The calm before

Today's the day.

The day my revenge truly begins.

For two days, I've sat still, letting the wounds scab over while the fire inside me burned hotter. The air in the hideout has been thick—charged, like the moment before a storm. The others are still riled up, still feeding off the anger, the fear, the need to strike back. I can feel it in the way they move, in the way they watch me, waiting for orders. The pressure has been building, simmering beneath the surface, and today, it's going to explode.

I push myself up from the chair, wincing as a sharp sting flares in my side. The pain is a familiar companion now, always there, lurking beneath every breath, every movement. They say it's healing. To me, it feels the same as ever—like a constant reminder, like the whisper of a blade still stuck between my ribs. But I won't let it slow me down. I won't let it hold me back.

I stepped into the main room, my presence enough to draw every eye toward me. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that sat heavy on the chest, pressing down like a beast ready to pounce. They all knew what was coming. Even Alicia, the one I had expected to hesitate, was here, her shoulders tense, her gaze flickering with uncertainty. But beneath that hesitation, I saw it—that quiet, simmering rage. The anger that had been brewing since Elias got cut.

I let the moment stretch, let the silence settle in deep before I finally spoke.

"Today's the day," I said, my voice sharp and steady. "The day we strike back against the bastards who think they can hunt us down like stray dogs. Today, we remind them exactly why they don't fuck with us!"

The words hit like a match to gasoline. A murmur of agreement spread through the room, rising into a few loud cheers—Talia, of course, and Tobias right there with her, their fire burning just as hot as mine. Good. Let them feed off this, let them get caught in the tide of it.

I lifted a hand, bringing the energy back down before continuing.

"Listen up. We meet Handy in thirty minutes, a few streets from Henry's pub. He's waiting with a couple of his boys—our little helpers for the night." My tone was sharp, unwavering, as I laid it all out for them. "Once we're there, the target's simple. Four of the Angel's boys, behind Henry's, slinging Rock like they own the place. Sitting ducks, just waiting to be put down."

I didn't let anyone cut in.

"We go in, we make them understand—nobody fucks with us and walks away unscathed. But we don't stay longer than we need to. We hit them fast, we hit them hard, and we get the fuck out. No dragging this out, no extra risks. You all hear me?"

They nodded in silent agreement, exchanging glances, the weight of what was coming settling into their bones. No more hesitation. No more second-guessing. This was happening.

"What the hell are you waiting for? Get ready," I snapped, the sharp edge in my voice slicing through the air like a blade.

As the others moved, their steps urgent, my own thoughts coiled tight, winding around the same unshakable truth—I was going to make them pay. Every single one of those bastards. The Angels thought they could hunt us down like animals, like we were nothing, but they had no idea. I wouldn't stop. Not until they were all dead, not until their plague was wiped from these streets.

My fingers found the weight of my baton, gripping it tight. No daggers tonight. No killing. Not yet. This was just the beginning. Around me, the house turned into a storm, bodies moving, weapons clinking, the energy shifting from restless anticipation to something sharper—something deadly.

I pulled my mask over my face, the fabric settling against my skin as the weight of the night pressed against my chest. The danger ahead curled in my gut, but I welcomed it, let it sink in, let it fuel me. The sting in my side pulsed—a reminder of what they did, of the blood already spilled. An anchor, tethering me to the past, to the fire still burning in my veins.

After a few long minutes, we gathered outside the house, the air thick with tension, masks pulled over our faces like a second skin. The dimming sunlight stretched shadows across the cracked pavement, the city sinking into night. It wouldn't be long now. The bastards would be there—I was sure of it.

We moved as one, cutting through the Slum's streets and back alleys, our footsteps light, our presence a ghostly whisper in the twilight. The closer we got, the sharper my focus became, every breath drawn tight, every second stretching thin as anticipation coiled around us like a noose. No one spoke. There was no need. The silence carried more weight than words ever could.

Then I saw him. Handy, standing just beyond the streetlamps' reach, half-hidden in the murk of an alley, his one-handed frame relaxed but watchful. Beside him, two unfamiliar figures loomed, their masked faces unreadable. As we closed the distance, our groups met in a quiet exchange—nods, glances, a mutual understanding.

I locked eyes with Handy. "So, this is them?" My voice was steady, but my gaze bore into him, searching.

He gave a short nod, lifting his remaining hand in a lazy motion toward the two men at his side. A signal. Without hesitation, they stepped forward, ready to prove themselves.

The taller one stepped forward first, his frame nearly matching mine—a rare sight in the Slums, where most men were worn down by hunger and hard living. He had the look of someone who'd seen enough to know better than to flinch, his sharp eyes meeting mine without hesitation. There was experience there, something bordering my own.

I extended my hand, sizing him up in the process. His grip was firm, steady, the kind of handshake that spoke louder than words. "Hello, boss. Name's Finn. Pleasure to meet you," he said, his voice level, practiced.

I gave a small nod, the corners of my lips twitching in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Likewise." No need for unnecessary pleasantries. If Handy brought him, that meant he was worth something, and I trusted Handy enough to know he wouldn't bring dead weight to a job like this.

The shorter one stepped up next. A good head smaller than me, young—eighteen, maybe. His gaze met mine, steady but carrying the edges of something untested, a nervous energy that hadn't yet been burned out of him. I reached my hand toward him, and he took it, his grip not as sure as Finn's but not weak either. Reserved, careful. It told me enough.

"Hey, boss. Name's Cade. Pleasure to work with you." His words were polished, practiced, like he'd said them a hundred times before. Like he wanted to make sure he got them right.

"Good," I said, letting my gaze drift between the two of them. "Listen, boys. What we're about to do is supremely dangerous, so I'm going to count on you to not fuck anything up. That clear?"

They nodded, their agreement silent but firm. Finn's sharp gaze roamed over the rest of the group, taking their measure without a word. There was no uncertainty in the way he looked them over—only quiet judgment, the kind that came from a man who'd worked alongside enough fools to know what dead weight looked like.

Cade, on the other hand, took a different approach. He stepped toward the others, introducing himself again, his voice lighter, almost eager. A stark contrast to Finn's unspoken calculations.

I pulled Handy aside, lowering my voice. "You trust them? No chance of them selling us out?" My tone was sharp, cutting straight to the point.

Handy met my eyes without flinching. "Ya, Chef. I did all kinds of jobs with them boys back in the day. They ain't the type to switch sides." His voice was steady, certain.

I studied his expression for a beat, weighing the words. Handy wasn't one to hand out reassurances unless he meant them. I gave a slight nod—good enough for now. Turning back to the group, I let my expression harden. There was no room for hesitation tonight.

"Alright, so here we are," I said, my voice cutting through the low murmur of the Slum's night air. My tone was steady, but there was an edge to it, something sharp enough to hold their attention.

"This is our declaration of war. There's no room for slip-ups. No hesitation. No mistakes. We go in, hit them fast, make them regret ever thinking they could cross us, and we get out. Simple."

The tension thickened, their stances shifting, shoulders squaring as the weight of my words settled over them. A breath of silence passed before Tobias stepped forward, his voice a low growl.

"Yeah, let's show these fuckers what it means to try us."

A few murmurs of agreement followed, the quiet crackling with anticipation. I nodded once, sharp and decisive, before turning toward the direction of Henry's pub.