's shoulder. "Big test today, right? You studied?"

Michael nodded, a flicker of nervousness crossing his face. "Yeah, but algebra's tough.

"You've got this," George assured him, his voice softening. "Remember what I always say—

"Kabals don't quit," Michael finished with a grin.

George ruffled his son's hair. "That's my boy. Now go on, Rodriguez is waiting.

The sleek black sedan idled at the bottom of the driveway, Rodriguez—more than just a chauffeur to the Kabals—at the wheel. Michael bounded down the steps, all gangly energy and pre-teen enthusiasm.

"Love you, Dad!" he called over his shoulder.

"Love you too, son," George replied, watching as Michael climbed into the car.

As the sedan pulled away, George allowed himself a moment of reflection.

In Michael, he saw a chance at redemption, a life untainted by the choices he'd made. He pushed away the nagging voice that whispered it was already too late for that.

The moment shattered as George's phone buzzed. The caller ID read "PRIVATE." His jaw tightened as he answered.

"Speak," he commanded all trace of the doting father gone.

A gravelly voice responded. "Boss, we've got a situation down at the docks. Cortez's people—"

"Handle it," George cut him off. "I'll be there in an hour."

He ended the call, already shifting gears mentally from family man to something altogether more dangerous. George spared one last glance in the direction Michael's car had gone, then strode towards his vehicle, ready to face the day's battles.

He couldn't have known that at that very moment, less than a mile away, a black SUV was pulling out of a side street, engine purring as it fell into place behind Rodriguez's sedan. Inside the SUV, hard men with cold eyes checked their weapons, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The day that would change everything had only just begun.

The dimly lit room was heavy with the stench of sweat and fear. Jason Posse, the imposing Jamaican mafia boss, stood tall and menacing, his eyes cold and unyielding. He wore a tailored suit that contrasted sharply with the grimy surroundings, his gold rings gleaming in the sparse light.

Before him, on his knees, was Derek, one of his men, now reduced to a quivering mess. The betrayal was fresh—Derek had disobeyed a direct order, jeopardizing a major operation.

"Yuh tink yuh can cross me and get away?" Jason's voice was low, yet it resonated with a deadly intensity. He slowly rolled up his sleeves, exposing muscular, tattooed forearms. "Disloyalty comes wid a price, Derek."

Derek tried to stammer out an apology, but the words caught in his throat as Jason's first blow landed. It was a calculated, powerful punch to the gut, causing Derek to double over in pain. Jason didn't stop there. He grabbed Derek by the collar, lifting him slightly off the ground.

"I trusted yuh, Jason hissed, delivering a brutal backhand to Derek's face. Blood sprayed from Derek's mouth, and he whimpered, barely able to keep his eyes open.

With a swift motion, Jason threw Derek to the ground, his voice rising in fury. "Yuh put all of us at risk! Yuh tink dis is a game?" Each word was punctuated by a vicious kick to Derek's ribs. The other men in the room stood silent, their eyes averted, knowing the consequences of interfering.

Jason paused, breathing heavily, his eyes never leaving Derek's broken form. "Let dis be a lesson to all of yuh," he said, addressing the room. "Betrayal won't be tolerated. Not now, not ever."

He stepped back, straightening his sleeves and smoothing his suit, his demeanour shifting back to the calm, composed leader.

"Clean dis up," he ordered his men, before turning on his heel and walking out, leaving Derek groaning on the floor, a stark reminder of the price of disobedience.