Chapter 4
1233 Words
At first, the thugs stepped backward, their earlier bravado cracking like cheap glass under the weight of raw terror. Whoever this bouncer was, he moved like a machine forged in the fires of hell—well-trained didn't even scratch the surface; he was a weapon, precise and unstoppable.
Then the leader staggered back a few more steps, rage burning deep in his bloodshot eyes like embers in a dying fire, flaring back to life. "We're the Night Reapers g**g!" he bellowed, his voice cracking with fury, spittle flying from his lips. "We cannot allow one broad sack of fat to make a ridicule of us in such a manner? What would happen to the streak we've built over the years—the bodies we've dropped, the streets we've claimed? We have to attack him from every side!"
Those words ignited a fresh inferno in the remaining thugs, their fear twisting into reckless, animalistic rage. They nodded like wolves scenting blood, fists clenching around hidden steel.
"Bring out everything you've got! He has to go down!" the leader's voice trailed through the night, a ragged command that sliced the cold air like a siren call to chaos.
In an instant, knives, daggers, and all sorts of improvised weapons flashed into view—switchblades snapping open with metallic clicks, chains rattling like serpents, brass knuckles glinting under the dim streetlight. Edward's heart lurched in his chest, a cold dread pooling in his gut as he eyed the bouncer, who stood there unarmed, a monolith of calm amid the storm. Is he going to even come out of this alive? The thought flustered through his mind like a whirlwind, his pulse racing to a frantic drumbeat that drowned out everything else.
Then the first thug attacked, heightened rage propelling him forward like a bullet, a wicked dagger fastened in his grip and aimed straight for the bouncer's throat.
The bouncer didn't flinch—not even for a second. His massive frame shifted with predatory grace, his hand shooting out to catch the thug's wrist in mid-thrust, halting the blade inches from flesh. The attacker grunted in shock, muscles straining futilely against the iron clamp.
"For that much talk?" the bouncer whispered, his voice a low rumble laced with mocking disappointment, close enough for only the thug to hear. "I expected better." With a casual twist, he yanked the arm sideways, eliciting another sickening c***k as bones gave way, the dagger clattering harmlessly to the ground.
The bouncer dropped the thug like broken furniture.
The man’s arm bent the wrong way. He hit the ground screaming.
The others froze.
The alley lights flickered above them, exposing the fear spreading across their faces. The arrogance they carried just minutes ago was gone.
They had thought they were hunters.
Now they knew the truth.
They were prey.
But the fight wasn’t over.
The second thug charged with a wild yell, knife swinging toward the bouncer’s stomach.
The bouncer ducked smoothly.
Then—
His elbow slammed into the thug’s gut.
A heavy, crushing blow.
Air exploded from the man’s lungs. He folded in half and crashed into a parked bike. The metal frame shook loudly as he fell, coughing and gasping on the ground.
Before anyone could breathe—
A third thug tried to attack from behind, chain swinging quietly through the air.
Victor Harlan didn’t even turn his head.
He simply raised one finger.
That small signal was enough.
The bouncer spun.
His hand caught the chain mid-air.
Clang.
He pulled hard, dragging the attacker forward—
Then drove his knee straight into the thug’s face.
A sharp c***k echoed.
The man dropped instantly, clutching his face and crying out in pain.
Another rushed in with a broken bottle raised high.
The bouncer grabbed his wrist.
Twist.
Flip.
The thug flew over his shoulder and slammed onto the ground. The impact knocked the breath out of him completely. He lay there, wheezing and helpless.
Two more came together, pipes raised.
Desperate.
Angry.
The bouncer stepped aside calmly, their swings missing him by inches.
In one smooth motion, he grabbed both of them by the collars—
And smashed their heads together.
Thud.
They collapsed at once.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Terrifying.
The bouncer stood in the middle of the alley, breathing steady. Not rushed. Not shaken.
Every move had been clean. Controlled. Efficient.
This wasn’t a street fight.
It was a lesson.
The remaining thugs stared at him in horror.
One dropped his knife. His hands were shaking.
“What… what are they?” he whispered.
Another tried to crawl away.
The bouncer kicked a fallen pipe out of reach and looked down at him.
The thug froze.
Within moments, the Night Reapers were scattered across the ground—groaning, broken, defeated.
Their pride had vanished.
Their name meant nothing here.
The alley that was supposed to be Edward’s grave had turned into theirs.
Then—
Victor Harlan stepped forward.
His polished shoes echoed softly against the pavement.
His presence alone made the air heavier.
Calm. Cold. Untouchable.
“That,” he said quietly, his voice cutting through the silence, “should be enough.”
The bouncer nodded once and stepped back.
His breathing was steady.
Calm.
Controlled.
He wasn’t even sweating.
It looked like he had just finished a light exercise—not crushed an entire g**g alone.
The Night Reapers lay trembling on the ground. Some pressed themselves against the wall. Others lay flat on the pavement, too afraid to move.
They were waiting.
Waiting for the gray-haired man to give the final order.
To finish them.
Fear filled their eyes.
But Victor Harlan only glanced at them briefly.
Then he shook his head.
“We don’t have time for this,” he said quietly. His voice was calm, but it carried authority. “Master Edward needs medical attention. Now.”
Edward.
He blinked slowly where he leaned against a rusted street pole.
His ribs burned every time he breathed.
His head pounded.
The world felt like it was spinning.
He looked at the gray-haired man—the stranger who appeared out of nowhere, who knew his name, who commanded a monster of a man with just a finger.
“W… who are you…?” Edward whispered weakly.
Victor stepped closer.
For a brief second, his hard expression softened.
“Don’t talk,” he said gently. “You’re safe.”
Safe?
How?
Why?
Edward wanted answers. His mind was full of questions.
But suddenly, pain rushed through him all at once.
His vision blurred.
The alley twisted.
His knees gave out.
Before he could hit the ground, strong arms caught him.
The bouncer held him carefully—shockingly gentle for someone built like a tank.
Victor frowned and placed a steady hand on Edward’s shoulder.
“Stay with me, young master.”
Edward’s eyes widened slightly.
Young… master?
The words echoed inside his fading mind.
What did that mean?
But darkness was already pulling him under.
Everything became distant.
Muffled.
Heavy.
Victor’s voice cut through the night sharply.
“Get him to the car. Now. Straight to the hospital.”
“Yes, sir,” the bouncer answered immediately.
Edward felt himself being lifted with ease.
The voices around him sounded far away.
“Stay awake, young master…”
“Move! Quickly!”
Then—
Everything went black.
The world dimmed, the street vanished and everything slipped into darkness.
- Writer
