I Am the Devil of This Hell

Chapter 043

At 07:00 sharp, the shrill ring of a cell phone cut through the morning silence, shattering Kane Adler’s deep slumber.

He groaned, his hand blindly searching the nightstand until his fingers closed around the vibrating device. He pressed it to his ear, his voice thick with sleep.

"Yeah. Who is it?"

"AAAAGH!"

The response wasn't words; it was a howl of pure misery. It was a sound so pathetic, so filled with genuine suffering, that it jolted Kane awake faster than a bucket of ice water. He sat up, the fog clearing instantly from his mind.

"Brother Kane! My dear older brother! Hell, I’ll call you Daddy if you want!" The wailing on the other end subsided into a desperate, sobbing plea. "I am so, so sorry to disturb your rest, but I have been holding this in all night! Do you... do you know what moderation is? Good God, man! Two hundred bodies?! Do you think this is a slaughterhouse? You are killing me here! My heart can't take this. I’m an old man! If you pull another stunt like this, I’m going to have a stroke. You’ll have to find another police chief to cover for you!"

Kane chuckled softly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "My apologies, Chief Rocco. But if you recall, I did warn you. I told you to bring your most loyal men because my debut operation would involve... extreme measures. I needed to send a shockwave through the Larkspur underworld. However, I give you my word: this was the first and the last time. From now on, we will be more surgical. Trust me."

On the other end of the line, Brooks Hamilton wanted to scream. Trust you? I trust you as far as I can throw a tank! You're a "Special Field Agent"! You have a license to kill! I’m just a corrupt cop trying not to go to jail!

"Brother Kane," Dante stammered, his voice trembling. "I... I believe you. But please, I am begging you on my knees here... don't do that again. My heart literally stopped beating when I walked into that club. The Mayor almost skinned me alive this morning."

"I understand," Kane said soothingly. "It was a rough night. You’ve worked hard, Dante. Oh, by the way... have you checked that private offshore account we discussed? You might find an extra fifty thousand dollars in there this morning. Just a small token of appreciation. Consider it hazard pay for the shock."

The line went dead silent for a full two minutes.

Then, Brooks Hamilton’s voice returned, but the panic was gone, replaced by a smooth, bureaucratic warmth.

"Oh! Well... hehe... Kane, you really shouldn't have. You are too generous. Truly. Ahem. Anyway, I shouldn't keep you. I’m sure you’re busy. I’ll just... go handle the paperwork for this case. Don't worry about a thing. I’ll smooth it all over. Goodbye!"

"Goodbye, Chief."

Kane hung up the phone and let out a genuine laugh.

Beside him, the blankets shifted. Victoria Vance stretched like a lazy cat, her long hair spilling over Kane’s bare chest. She rubbed her eyes and looked up at him.

"What are you giggling about so early?" she mumbled.

"Heh. I just love greedy people," Kane grinned, stroking her hair. "Especially greedy officials. They are so easy to predict."

Victoria opened her eyes fully, giving him a playful glare. "You know... I’m discovering that you have a real talent for being a villain."

Kane laughed louder. He reached down and delivered a sharp, playful swat to her firm, rounded bottom.

Smack!

The elasticity was incredible. Kane felt a surge of desire. "If I were a real villain, I would have eaten you alive by now. Do you think you'd still be acting so arrogant if I was truly bad?"

Since returning last night, Victoria had forced Kane to sign a series of "Unequal Treaties." The most important clause: intimate cuddling was allowed, but the "final boundary" could not be crossed without her express permission.

Kane had agreed with a shrug, thinking it would be easy. He was wrong. The woman was a demon. A succubus. She writhed against him, used every seductive trick in the book, and drove him to the brink of insanity. And just when Kane was about to lose control, she would switch modes instantly—becoming pure, innocent, and sweet—cuddling into his chest and whispering, "Goodnight, Hubby..."

Last night, Kane had spent twenty minutes doing deep breathing exercises just to calm his lower half down.

He stared at the ceiling now, silently observing three minutes of silence for his future marital life. Then, he grinned and lay back down.

"Get up," Kane said, nudging her. "I have things to do today."

Victoria wrapped her arms around his neck, pouting. "No! It's Saturday! I want to sleep in. And you... you're always going out to play. You don't even study!"

Play?

Kane’s eye twitched. Murder and extortion weren't exactly "play."

"Fine, stay in bed," Kane said, kissing her forehead. "I have some... errands. I’ll pick you up later."

"Mmm... okay. Kiss kiss."

Kane pinched her nose affectionately and pressed a kiss to her lips.

As he reached the door, Victoria’s sleepy voice floated after him.

"Hubby... Eliza is in the past... you know that, right? I want you to truly forget the sadness. I want you to accept your life. I want you to be happy. And remember... you aren't who you used to be. You can chase whatever you want now. Whatever makes you happy, I support you. Hubby... fighting! Victoria loves you forever."

Kane froze. A tremor ran through his body. He took a deep breath, steadying his heart.

"Hubby loves you too," he whispered, and walked out the door.

Club Nightjar.

After a night of blood and a morning of police "investigations," the club had returned to a surreal calm. Thanks to Brooks Hamilton’s influence, the Shadow Eagle Clan had swiftly taken over the territories of both Iron Crest and The Syndicate. This included three large bars and four high-end nightclubs.

The police had scrubbed the scene, but the underworld of Larkspur had ears everywhere. By 07:00, every g**g in the city knew the story.

Iron Crest, the fifth-largest power in the South, had been erased. Two hundred and nineteen men slaughtered. Not a single survivor. The brutality was unheard of.

Then, The Syndicate, the fourth-largest power, had been framed and dismantled by the police in the same night. Their leadership was in custody; their street soldiers were scattering like rats.

At 06:00, the police tape was torn down from the doors of the seven establishments. Armies of cleaning crews moved in.

By 07:00, the announcement was made: The Shadow Eagle Clan was open for business.

The other gangs in the city watched with terrified fascination, but nobody dared to make a move. Nobody wanted to touch the tiger’s tail.

When Kane walked into Club Nightjar, the scent of bleach and floral cleaner fought a losing battle against the lingering metallic tang of blood.

The cleaning staff, seeing him enter, flinched. They forced terrified smiles onto their faces. "Good morning, Boss Kane!"

Kane nodded, ignoring their fear.

Trent, a young member of the Talons, was leaning against the bar sipping a drink. He hurried over.

"Boss Kane, Rex and the others are on the third floor."

"What about the staff?" Kane asked.

"Aside from a few who were too traumatized to function, most stayed," Trent reported. "We offered double wages. Money talks."

"And the owner?"

"Hehe. The fat guy? He's in the hospital. 'Severe shock.' I don't think he’ll be out for a few weeks."

Kane chuckled. "Good. Keep drinking. I’m going up."

He pushed open the door to the third-floor VIP suite. A wall of noise and the smell of alcohol hit him.

"Hey! You lazy bastards! You're supposed to be guarding the turf, not getting wasted!" Marcus Grady roared, diving into the room. He snatched a beer bottle from Bobby Santoro’s hand and downed it in one gulp.

"Hey! That was mine! Get him!"

The room erupted in laughter and jeers. Kane smiled. This was his family.

Rex Dalton, the Mad Tiger, waved Kane over. "Boss! Come sit! The other units are out patrolling. It’s just us useless drunks left here."

Ethan Skyler scoffed. "Speak for yourself. Some of us have class."

Rex glared. "You want to go, pretty boy?"

"I don't fight monks who drink booze. It's bad karma."

"Why you little..."

"Enough," Kane laughed, sitting down. "Did you guys eat?"

"Rex ate thirty fried eggs," Ethan deadpanned. "I think he's part weasel."

Dixon Thorne sat next to Kane, handing him a dossier. "Boss, this is the intel Jackson prepared last night. It's about the recruitment targets."

Kane flipped open the file.

"Okay, let's see," Dixon summarized. "Larkspur has two major sports academies. Lincoln High School in the South, and Centennial Middle School in the city center. Both have about three thousand students. Because of the local culture and the lack of jobs for athletes, about thirty percent of these kids join gangs before they even graduate. It’s a feeder system."

He pointed to a page.

"Shane Hall. The undisputed king of Centennial Middle School. Provincial Kickboxing Champion last year. He has united all the student gangs in his school—nearly a thousand kids follow him. Even the established street bosses treat him with respect."

"Titus King. The ruler of Lincoln High School. He hasn't competed professionally, but he fought Shane Hall to a draw twice. He commands a similar force—about a thousand loyal students."

Dixon paused. "Both of them have received offers from the big three gangs—The Brotherhood, The Warlords, and The Five Kings. But so far? They haven't picked a side."

Rex Dalton grabbed the file and tossed it aside without looking. "Boss, are you serious? You want to recruit school kids? Why don't we just recruit from the streets? These are children. The oldest is what, eighteen?"

Kane smiled, a glint of ambition in his eyes.

"And how old am I, Rex?"

Rex blinked. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He had forgotten. The man who had orchestrated the bloodiest m******e in Larkspur history... was only eighteen.

"Age is just a number," Kane said, leaning back. "These 'kids' are clean. They haven't been corrupted by the old rules of the underworld yet. They are hungry, they are loyal, and they are fighters. If we can take Shane Hall and Titus King, we instantly add two thousand soldiers to our ranks. Two thousand young, athletic, fearless soldiers."

Marcus Grady wiped beer foam from his lip. "So, what's the plan? We go to school?"

"Exactly," Kane said. "We go to school. Rex, Ethan, Marcus, Dixon—you're with me. We're going to pay Titus King a visit at Lincoln High. It’s time to show the next generation who the real kings are."

Rex cracked his knuckles, grinning. "School, huh? I never graduated. Maybe I can teach them a lesson in PE."

The room erupted in laughter again. The Shadow Eagle Clan was on the move, and the playgrounds of Larkspur were about to become battlegrounds.