I Am the Devil of This Hell

Chapter 052

"To the victors!"

The toast roared through the VIP lounge, shattering the early morning silence that had settled over Larkspur.

At six o'clock in the morning, while the city of Larkspur stirred in the northern chill, the celebration was just peaking in the VIP suite of Club Nightshade. The air was a heavy mix of stale tobacco, expensive cologne, and the fading scent of adrenaline.

Inside the velvet-walled room, Kane Adler, Rex Dalton, and a dozen inner-circle members raised their steins high, draining amber liquid in celebratory gulps. They drank with the desperate thirst of men who had cheated death.

"Hah! The entire southern district has fallen. A clean sweep!" Rex Dalton, the Mad Tiger, slammed his mug onto the mahogany table. He bit the cap off a fresh bottle, guzzling it down as foam ran down his chin. His eyes burned with manic energy as he wiped his face with a scarred hand. "Nearly five thousand soldiers have pledged loyalty to the Shadow Eagle Clan. Five thousand! In a single night, our power base hasn’t just grown—it’s exploded. We’ve expanded five-fold!"

Kane Adler leaned back in his leather armchair, a faint, satisfied smile playing on his lips. He looked less like a warlord and more like a CEO closing a merger, though the blood splatters on his cuffs told a different story. "Those two leaders, Reno Keyes and Titus King... they have potential. Raw, unpolished, but undeniable potential," Kane mused, swirling the remaining liquor in his glass. "They fought like cornered animals last night. You saw them. Absolute ferocity. Especially the crew from The Wolfpack. They aren't just thugs; they're wolves. Mad wolves."

Rex Dalton grinned, a predatory expression that showed too many teeth. He leaned forward, the leather of his jacket creaking. "Hey, Kane. Give Titus King and Reno Keyes to me. You can keep the other small-time captains. I’ll trade you five or six lieutenants for those two."

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Ethan Skyler, the man they called Yellow Springs for his ability to send people to the afterlife, slammed the heavy base of his glass against the table. The sharp sound cut through Rex's excitement.

"Hey, Sick Cat," Ethan grunted, his voice dripping with icy sarcasm. "Watch your image. I know we’re all brothers here in the Iron Crest inner circle, but try not to expose your most desperate, wretched side so easily. You look like a kid begging for a new toy."

Rex's face flushed with sudden anger, his eyebrows knitting together. But the fury evaporated as quickly as it had arrived, replaced by a shameless grin. He knew Ethan too well to take the bait. "Fine, fine. You insulted me, I'll let it slide. Consider it payment. But Reno and Titus are mine. If you try to snatch them from me, I swear to God, I’ll never let you hear the end of it."

Kane laughed, a low, resonant sound that commanded attention without demanding it. "Stop fighting over scraps. It’s already decided. Reno Keyes is assigned to you, Rex, for retraining and integration. As for you, Ethan, the man you wanted was Shane Hall, wasn't it? He’s not in this batch, so you’ll have to wait. But regarding Reno..." Kane paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he shifted into strategic mode. "I am establishing a new division. It will be called the Direwolf Syndicate. Reno Keyes will be inducted into the Direwolf Syndicate."

"the Direwolf Syndicate?"

The group exchanged glances. The room went quiet for a moment, the weight of the decision settling in. Ethan Skyler frowned, his analytical mind already dissecting the risks. "Boss, you want Reno to run a Hall? A whole division? It’s not that I doubt his capability to c***k skulls, but... his influence and combat power are roughly on par with Titus King. If we elevate him to a Hall Master level immediately, how does he stand against our two established main Halls? Over time, the power imbalance might crush his development, or worse, breed resentment among the veterans."

Kane shook his head, raising a hand to silence the concern. "No, no. You misunderstand. My intention is for Reno Keyes to serve as the Deputy Hall Master of the Direwolf Syndicate. The position of Hall Master will be concurrently held by me for the time being. Does anyone have an objection to that arrangement?"

The tension in the room evaporated. Rex Dalton scratched his buzz cut and laughed. "I never had an objection in the first place. Long as he’s fighting for us."

Kane turned his gaze to the window, looking out at the gray dawn light filtering through the heavy drapes. "The four thousand six hundred captives have been corralled at the industrial district on the outskirts of the city. Dixon Jace is personally overseeing the selection process as we speak. We need quality, not just quantity. My order is to induct only three thousand six hundred of them as official members of the Shadow Eagle Clan. The remaining thousand will be cut loose to serve as external associates—street runners, eyes, and ears."

He took a sip of his drink and continued, his voice taking on the cadence of a military briefing. "Official members will receive a monthly retainer of three thousand dollars. That’s base pay—combat bonuses and merit awards are separate. The external associates will get eight hundred a month to keep them loyal and prevent them from causing trouble. We need to feed the wolves so they don't bite the hand."

Kane’s expression hardened. "But this is not a charity. Every six months, we will conduct a performance review. We will cut the bottom percentage of official members who haven't contributed to the Empire, and we will promote the strongest performers from the external associates to take their place. The Shadow Eagle Clan will maintain this cycle of elimination indefinitely. Stagnation is death."

Ethan Skyler nodded slowly, appreciating the ruthlessness of the system. "Darwinian. It will keep the men hungry. A fair, competitive hierarchy. I like it."

From the corner of the room, a man who had been silent until now spoke up. It was Owen Steele, known as Number One. His voice was gravelly, unused to long sentences. "Kane, what about the original crews that followed Titus King and Reno Keyes? Have you decided to scatter them completely?"

"Absolutely," Kane replied without hesitation. "It is imperative. Dixon Jace would never allow them to form an independent system or a faction within the Shadow Eagle Clan. If we allowed their original gangs to stay intact within a Hall, Reno and Titus would be forced to walk on eggshells, constantly suspected of mutiny. We’re doing them a favor by breaking up their old crews. Everyone involved is smart enough to understand the necessity of this politics."

Leaning back in his chair and staring at the intricate patterns on the ceiling, Harvey Shaw—Number Two—spoke up lazily. "Kane, what about that kid, Hank Steel? Where do you plan to put him? We still don’t know how deep that guy’s cunning runs. But... I get a vibe from him. That kid has ambition. Big ambition."

"Don't worry too much about him," Kane said dismissively. "I'll place him in the the Direwolf Syndicate for now. He can assist Reno. I’ll observe him slowly. If he’s a sharp knife, we use him. If he’s a poisoned blade, we break him."

While Kane Adler and his inner circle were dissecting the future of the underground world upstairs, the heavy oak doors at the main entrance of Club Nightshade creaked open.

Two petite, delicate figures peeked in, looking entirely out of place in the grim, imposing lobby of a gangland stronghold.

One was tiny, standing maybe four feet tall—though clearly older than her height suggested. She had short, jet-black hair framing a beautiful, doll-like face. Her cheeks were flushed red from the cold morning air, her lips a perfect cherry shade, and her nose small and button-like. Her eyes sparkled with a mischievous, almost devilish light. She was dressed in a pristine white designer tracksuit that looked like it cost more than most people’s cars.

Next to her stood a slightly taller girl, perhaps five-foot-three. She radiated a quiet, intellectual calm. Her long hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a pale, porcelain face. Her eyes were sharp, filled with a wisdom that seemed beyond her years, yet the corners of her mouth curled upward in a subtle, playful smirk. If you looked closely, you could see she was just as much of a troublemaker as her companion. She wore a sleek black tracksuit that perfectly contrasted with the snowy white of her friend.

Although these two girls looked no older than sixteen or seventeen, their charm was undeniable. They possessed the kind of devastating cuteness that could make grown men stop in their tracks and inadvertently smile. They were "top-shelf" quality—exquisite, fragile, and utterly captivating.

Their innocent appearance was a weapon in itself, capable of evoking instant pity and affection from anyone with a heartbeat.

Case in point: Marcus Grady, also known as The Fox, was currently leaning against the lobby bar. He had been busy leering at a tired waitress, trying to use his status to score a date, when the girls walked in. His eyes instantly went round.

Slurp.

Marcus hastily wiped a bit of drool from the corner of his mouth. With surprising speed, he grabbed a young waiter who had been about to approach the girls and physically tossed him aside.

"Out of my way," Marcus hissed, then composed himself. He plastered what he thought was a pure, gentlemanly smile onto his face and glided toward them.

"Well, hello there, little ladies," Marcus crooned, his voice dripping with exaggerated charm. "Is there anything a big brother can help you with? Ah, right! What a coincidence. You happen to be the shop’s first... uh... VIP guests of the day! That means dancing, singing, drinks—everything is on the house. Fully comped by yours truly."

The girl in white blinked her large, innocent eyes. Her voice was crisp and sweet. "We’re looking for someone."

Looking for someone? Marcus thought. In a nightclub at 6 AM?

His mind immediately went to the gutter. He scanned the two girls up and down, his gaze lingering a bit too long. Coming to find men at this age?

Heh. I like it.

"Looking for someone, huh?" Marcus grinned, leaning against a pillar. "I wonder what kind of style you two beautiful ladies prefer? I’m very adaptable, you know. I can play any role. And remember, for you, it’s all free service."

The girl in the black tracksuit tilted her head, her large, intelligent eyes blinking slowly as she stared at Marcus. She spoke with a voice like honey. "Uncle... you look so perverted right now."

Pffft!

Behind the bar, the bartenders and several members of the Execution Unit who were guarding the door couldn't hold it in. Tea and water sprayed across the counter as they burst into laughter.

Marcus’s face twitched violently. The corner of his mouth spasmed. He took a deep breath, trying to salvage his dignity. He adopted a patient, teaching tone. "Little sister... maybe you didn't pay attention in English class. The words you were looking for are probably... 'pure,' 'kind-hearted,' or maybe 'cool' and 'stylish.'"

The girl in black shrank back, acting terrified. "But... Uncle... soliciting minors is a federal crime."

The girl in white tugged on her friend’s sleeve, whispering loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Mom said we shouldn't talk to men with lecherous eyes. Come on, let's ask someone else."

Before Marcus could explode from embarrassment, the girl in white smiled sweetly at him. "Thanks anyway, Uncle. It’s a bit hard to communicate with you. We’ll go find someone else. Bye-bye! Actually... deep down, I’m sure you’re a good person."

She didn't forget to hand him a "good person card" before leaving.

"Bwahahaha!"

The guards and staff lost it completely. They were clutching their stomachs, sliding under the tables, tears of laughter streaming down their faces. The Fox had just been outplayed by two teenagers.

Ignoring the brooding Marcus, who was now surrounded by black gloom, the two girls held hands and skipped toward the stairs, just as a figure was descending.

It was Ford Slater, known as Number Four.

"Hi there, little brother! Hey, you're so cute!"

Before Ford could react, the two girls were on him. One patted his head, the other pinched his cheek.

Ford Slater froze. This was a man who had killed more people than he could count on his fingers and toes combined. He was a demon in human skin, a high-ranking member of the Shadow Eagle Clan. But these two girls seemed to possess some strange magic. Their pinching and patting completely neutralized his killer instincts. He stood there, stunned, letting them handle him like a plush toy.

The girl in the black outfit patted Ford’s head again, adopting the tone of a benevolent older sister. "Such a good boy. Big sister is going to ask you a question. You have to answer honestly, okay? If you answer well, I’ll buy you some candy."

Candy?

Ford’s brain short-circuited. An image flashed in his mind: a cute little boy holding a giant, colorful lollipop, smiling like an i***t.

He shook his head helplessly, a bitter smile forming. "I... I’ll tell you what I know. But... you can keep the lollipop."

The girl in white scratched her head, confused. "I didn't say lollipop. I just said candy. Hmm... I get what you mean, though. Okay! Big sister will buy you a lollipop later. Look at this kid, already knowing how to bargain."

Ford felt a wave of dizziness. Great. I played myself.

"Sisters... just ask your question. I'll do my best to answer."

"Good boy," the girl said. "We’re looking for someone. His name is Kane Adler."

Kane?

Ford’s eyes narrowed instantly, the playful atmosphere vanishing for a split second. His pupils contracted into dangerous pinpoints. "What business do you have with him?"

The two girls tilted their heads in perfect synchronization. They spoke in unison, their voices ringing clear in the quiet lobby.

"He is our husband."

Husband?

Another sister-in-law? Wait... two of them at once?

Behind them, Marcus Grady stiffened. He turned around slowly, his body twitching as if he’d been tased, his face a mask of utter shock.