6. The Storm Approaches

It was five against one. Shen stood alone in the wreckage of Ryona's sweet little apartment—glass shattered across the floor, cabinets splintered open, and the stale stink of cheap cigarettes hanging thick in the air.

Shen cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck with a slow, deliberate calm.

"Tch. I wonder what your mamas would think about this," he drawled, his tone deceptively casual. "Oh, wait—I reckon them papas never bothered givin' y'all any milk in the first place."

A stinging burn, clean and sharp.

"Man, shut yo mouth!" one thug roared, and two of them lunged at him without hesitation. One swung a thick fist straight for Shen's stomach while the other aimed a right hook at his jaw.

Thud. Thud.

They froze mid-swing, their eyes stretching wide in disbelief. Shen had caught both blows effortlessly, one hand gripping each wrist as if he were handling unruly children.

"Child's play," he sighed, disappointment flickering over his face. "Y'all can't even make me break a sweat."

With a sudden pull, he yanked them forward. His fist crashed into the first man's nose with a crunch that sent blood spraying across the floorboards. The other he kicked hard between the legs, lifting the thug clean off his feet.

"Ohhh! Not my BBC!" the man screamed in agony, clutching himself as he crumpled.

Shen tilted his head with an amused grin. "Puhahaha…BBC? Try facin' twelve inches, fool."

He spun and launched a vicious kick under the man's chin, smashing him back-first through the sliding balcony door. Glass shattered into a thousand glittering fragments as the thug vanished into the darkness beyond.

The leader scrambled up, rubbing his bruised temple. "Well, don't just stand there! ICE that n—"

"Sigh…pussy," Shen muttered.

Two more rushed in, knives flashing. Shen slipped his hands into his pockets, dodging the jabs with mocking ease. Each blade whistled through empty air as he stepped aside, tilting his head to avoid the swipes by an inch.

"Hey, hey, hey…" He wagged a finger at them. "I've seen pretty little college girls handle knives better than y'all."

He swept one thug's leg with a low kick, sending him sprawling face-first. Another came at him from behind, blade slashing. Shen spun, catching the thug's wrist. With a single twist, he forced the man onto the floor, the blade clattering free.

"OW—OW—OW—okay! I get it! Please, man, lemme go!"

Shen raised a brow. "Let you go…?"

"Yeah, yeah—I'm sorry!" the man whined, voice quivering.

A smile crept over Shen's face, wicked and cold. "Ah…so sad."

The thug looked up in confused relief. Then he heard the crack.

"Aghhhhh!" he shrieked, eyes rolling back as Shen snapped his forearm in two. The other men watched in horror as the limb bent at a grotesque angle.

"Y'all ever hear of Koppojutsu?" Shen asked, dusting his hands as if this were all routine.

They stared, pale with fear, as he adjusted his collar.

"It means bone-breakin' technique," he said in a voice that turned deadly soft.

Too late, they realized the man before them was no ordinary brawler. He was a predator among prey.

Shen lunged. In a blur of motion, he crushed the first thug's knee, sending him shrieking to the floor. Another tried to flee, Shen grabbed his jaw and wrenched it sideways until a muffled crunch ended the scream. The next received an elbow to the bridge of his nose, blood spraying in a fine mist.

He paused, breathing evenly. The last man standing was the leader, backpedaling toward the wall, hands raised.

"You…you crazy bastard—!"

Shen tilted his head, his eyes dark with contempt. "You hit a mother. The bearer of children. The keeper of generations. Dr. King…he loved his mother dearly. Same for Abraham Lincoln. Those men fought and died so your people could stand proud."

He stepped forward, voice rising. "And this is how you repay them? Squanderin' everything they bled for—terrorizin' women and children?"

The leader tried to bolt for the door. Shen caught him by the collar and lifted him one-handed, feet dangling above the floor.

"Don't worry," he hissed. "What I'm gonna do to you…you'll wish you'd never been born."

He smashed his fist into the leader's ribs, again and again. The man gurgled blood, eyes bulging as bones cracked under each blow. Shen struck without mercy until the thug's limbs dangled useless, his body broken in nearly every place.

When he finally let go, the leader crumpled in a heap, gasping like a dying animal.

Shen stood over him, chest heaving. The apartment was silent except for Ryona's muffled sobs behind the closed bedroom door.

An hour passed before Shen opened that door again. He stepped in slowly, his boots streaked with blood. Ryona and Belle lay on the floor where they had taken refuge, Belle propped up on pillows, her breathing ragged but steady.

Shen knelt down and cupped Ryona's cheek in his big, callused palm. "You okay, darlin'?" he asked, his voice gentle now.

Ryona blinked up at him through tears. She pressed her cheek into his hand, then threw her arms around his neck, burying her face against his chest.

"I'm glad…you're my future husband instead of your damn brother," she whispered, her voice muffled against his jacket.

He held her tight, his jaw tightening as emotion welled up in his throat. Belle stirred, her bruised eyelids fluttering open.

"Sweetie…?" she rasped.

"Mama!" Ryona pulled away to cradle her mother's face.

Belle's eyes took a moment to focus—and then widened. "Zac…?"

Ryona sniffled, brushing her tears away. "No, Mama. This is Shen. Shen Tucker. He came back for me. Not Zac."

Belle's lip trembled. She looked up at Shen with a frail smile. "My baby… You've grown into such a fine young man, sugar."

Shen lowered himself until he was kneeling at her side. For the first time in years, he felt tears prick his eyes. "It's been eight years…Mama Belle," he whispered.

He wrapped his arms around them both, holding them close in a silent, aching reunion. In that moment, everything else fell away, the Tucker family, the Monroe intrigue, the world's cold judgment. Just the three of them, bound by something deeper than blood.

Later that night, police arrived to cuff the broken thugs and load them into ambulances. Ryona gave her statement in her steady southern drawl, while Shen calmly filled in the blanks.

The officers looked between the five battered criminals and the quiet man standing protectively over the women. They knew better than to ask questions.

Once the chaos settled, Belle was resting comfortably in bed. Shen stepped out onto the narrow balcony to breathe in the humid night. Below, Cyberjaya's rough backstreets pulsed with neon and shadows.

"Somethin' on your mind, sugar?" Ryona's voice came softly from behind him.

He glanced back with a tired smile. "You ain't sleepy?"

She stepped up beside him, wearing a thin red dongan that hugged her figure. Her brown hair fell loose around her shoulders as she slipped an arm around his.

"Mm-mm. Couldn't sleep after all that." She rested her cheek on his bicep and gave him a playful pinch. "Mercy, boy…you done turned solid as steel."

He chuckled low in his chest and tugged her closer, an arm slipping around her waist. "Says the southern gal temptin' me in that red slip."

Their eyes met—close, searching. Ryona's lips parted.

"Shen…"

"Ryona…"

Their mouths met, slow and hungry. Shen's hand settled at the small of her back, fingers pressing into the warmth of her skin. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him until she forgot the bruises, the terror, the years apart.

Behind them, Belle cracked the door and peeked out with a wry, motherly smile. "Mmm-hmm…looks like my girl's finally become a woman," she murmured. "Keep her safe, my son-in-law."

Far across town, deep in the bowels of a sleek skyscraper, the surviving thugs were hauled into a dimly lit hall. They stumbled forward, legs shaking, faces ghostly pale.

At the head of a marble table sat a woman—her skin the dark sheen of polished mahogany, her golden-braided hair glinting under the chandelier. She carved into a perfect steak with a surgeon's precision, never looking up.

"The one who did this to you…who was he?" she asked in a voice smooth as aged cognac, with the smoky African lilt of the Niger Delta.

One of the thugs swallowed hard. "We…we don't know who he is, ma'am—"

Thunk.

A silver fork flew through the air and embedded in his throat. He crumpled, choking on his own blood.

"Tch," she sighed. "And that was my finest silver."

A silent attendant glided forward, offering her a fresh set. She accepted it without sparing a glance at the dying man.

"Try again, and don't think about calling me ma'am again like your dead 'homeboys' " she said coolly, slicing another piece of meat.

The remaining thugs trembled as she tapped the screen of her phone. She held it out, showing a crisp image of Shen Goddem, broad-shouldered, dark-eyed, unstoppable.

"This man," she purred. "Where did you meet him?"

Their eyes flicked between the photo and the blood pooling at their feet.

In the dark, the lions padded in—two massive white predators with jaws stained red. They set upon the corpse without hesitation.

From the balcony of Ryona's little apartment, Shen held her close and stared up at the storm clouds gathering over Cyberjaya. He could feel it in his bones, this peace was only a lull before something far worse.

And somewhere in that tower, the woman with the golden braids whispered his name.

"Shen Goddem."

The storm had found its prey.

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Chapter 6 — End