The Windowmaker

Chapter 8

The night in Orion City was still young, but the underworld was already stirring. Deals were being made, lives were being bought and sold, and somewhere in the dark, death was being summoned.

Inside a dimly lit private lounge, far from the eyes of the public, Victor Xander sat in a high-backed leather chair, his wounded knee throbbing with every pulse of his growing rage. Across from him, Lena Torres stood by the bar, swirling a glass of whiskey in her hand, her sharp eyes unreadable.

The door creaked open, and the man Victor had called for finally stepped inside.

A tall figure dressed in a tailored black combat suit, a hood draped loosely over his head. His movements were calculated, silent, deadly.

He didn't walk—he glided, like a shadow with purpose.

Victor's gaze hardened. "It's been a long time, Widowmaker."

The assassin removed his hood, revealing a ruthlessly angular face, ice-blue eyes, and a scar running down his left cheek. His gaze was void of emotion—a man without fear, without hesitation.

Elias "The Widowmaker" Creed.

The deadliest killer-for-hire in the underground world.

Elias pulled out a chair and sat across from Victor. "I assume you called me because you have a problem," he said, his voice as smooth as silk, yet dripping with cold indifference.

Victor clenched his jaw. "A problem named Damien Xander."

Elias smirked slightly, but his eyes remained empty. "Ah. The prodigal son returns, does he?"

Victor's grip on his cane tightened. "He's not just back—he's waging war. He's crippling my empire piece by piece. My men, my resources, my finances—he's burning everything down."

Elias leaned back, one arm draped over the chair. "Then you must have made a mistake, Victor," he said coolly. "You let him live long enough to become a problem."

Victor exhaled slowly, suppressing his frustration. "That's why you're here. To correct that mistake."

Elias chuckled darkly. "And here I thought you were calling me for a friendly chat."

Victor slid a black briefcase across the table. "Inside is ten million upfront. Another ten million when you bring me his head."

Elias didn't even look at the briefcase. "I don't kill for money, Victor."

Victor's patience was wearing thin. "Then what the hell do you want?"

Elias's icy gaze locked onto Victor's. "I want a challenge."

For the first time, Lena spoke, her voice even. "Damien Xander isn't just some corporate heir, Elias. He's former Black Phantom Unit. A ghost. A war machine trained in the art of death."

Elias's lips twitched into a small, predatory grin. "Now that… that sounds interesting."

Victor leaned forward, his eyes dark with venom. "Then do it. Find him. Kill him. And end this once and for all."

Elias tilted his head slightly. "No."

Victor's nostrils flared. "What?"

Elias stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. "I don't 'find' men like Damien Xander." He reached for his gloves, sliding them onto his hands. "I let them find me."

With that, the Widowmaker vanished into the night.

Orion City - Damien's Safehouse

The safehouse was silent, aside from the quiet hum of monitors tracking Victor's collapsing financial networks.

Damien stood near a large window, watching the rain streak down the glass. His body was still, but his mind was a battlefield.

Reed, sitting at the nearby table, scrolled through live surveillance feeds on his tablet. "Victor is bleeding. His funds are frozen, his men are dead, and his empire is crumbling. If this were chess, I'd say checkmate is coming real soon."

Damien didn't turn from the window. "No," he murmured. "Not yet."

Reed frowned. "What do you mean?"

Damien exhaled slowly. "Victor isn't a man who bows. He's a man who lashes out when he's cornered."

Reed swiped at his screen, his eyes narrowing. "You think he has another play?"

"He does."

As if on cue, Damien's phone buzzed. A private number. No caller ID.

He answered. "Speak."

A low, unfamiliar voice came through the line.

"Hello, Damien."

Damien's grip on the phone tightened slightly. "Who are you?"

A soft chuckle. "Someone who's been waiting to meet you."

Damien's instincts sharpened. The voice was calm, controlled. Not a threat—yet. But it carried an undercurrent of challenge.

"I assume you're Victor's new pet," Damien said coolly.

The man on the other end didn't take the bait. "You could say that. But this isn't about Victor anymore. This is about you and me."

Damien's eyes darkened. "Then let's cut the bullshit. Who are you?"

There was a brief pause. Then—

"They call me the Widowmaker."

Reed's head snapped up at the name. His expression turned grim. "Shit," he muttered.

Damien's lips pressed into a thin line. "You must be desperate if you're introducing yourself before making a move."

The Widowmaker chuckled. "Desperate? No. Just… curious."

Damien remained silent.

"I've killed a lot of men," the Widowmaker continued, his tone almost lazy. "Some fought back. Most didn't. But you… you're different."

Damien exhaled quietly. "You don't know me."

"But I will soon." The Widowmaker's voice lowered slightly. "I'm going to hunt you, Damien. Not for Victor. For me."

A slow, deadly smile spread across Damien's lips. "Then I hope you're ready to be disappointed."

The Widowmaker chuckled again. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

The line went dead.

Silence stretched in the safehouse.

Reed finally broke it. "Boss… this guy isn't just some hitman. He's a professional hunter. If he's locked onto you, he won't stop until one of you is dead."

Damien turned, his eyes gleaming with calm anticipation. "Then I guess I better make sure it's him."

Reed sighed, running a hand through his hair. "This is insane."

Damien grabbed his gun belt, fastening it around his waist. "No, Reed." He loaded a fresh magazine into his pistol, the sound sharp and final.

"This is the part where the hunter becomes the hunted."