Jake’s knuckles whitened as the video played.
He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Just watched.
The burned man on screen stood over Katherine and the twins like a twisted king—calm, arrogant, dangerous.
“Jake Montell,” the man said, his voice like gravel scraping glass. “You took our family. You took our power. You took Thompson. Now I’m taking yours.”
Jake’s jaw clenched tighter with every word. His glare could cut steel.
He watched as Katherine strained against her restraints, as Keon and Neon were dragged forward. He heard their defiance—Neon’s sharp retort, Keon’s spit on the floor. Even bloodied and bruised, they didn’t break. Not once.
Jake’s blood burned.
Then the final words hit:
“Come to Pier 12. Midnight. Alone. Or your wife and her friends will be unrecognizable by morning.
