I Am the Devil of This Hell

Chapter 039

Larkspur, Southeast District. Pacific Manor.

This was a world away from the grime of the industrial zones. Pacific Manor was an enclave of extreme wealth, a sprawling estate covering over three thousand acres. It was a landscape of manicured gardens, artificial streams, and architectural marvels hidden behind high security walls. The air here didn't smell of smog; it smelled of jasmine and money.

It was the most expensive real estate in Larkspur. The people who lived here weren't just rich; they were the power brokers. High-ranking government officials, industrial tycoons, and old money families. When the development was built, the units were sold out before they even hit the public market.

Night had fallen, draping the luxury villas in shadow. A humble taxi cab rolled up to the grandiose main gate. The window rolled down, and three crisp hundred-dollar bills were handed to the security guard. Without a word, the gate arm lifted, and the taxi carried four dangerous men into the heart of the elite district.

"That's the one, Kane," Marcus Grady said, pointing out the window as the cab idled deep within the complex.

He pointed to a lavish, three-story villa that looked more like a small palace. "That house was a 'gift' from Ray Quinn, the leader of The Brotherhood, to our dear Police Chief Brooks Hamilton about three years ago. It wasn't just the house, either. Ray threw in two high-end mistresses to keep the Chief warm. Dante comes here every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday like clockwork. Shadow Division has been tracking him. He went in two hours ago. He’s probably enjoying himself right now."

Dante Romero, known as The Dancer, scoffed from the backseat. "Ray Quinn knows how to play the game. He feeds the officials cash, women, and gambling chips. The entire administration of Larkspur is rotten to the core. Corruption is the local sport. The Mayor has powerful backing in the capital, so nobody dares to investigate. They just eat and eat."

Elias Thorne—who was accompanying them—sneered. "I don't fear a man who loves money. I fear a man who has principles. If they are greedy, they are ours."

They exited the taxi. Kane adjusted his jacket and walked up to the heavy oak front door. He pressed the doorbell.

Ding-dong.

A moment later, the door cracked open. A middle-aged woman, dressed in a housekeeper's uniform, looked out suspiciously. She scanned the group—Kane, a handsome young man with a disarming smile, and his three companions.

"Is Chief Brooks Hamilton in?" Kane asked politely.

"Who are you?" the housekeeper asked, frowning. She knew this was a secret residence. Very few people knew the Chief kept this place, and even fewer dared to show up unannounced. And asking for the "Chief" directly? That was bold.

Kane’s smile brightened, looking entirely harmless. "I’m sorry to disturb you. Please let him know that someone from 'above' needs to speak with him."

"Above?" The housekeeper paused. The term carried weight. She hesitated, then nodded nervously. "Wait here."

She closed the door. A few minutes later, it opened again.

A middle-aged man stood there, wrapped in a silk bathrobe. He was about forty, with the soft, rounded physique of a man who spent his life behind a desk and at banquet tables. His skin was pale and smooth, pampered by expensive creams. This was Brooks Hamilton, the Chief of Police for Larkspur.

He looked annoyed, his eyes puffy with sleep or perhaps interruption. Before he could demand who they were, Kane Adler reached into his breast pocket.

He pulled out a small, red leather booklet. On the cover, a gold embossed star caught the porch light.

Kane flipped it open for a split second—just long enough for the gold shield and the holographic seal to flash—then snapped it shut.

"FBI Special Field Agent, Kane Adler," Kane whispered, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial, icy tone. "Chief Rocco, we need to have a word."

FBI? Special Field Agent?

Brooks Hamilton felt his stomach drop through the floor. The blood drained from his face. In the hierarchy of power, the local police were big fish in a small pond, but the FBI? The Federal Bureau of Investigation? They were the sharks. And "Special Field Agent"? That sounded like deep-cover operations. That sounded like "National Security."

He had never heard of an agent named Kane Adler, but the term "Federal" combined with the arrogance of the youth and that flash of gold was enough to short-circuit his critical thinking. Who would be insane enough to impersonate a Fed at the Police Chief's private, illicit safe house?

He didn't know that the young man standing before him was actually Julian Cross (Xing Ying), the notorious killer he had personally arrested months ago.

Dante straightened his spine, sucking in his gut. The annoyance vanished, replaced by a mask of righteous bureaucratic cooperation.

"Please... please come in, Agent Adler," Dante stammered, stepping aside.

Kane strode in like he owned the place, his boots clicking on the marble floor. Dante led them quickly up to the second-floor study, eager to get them away from the women in the bedroom. He locked the study door behind them.

"Agent Adler," Dante said, wringing his hands, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. "I... I wasn't expecting... How can I assist the Bureau?"

"Relax, Chief Rocco," Kane said, dropping onto a leather sofa and crossing his legs. "You can call me Kane."

"Oh, no, no, I couldn't," Dante laughed nervously. "Mr. Kane, then. What brings a federal agent to our little city? Is there... is there a problem? As the Chief of Police, I am dedicated to the safety of Larkspur. If there is a threat, I will mobilize the entire force to assist you."

Kane stared at him for a long moment, letting the silence stretch until it was uncomfortable. He held up the red booklet again. "Chief, take a good look. Verify it. I don't want any misunderstandings about my authority."

Dante took the booklet with trembling hands. He opened it and pretended to study it intensely. In reality, he wouldn't know a real top-secret clearance badge from a fake one if it bit him. He saw "United States Government," he saw "Department of Justice," and he saw a serious-looking photo. That was enough.

He handed it back with both hands, bowing slightly. "It is impeccable, Mr. Kane. Absolutely authentic. Please, tell me. Why are you here?"

Kane leaned forward, his eyes boring into Dante's. "Chief, I am here on a classified mandate from the Department of Justice, co-signed by the National Security Council. I need to warn you first: everything we discuss in this room is top secret. Level One clearance. If you leak a single word to anyone—even your Mayor, even your wife—the consequences will be... severe."

As the last word left Kane's lips, Marcus Grady moved.

He was a blur of motion. Before Dante’s brain could process the threat, Marcus was behind him. A cold, serrated blade pressed against the soft flesh of Dante's throat.

Marcus leaned in, his breath hot on Dante's ear. "Even if the Governor of Hawthorne State asks, you say nothing. If you talk, we don't arrest you. We execute you for treason. We wipe your family off the grid. Do not test the reach of the Agency."

Hiss.

Brooks Hamilton gasped, his body freezing. The cold steel against his neck sent a jolt of terror straight to his bladder.

"I... I swear!" Dante squeaked, his voice an octave higher. "I swear on the Constitution! I swear on my life! I won't say a word! Not a word!"

Kane smiled, a warm, terrifying expression. He waved his hand lazily. Marcus grinned, retracting the knife and stepping back into the shadows. Dante collapsed into a chair, his legs turning to jelly.

"We need your cooperation, Chief. That is why we are letting you in on the operation," Kane said smoothly.

"Cooperation... yes... anything," Dante panted, clutching his chest.

Kane paused, choosing his words carefully. "In recent years, the organized crime problem in Hawthorne State has spiraled out of control. Larkspur is the epicenter. We have identified over forty active criminal syndicates in this city alone."

Dante was sweating profusely now. His mind was racing. Are they here to clean house? Am I on the list? I take bribes from half those gangs! If they launch a federal RICO case, I’m finished. I’m going to prison for life.

Kane watched the panic rise in Dante's eyes. It was perfect. He needed the man broken, terrified, and desperate.

"Chief Rocco," Kane continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. "We know everything. We have the files. We know about your accounts. We know about the Mayor. We know about this house."

Dante looked like he was about to have a stroke.

"However," Kane said, shifting gears. "My mission is not to arrest you. I am not here to dismantle the police force. My mission is... unconventional. We are going to implement a strategy of 'fighting fire with fire'. I have been authorized to establish a state-sanctioned shadow organization. A new 'g**g', if you will."

"Huh?" Dante blinked, his jaw dropping. "What? A... a g**g?"

"You heard me," Kane said calmly. "I am going to build a criminal empire. My unit—the men you see here and others in the field—will systematically destroy and absorb the existing gangs in Larkspur. We will unify the underworld under one banner. A banner controlled by me, and by extension, the Federal Government. We are going to bring order to chaos. Do you understand?"

Dante sat there, his brain short-circuiting. It sounded insane. It sounded illegal. But it also sounded exactly like the kind of dark, off-the-books black op that he saw in movies. And more importantly... it meant he wasn't going to jail.

"I... I think I understand," Dante stammered. "But... the gangs here are powerful. Do you... do you have enough men?"

Kane chuckled darkly. "Chief, do not concern yourself with our capabilities. I have a legion of elite operatives. I can conquer Hawthorne State in a month if I choose to. Just remember your oath of silence. And consider your own career. If you help us, you are a patriot assisting a classified operation. If you hinder us... you are a liability."

"I am a patriot!" Dante shouted, jumping up from his chair. "I love this country! I will assist Mr. Kane with everything I have!"

The terror had been replaced by a strange, desperate sycophancy. In front of this eighteen-year-old "Federal Agent," the Chief of Police was acting like a frightened intern.

"Good," Kane said. "I apologize for the rough entry. I have a small token of appreciation for your cooperation. Consider it a down payment for your 'consulting services'."

Kane reached into his jacket and pulled out a slip of paper. A check.

Dante waved his hands, trying to regain some dignity. "Oh, no, serving the country is my dut—hiss."

He stopped mid-sentence as Kane placed the check on the desk. He saw the numbers. He saw the zeros.

Two... Two million dollars?!

The air left his lungs.

"Take it," Kane said firmly. "The government takes care of its friends. We have an unlimited black budget for this operation."

Brooks Hamilton swallowed hard, his greed instantly overpowering his fear. He snatched the check and stuffed it into his bathrobe pocket.

"Yes... yes, of course. The government is generous. I will do my best. My absolute best."

"Actually," Kane said, standing up and smoothing his jacket. "There is one small favor I need from you tonight. To get the ball rolling."

"Name it," Dante said, puffing out his chest. "Anything you need."

"I need you to pull your patrols back from the South District tonight," Kane said, a dangerous glint in his eye. "It's going to get a little loud."

Dante didn't even blink. "Consider it done. No patrols. No response calls. The South is yours."

Kane smiled. The hook was set. The line was tight. The Police Chief of Larkspur was now an employee of the Shadow Eagle Clan.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Chief."