I Am the Devil of This Hell

Chapter 074

The five days following Kane Adler’s quiet wedding night were a blur of cold calculation and logistical maneuvering. Under the gray, low-hanging clouds of the northern United States, the Shadow Eagle Clan transformed into a migratory predator. Leading the vanguard were the three shadows of Marcus Grady, Dante Romero, and Elias Thorne, alongside twenty-one lethal members of The Talons. This elite group was bolstered by Mark, known in the underworld as the Venom, and his personal cadre of twenty-four top-tier mercenaries.

The destination was the infamous Emerald Triangle. Because fifty heavily armed men traveling as a single unit would scream "paramilitary coup" to any federal agency, they fractured into five tactical cells. Mark navigated the primary group containing Kane, while the other four, led by lieutenants like Noah Grayson, carved distinct paths across the country toward the Rio Grande Border.

Kane had chosen a midnight departure, slipping out of Larkspur like a ghost. He didn't want the fanfare of a formal send-off from Rex Dalton or Ethan Skyler. Every man had their own theater of war now; the expansion into the neighboring counties was just as vital as the jungle summit.

Now, seated in the quiet hum of a high-speed rail car slicing through the landscape toward Arizona, Kane leaned his head against the cool window. Beside him sat Marcus, Dante, and Elias, along with Mark. Further down the car, Owen, Ford, Bobby, and the lethal duo of Nate and Trevor maintained a silent perimeter. It was a lineup that could decapitate a government, let alone a d**g cartel.

Just as Kane’s eyes began to heavy with the rhythm of the rails, a sweet, melodic voice cut through his half-sleep.

"Excuse me, sir... is this seat taken?"

Kane’s eyes snapped open. Standing in the aisle, looking like a pair of displaced porcelain dolls in the middle of a war council, were Tia Valentine and Sienna Summers.

"You... what the...?" Kane stammered, his brain momentarily stalling.

Sienna let out a delighted squeal and, with a sudden spring, launched herself into Kane’s lap. She looped her arms around his neck, smelling of strawberries and mischief. "Hubby! Did you miss us?"

On his right, Tia marched up to a stunned Mark, who was currently occupying the adjacent seat. She tapped the massive, scarred man on the shoulder. "Hey, Grandpa. You’re in my spot. Be a good boy and find somewhere else to sit, okay? I need to be next to my man."

Grandpa? Be a good boy?

Mark, a man who had survived the most brutal d**g wars in the Rio Grande Border, stared at the tiny girl in disbelief. However, as a seasoned professional, he quickly realized that if these two were here, they weren't just random stowaways. He flashed a quick, knowing look at Kane and moved his bulk into the row behind them with a "very good" smile.

Tia slid into the vacated seat and immediately latched onto Kane’s arm. "Admit it, Hubby. You're thrilled to see us. It’s a total surprise, right?"

Kane looked past them, his eyes scanning the car for their older sister or a security detail. "Is it just you two? Did you run away again?"

Sienna snuggled deeper into his chest, finding a comfortable spot against his tactical vest. "Nope! This time is official. The Grandpas gave us the green light."

Tia nodded vigorously. "Mom and Dad too. Everyone said it was okay."

Kane’s expression soured. "I’m not an i***t. You’re telling me your parents and the Valentine Dynasty leadership agreed to let you skip Christmas to go to a war zone?"

Sienna pouted, then reached into her designer bag and produced a crisp white envelope. "Fine, don't believe us. But we didn't just walk on here. Grandpa Summers personally arranged the transport. He said you’d need this."

Kane took the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of A4 paper.

Subject: No. 36, Julian Cross.

Tia and Sienna are in your care now. I trust in your ability to ensure their safety. If even a hair on their heads is harmed, consider your participation in this 'game' over.

There was no signature, but the use of his old name, Julian Cross, and the reference to his number in the Deep State program made the source unmistakable. This was a message from the highest echelons of the government—likely Arthur Summers himself.

What is the old man playing at? Kane wondered. Is he really so confident in my strength that he’d send his granddaughters into the lion’s den? Or is this a test? A leash?

The idea that the Valentine Dynasty would hand over their princesses to a "gangster" like him was a bitter pill to swallow. There was no such thing as a free lunch in the underworld.

"Owen," Kane barked, handing the note to Number One. "Burn this. Thoroughly."

Owen nodded, taking the paper to the restroom to dispose of the evidence. Kane then turned to the girls, his face stern. "Sienna, did your grandfather say anything else?"

"Just that once you read the letter, you’d be our tour guide," she chirped.

"The Emerald Triangle!" Tia added, her eyes sparkling. "I’ve heard it’s like a criminal paradise. Pure adrenaline! I’ve always wanted to see where all the action happens."

Kane rubbed his temples. He was heading into a summit with three of the world’s most dangerous warlords, and now he had two teenage girls treating it like a trip to Disneyland.

"Hubby," Tia whispered, leaning in and blowing a puff of warm air against his ear. "Did you keep our 'special gifts'? You promised to sleep with them every night."

Kane felt a flush of heat creep up his neck. Sienna giggled, watching him. "Yeah, where are they? Are you wearing them?"

"Stop it," Kane hissed, glancing at his men, who were all very suddenly interested in their own shoes. "Look, if you’re coming, there are rules. You do exactly what I say. You don't wander off. You stay within arm’s reach of me or the Talons at all times. Understood?"

"Yes, Commander!" they chirped in unison.

In the row behind them, Mark leaned over and whispered to Marcus. "Hey, Fox. Who are the kids? Since when did the Boss start a daycare? He’s got some... unique tastes."

Marcus Grady didn't even open his eyes. "Unique doesn't cover it, Mark. Do yourself a favor: don't look them in the eye, don't talk to them, and for the love of God, don't get on their bad side. Just... pray for your soul."

Mark looked back at the "cute" girls. "They look harmless enough."

At that moment, Sienna noticed Mark staring. She reached out and caught the arm of a passing flight attendant—or in this case, a rail stewardess. "Excuse me, Miss?"

The stewardess smiled down at the beautiful girl. "Yes, dear?"

"I’m really worried," Sienna whispered loudly, pointing a small finger at Mark. "That big scary man over there hasn't stopped staring at your hips. He looks like one of those 'predators' they talk about on the news. You should probably call security."

Mark’s smile froze. The stewardess’s expression shifted from professional to icy in a heartbeat, her eyes darting to Mark with pure disgust. Mark immediately slammed his head onto the tray table, pretending to be in a deep, innocent coma.

The Fox was right, he thought bitterly. Appearances are a lie.

The journey to the Rio Grande Border took two days and four different vehicle transfers. Traveling with fifty men was a logistical nightmare, but traveling with two pampered princesses was a tactical disaster. While the men were content to sleep in shifts or on the floor of a safe house, the girls’ constant pouting forced Kane to spend an extra half-day scouting a hotel that met their "minimum standards."

After settling into a two-star lodge on the edge of the Arizona border—the best they could manage without attracting federal attention—the group collapsed. Kane, having just finished a restorative shower and enduring a round of playful teasing from the girls, was interrupted by a sharp, rhythmic knock on the door.

He signaled for the girls to put on their robes. Through the peephole, he saw a man in a crisp service uniform carrying a tray. But it wasn't the uniform that caught Kane’s eye; it was the man's posture.

Kane opened the door cautiously. "Room service?"

The man didn't answer with a menu. Instead, he reached into his pocket and produced a gold-embossed identification card.

"Good evening, Mr. Adler. My name is Jacob Lawson. I’m the lead coordinator for Group 3. Frank Sterling sent me."

Kane’s jaw tightened. A Special Field Agent from the FBI. Not just an agent, but a group leader.

They found us already.

Kane had kept this itinerary as dark as possible. This hotel was a last-minute audible. The fact that the Deep State had a man waiting at the door before they’d even unpacked their bags was a chilling reminder of the cage he was actually living in.

"Come in," Kane said, his voice flat.

Jacob Lawson stepped inside, his eyes immediately landing on the twins. He bowed respectfully. "Good evening, Miss Summers. Miss Valentine."

Kane gestured toward the bedroom. "Girls, give us a minute." Surprisingly, they obeyed without a word, sensing the shift in the room's temperature.

Jacob waited until the door closed before turning back to Kane. He wore a smile that reminded Kane of Mark—friendly on the surface, but with a hollow, shark-like quality underneath.

"I apologize for the intrusion, Mr. Adler. We are merely following the protocols set by the Deputy Director. He prefers a 'hands-on' approach to communication. As you know, digital lines can be... compromised, even with the best encryption. He doesn't trust the airwaves."

"Get to the point, Agent Lawson," Kane said. "I’m sure you didn't come all this way to give me a lecture on cybersecurity."

"Quite right. The Deputy Director is aware of your summit in the Emerald Triangle. He knows the global supply of narcotics is shifting due to the crop failure and that the Three Generals are re-drawing the map."

Kane didn't blink. "And? Does the Deep State want a seat at the table?"

Jacob chuckled. "Hardly. Our interests are more... tectonic. The Deputy Director has two primary objectives for you on this trip. First: you are to act as a catalyst for chaos. The current stability in the Emerald Triangle doesn't serve our long-term interests. We want the Three Generals at each other’s throats. Destabilize the region."

Kane’s eyes narrowed. They want a jungle war.

"Second," Jacob continued, "you are to secure no less than 40% of the distribution quota from General Warhawk Turner. But here is the catch: your sales profile must shift. You are to move the vast majority of your product to international markets—specifically the Russian and European sectors. We want to see a significant decrease in the domestic circulation within the United States."

Kane felt a strange flicker of irony. He had already planned to do exactly that. Despite being a criminal, he had no desire to poison his own country. But the first order—the chaos—was a different story.

"Why the instability?" Kane asked.

Jacob’s smile broadened, but he was already moving toward the door. "The Deputy Director’s words were, 'Julian will understand his role.' Personally, I’d suggest you follow the script, Mr. Adler. It’s much safer for everyone involved. I look forward to our next meeting... if you survive the jungle."

With a final, mocking nod, the agent vanished into the hallway.

Kane stood in the center of the room, the silence of the hotel pressing in on him. The game had just expanded. He was no longer just a contender for the Rust Belt; he was a pawn in a global play by the Deep State. He had to navigate the Three Generals, the international syndicates, and now, a direct order to spark a war in the heart of the Emerald Triangle.

He looked toward the bedroom where the two granddaughters of the Valentine Dynasty were waiting. The "game" was indeed getting complicated.