CHAPTER 8 : Blood in the Water

The docks smelled of salt, rust, and something far darker—secrets rotting beneath the surface. Alexander kept his steps light, his breath even, his mind razor-sharp despite the exhaustion gnawing at his bones. He had been trained to read a room before stepping inside it, but here, under the hollow glow of flickering streetlamps, the world was nothing but a shifting battlefield.

Carver had chosen this place for a reason. It wasn't just about business. It was about sending a message.

A man doesn't crawl out of the underworld without leaving parts of himself behind. And Carver was here to remind Alexander exactly what he owed.

He stopped at the warehouse entrance. The steel door was slightly ajar, an invitation dipped in menace.

Alexander exhaled. A man does not walk into a lion's den without expecting blood.

With one final glance at the dark waters stretching beyond the docks, he stepped inside.

The dim overhead lights cast long, eerie shadows against the concrete floor. The air was thick with the metallic scent of old blood, soaked into the walls, into the bones of this place.

Carver stood in the center of the room, wearing the kind of smile that made men rethink their own mortality. Behind him, two men flanked either side—watchdogs, enforcers. Their hands rested near their holsters, but they wouldn't make a move unless given the order.

"Voss," Carver greeted, his voice smooth as oil, his eyes sharp as glass. "You're late."

Alexander didn't answer. He simply took slow, measured steps forward, every muscle in his body coiled.

Carver tilted his head. "I assume you got my message?"

Alexander's jaw ticked. "I got it."

"Good." Carver reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. The ember glowed between his fingers as he took a slow drag. "Then you know why we're here."

Silence stretched between them.

Carver exhaled a curl of smoke. "You used to be reliable, Voss. A man of his word. And yet, here we are. Me, giving orders. You, pretending you still have a choice."

Alexander's fingers curled into fists. "I told you. I don't do that anymore."

Carver chuckled, shaking his head. "See, that's where you're wrong. You were never given an 'out.' There was never a version of this where you get to walk away clean. You think fighting in a ring makes you a free man?"

He took a step closer.

"You're still just a weapon. And I own you."

Something inside Alexander snapped.

Before Carver could react, Alexander moved. His fist struck like a hammer, colliding with Carver's jaw, sending him staggering back. The enforcers reached for their weapons, but Alexander was already on them.

The first man went down with a brutal hook to the ribs, the sickening crunch of bone shattering beneath the impact. The second managed to get his gun halfway up before Alexander grabbed his wrist, twisting until the weapon clattered to the floor. A swift elbow to the temple sent the man crumbling.

Heavy breathing filled the silence.

Carver wiped the blood from his split lip, eyes dark with something between fury and amusement.

"You always did have a temper," he mused. "But this? This was a mistake."

Alexander loomed over him, his own knuckles dripping crimson. "You come near her, and I'll bury you."

Carver grinned, teeth red. "You don't get it, do you?" He spat blood onto the floor. "This isn't about me coming to you. It's about what happens when she finds out what you really are."

Alexander felt the ground shift beneath him—not physically, but in the way a man knows his world is about to collapse.

Carver saw it too. He smirked. "She doesn't know, does she?"

Alexander said nothing.

Carver chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, Voss. You think you can love someone without showing them the beast inside? Eventually, she'll see it. She'll see the blood on your hands, the way you were made to destroy, and she'll do what they all do."

He leaned forward, voice soft, lethal.

"She'll run."

The words sliced through him, sharp and merciless.

Carver picked up his cigarette from where it had fallen, dusted it off, and lit it again. "You've got twenty-four hours. Then, we're done talking."

Alexander didn't answer. He just turned and walked out.

But Carver's words followed him into the night, sinking into his bones like poison.

Eve didn't know the truth.

And if she ever did—he wasn't sure what would break first. Her heart. Or him.