Page 41 of King of Violence

“Please, Julian,” he stammers, glancing up at me with watery eyes. “I swear, I didn’t?—”

“Shut up,” I snap, my voice slicing through the room like a whip. Ricky freezes, his mouth snapping shut. “All I wanted wasa horny fuck in a back room and now it’s everybody’sfucking business!”

The tension in the air is electric, and I can feel the eyes of my crew on me. They’re waiting to see how I handle this, how I reestablish that I’m not to be crossed.

I rise to my feet, taking a deep breath as I walk around him. My hands flex at my sides, the familiar heat of anger coiling in my chest. “Do you know what happens to snitches, Ricky?”

He doesn’t answer, and I deliver a sharp kick to his ribs. He crumples with a grunt, gasping for air.

“Answer me!” I shout, my voice echoing off the walls.

“They get what’s coming to them,” he wheezes as he clutches his side.

“Damn right.” I crouch again, gripping his chin and forcing him to look at me. “Do you think you’re special? That you can spill my shit and walk away untouched?”

“N-no,” he chokes out, tears streaming down his face.

“Good,” I say, releasing him with a shove. “Because I don’t tolerate betrayal. I’m your boss. Not Elijah. Not dear old dad.Me.”

I stand and glance at the nearest crew member. “Hand me that.”

A length of steel pipe is placed in my hand, its weight cold and familiar. I grip it tightly and turn back to Ricky, who’s trembling like a leaf.

“Get up,” I command.

He doesn’t move.

“Ooooh, you’re a fucking snitchanda coward?” I nod at two of my men, who haul him to his feet.

“I want everyone here to understand,” I say, my voice steady and deliberate, “what happens when you mess with me. Ricky here thought he could open his mouth about things he didn’tunderstand. Thought he could embarrass me.” I smile coldly. “Let’s make sure he doesn’t make that mistake again.”

The first swing is aimed at his stomach, and the pipe hits with a dull, sickening thud. Ricky screams and doubles over, but the men holding him force him upright.

I hit him again. And again. My blood roars in my ears, but I’m careful. Calculated. Every swing is deliberate—enough to make a point, but not enough to kill.

By the time I’m done, Ricky is a sobbing, broken mess. His face is swollen, his lip split, his shirt soaked with blood. I drop the pipe, letting it clatter loudly to the floor, and step closer.

“Let this be a lesson,” I say coldly. “I’m not someone you cross. Not now, not ever.”

I grab Ricky’s collar, forcing him to meet my eyes. “And if you so much as breathe my name to anyone again, I’ll fucking bury you. Got it?”

He nods frantically, his words garbled through sobs.

I let him go and shove him to the ground. Turning to my crew, I meet each of their gazes, my voice steady and unflinching. “Anyone else feel like testing me?”

Silence. No one dares meet my eyes.

“Good,” I say, brushing off my hands. “Now clean this up.”

As I walk out, I don’t look back. My chest feels tight, a familiar cocktail of pride and disgust churning in my gut. This is the life, I remind myself. This is who I am.

And yet, the thought of Felix’s face flashes in my mind.

I pull out my phone, keeping my message vague but firm.

Julian: Need to talk. Be ready in an hour.

When I pull up outside his building, he’s already waiting. He’s wearing a black jacket over his usual casual clothes, and the glow of the streetlights dances in his eyes. He looks cautious but not scared, one hand resting in his pocket while the other hangs at his side. It’s one of the things I admire most about him—hiscalm, unshakable exterior, even when I know he’s got a hundred questions swirling in his head.

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