Jake’s POV
Blood.
It soaked the concrete, pooled under my boots, dripped from my knuckles. My left shoulder burned from a graze wound—close, too close. I couldn’t even tell which bullet had done it. Everything was a blur of gunfire, smoke, and screaming.
Keon and Neon were still holding the right flank, fighting back-to-back like devils, blades flashing in the firelight. Ryan was down somewhere near the crates, shot in the leg but still throwing bottles and screaming curses at the Slackers who had ambushed us.
And me?
I was losing ground.
The Hollow Serpents, the Slackers, even the Burnt Fang Crew—they’d all turned. All those who’d come to “watch” had decided instead to finish the Black Cats once and for all.
A three-way war.
No rules. No mercy.
“Jake!” someone shouted behind me.
