Page 3 of Chaos
A large dumpster sits against the wall of the warehouse, not twenty feet from me. It's disgusting, probably crawling with vermin and god only knows what kinds of filth, but right now it's my only recourse.
I dart across the distance, keeping close to the shadows and praying the killer is too focused on his grisly task to notice. It works.
When I reach the dumpster, I quietly lift the lid. The stench of decay hits me like a gut punch. It smells like there’s something dead in there, but survival trumps disgust.
With a strength borne of adrenaline, I pull myself up and over the edge, lowering my body into the putrid darkness where I nestle among trash bags of rotting food, broken glass, and things I don't want to identify. With trembling hands, I slide a piece of cardboard over myself, creating a hiding place beneath the filth.
Outside, voices. Spanish, I think. Angry tones.
"¿La encontraste?" A harsh question.
"Se escapó. La perra me pateó." The man I kneed in the nuts sounds pained.
They say a few more words I don't understand.
Tears stream down my face as I try to control my breathing. I keep gagging, but I force the nausea down. Something skitters over my hand. A cockroach? A spider? A rat?
Still, I don't move. Don't make a sound. Don't breathe too loudly.
Minutes pass like hours as I cower among the refuse, hoping this dumpster won’t end up becoming my coffin.
Chapter 2
Chaos
A roar vibrates through the crowd as Demon lands another bone-crushing blow to his opponent's ribs. Blood spatters across the cage floor, and I lean forward in my chair, watching our Sergeant at Arms work like the precise fighting machine he is.
"That's what I'm talking about!" Zeus bellows beside me, his fist pumping the air. "Fucking beautiful.”
The warehouse thrums with energy beneath the lights, the scent of beer, blood, and testosterone hanging in the air. This place has been a goldmine for the past five years, pulling in more cash than most of our legitimate businesses combined. The city's elite mix with street hustlers, all drawn to both the betting and the raw spectacle we provide.
Fiend balances three bottles of beer. He hands one to Zeus and offers me the other. I chug half of it in one long swallow. I don't usually drink during business hours, and fight night is always business, but tonight I could use something to take the edge off.
“Demon’s gonna finish him in the next round," Fiend says. "Look at that footwork."
I nod in agreement. He remains undefeated—twenty-seven straight wins in our underground ring. The Detroit Demon, they call him.
Fury, my VP, leans in, keeping his voice just loud enough for the four of us to hear. “Fucking Colombians are bad fucking news. They're pushing their shit into Eastside territory now. Heard three kids OD'd at Wayne State last week.”
“Motherfuckers don't give a goddamn if their shit kills people,” Zeus spits out.
My jaw clenches. The Los Cuervos cartel has been creeping closer to our turf for months, testing boundaries, seeing how much they can get away with. Their new drug—Raven—is poison in powder form, but it's cheap and highly addictive. Perfect for hooking college kids and desperate junkies who can't afford anything else. We scared a couple of their dealers, low-level street thugs, off with a threat a few days ago.
The bell rings for round two, and Demon stalks his opponent like a predator. The other guy is bigger, but size means nothing when you're facing a man with natural talent who was trained in the Marines and further hardened by years of underground cage fighting. Demon fights with calculated brutality, every move planned three steps ahead.
"Fucking demolish him!" Zeus calls through cupped hands.
Kandi, one of the cut sluts, breaks away from the cluster of club girls pressed against the cage, their barely-there outfits and tits on full display. Her eyes are trained on me like a laser beam as she heads my way on her six-inch stripper heels. She winks, running her tongue across her bottom lip, a gesture she probably thinks is seductive.
The cut sluts serve their purpose—they keep the unmarried brothers happy and handle certain...entertainmentduties when we host parties. But they're also needy as hell, always angling for more attention, more status, more everything. Kandi's beenparticularly pushy around me lately, making it clear she'd love to use me to upgrade her status from club whore to ol’ lady.
Not fucking happening.
I don’t fuck around with cut sluts and damn sure never touched Kandi. But maybe I should shut her shit down more forcefully. Yeah, I probably need to do that soon.
“Hey, Chaos, baby,” She juts out her silicone tits and twirls her bleach-blonde hair around her finger. “How ‘bout I show you a really good time tonight?”
Bitch stands right in front of me, blocking my view.
