CHAPTER FOUR: BLOOD AND BETRAYAL

The Safehouse

The dimly lit safehouse smelled of cigarette smoke and gun oil. Logan sat at the wooden table, his fingers tracing the silencer attached to his pistol. Across from him, Damien Cole leaned back in his chair, boots propped up, flipping through a small black notebook.

"Name's Vincent Moretti. They call him Viper." Damien tossed the notebook onto the table. "Dick bastard. Enjoyed the hit on Naomi a little too much."

Logan's jaw tensed. "Where is he?"

Damien smirked. "Hiding in plain sight. He's got a thing for high-stakes gambling. Runs in the same circles as Kane's low-level enforcers. Word is he'll be at Redwood Underground tonight."

Logan grabbed the notebook, flipping through photos of Viper- tattooed arms, slicked-back hair, snake insignia on his neck.

Damien studied Logan's expression. 'What's the plan?"

Logan stood, adjusting his black tactical vest. "I go in. I find him. I make him talk."

Damien chuckled. "And if he doesn't?"

Logan chambered a round. "He will."

Redwood Underground was a nightclub for the worst kind of scum-gangsters, corrupt businessmen, and thrill-seekers with too much money and too little conscience.

Logan entered through the back alley, his suit blending in with the bouncers at the entrance. A group of armed men loitered near the VIP lounge, keeping watch.

His gaze locked onto Viper, seated at a poker table, surrounded by women, whiskey, and cash.

Logan moved through the club like a ghost, slipping past guards, avoiding cameras. He plucked a steak knife from a waitress's tray, tucking it into his sleeve.

The time for subtlety was over.

Viper barely had time to react.

Logan grabbed him by the collar and slammed his head into the poker table, sending chips and whiskey flying. The girls screamed. The bodyguards reached for their guns- too slow.

 Logan pulled his silencer from his vest, firing twice. Two men dropped before they even knew they were dead.

He dragged Viper into a backroom, kicking the door shut behind them.

Viper groaned, blood dripping from his mouth. "W-What the f-"

Logan didn't let him finish. He grabbed Viper's hand and slammed the steak knife through his palm, pinning it to the wooden table.

Viper's scream was muffled by Logan's gloved hand over his mouth.

"Shhh," Logan whispered. "We're gonna have a little chat."

Viper panted, his eyes wide with fear. "K-Kane will kill my family if I talk. And I am sorry I had to kill your sister."

Logan twisted the knife. "So will I."

Viper let out a strangled sob. "F-Fuck! Alright, alright! Kane... Kane has someone on the inside. He knows everything before it happens."

Logan's grip tightened. "Who?"

Viper's lips trembled. "I-I don't know. But they're close to you. Closer than you think."

Logan's mind raced. A mole in his circle? That meant Kane had been watching him the entire time. Naomi's death wasn't random- it was personal.

Before he could press for more, the window shattered. 

A single bullet pierced through Viper's forehead, splattering blood onto Logan's face.

"Shit."

Logan hit the ground, rolling for cover. Another bullet smashed into the wooden wall where he had been standing.

A sniper.

Someone was watching.

Logan burst out of the backroom, gun in hand. The club was in chaos. Kane's men had stormed the place, firing wildly.

He ducked behind a craps table, firing precise shots-head, chest, head, chest. Bodies hit the floor.

The sniper's red laser sight flickered on his chest.

Logan flipped the table just as a bullet shattered the wood where his heart had been.

No time. No hesitation. H sprinted toward the exit, dodging gunfire, weaving between panicked club-goers.

A bouncer lunged at him. Logan spun, grabbed his wrist, and snapped it before planting a bullet between his eyes.

The sniper took another shot, and the bullet grazed Logan's shoulder. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain, and dived through the emergency exit.

Dark alley. Cold air. Tires screeching.

A black Van sped toward him.

Logan raised his pistol and emptied the clip into the windshield. The driver slumped, and the Van swerved, crashing into a dumpster.

Silence.

Logan exhaled, blood dripping from his arm. The sniper was gone.

But he had a name now. A target.

The hunt wasn't over. It was just beginning.

Damien poured whiskey into a glass, watching Logan stitch up his shoulder.

"So... a mole, huh?" Damien muttered.

Logan didn't answer. His mind was elsewhere.

Naomi's murder. The sniper. Kane is always a step ahead.

Damien leaned forward. "You sure you can trust anyone?"

Logan tied off the stitches, wiping the blood from his hands. He met Damien's gaze.

"No,"

Damien smirked. "Good. Because whoever it is... they're gonna try to kill you next."

Logan grabbed his gun and checked the magazine.

"They can try."