Page 61 of King of Violence

The screams of the first two guards still echo faintly in my ears, but they won’t alert anyone else. Not now.

Every step I take sharpens the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Felix is here. He’s waiting for me somewhere in this labyrinth of crates and steel—waiting and terrified.

I stop at a corner, press my back to the cold wall, and peek around. Two more guards stand at the far end of the corridor, guns casually slung at their sides. They’re laughing, oblivious. I can’t make out their words over the distant hum of machinery, but I don’t need to. They’re about to shut up for good.

I breathe out, aim, and fire. The first one drops instantly, a hole between his eyes. The second barely has time to raise his weapon before I put a bullet through his throat. He gurgles, clutching at the wound as he collapses, and I step over him without a second glance.

The door they were guarding is steel, dented and scratched, with a single deadbolt. I don’t bother with subtlety. One kick sends it flying open, and I’m inside, gun raised.

The steel door groans open, revealing a cavernous room lit by a single flickering bulb. Felix sits in the center, tied to a chair, his head slumped forward. His disheveled hair casts shadows over his face, but even from here, I can see the bruises blooming along his jaw and the dried blood at the corner of his mouth.

Rage flares in my chest, hot and consuming, but I push it down. Not yet.

“Felix,” I call, my voice low but firm as I step inside.

His head jerks up, and his eyes widen when they land on me. “Julian?”

“Yeah, baby, it’s me,” I mutter, untying the ropes from Felix’s wrists. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you? I’ll fucking kill them.”

“Julian, you shouldn’t be here?—”

I grab Felix’s face in my hands and say, “Of course I’m here. I will always protect you.”

Tears well in Felix’s eyes. “But you said?—”

“I didn’t mean it. I was trying to protect you. I would never mean that, Felix. You gotta believe me.”

I help him up from the chair, holding him up when his legs give out from underneath him. “I’m gonna gut them all for doing this to you.”

I scan the room. All of this feels too easy, like they just let me in here.

The sound of footsteps cuts off my thoughts, and I whirl around, my gun raised. Five men file into the room, fanning out like they’ve done this a thousand times before.

One of them, a tall guy with a scar running down his cheek, smirks as he looks me up and down. “Well, well. If it isn’t the king of violence himself. Do I bow or curtsey?”

The others laugh and the man takes a step closer, twirling a knife lazily in his hand. “What’s the matter, quarterback? Lose your way to the field?”

“I’m here for him,” I say, nodding toward Felix. My voice is calm, steady, even though my heart is pounding.

Scarface tilts his head, pretending to think. “Yeah, see, that’s not gonna work for us. You’re out of your league, kid. Five of us, one of you? You really think you’re walking out of here with him?”

He gestures toward me with the knife, his smirk widening. “You’re just a dumb jock. Go back to playing ball. Leave the real work to the grown-ups.”

I don’t respond. I just aim and fire.

The bullet catches him in the shoulder, and he stumbles back with a howl of pain. The smirk vanishes from his face, replaced by pure rage.

“Get him!” he roars, and the room explodes into chaos.

I push Felix behind a crate before a guy rushes me, but he’s slow. Sloppy. I sidestep his swing and crack him across the temple with the butt of my gun. He goes down hard, and I don’t have time to see if he gets back up because the second guy is already coming at me.

I duck under his punch and fire a shot into his stomach. He drops to his knees, clutching the wound, and I spin to face the others.

Scarface charges, knife in hand, and I barely dodge in time. The blade grazes my side, sharp pain blossoming as it slices through fabric and skin. I grit my teeth, ignoring the sting, and slam my elbow into his face. Blood sprays from his nose as he stumbles back, cursing.

“Still think I’m just a football player?” I growl, twisting the knife out of his hand.

He lunges at me again, but I’m faster. My fist connects with his jaw, and he crumples to the ground.

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