I Am the Devil of This Hell

Chapter 071

The heavy oak doors of the penthouse finally clicked shut behind the departure of the Valentine Dynasty’s eldest daughter and her two tearful sisters. Kane Adler stood in the suddenly silent living room, still staring down at the peculiar "gift" clutched in his hand—the embroidered, faintly warm reminders of the twin terrors. He had just intended to settle back into a brief moment of normalcy and perhaps fulfill his promise to accompany Victoria Vance to school, when the sharp, rhythmic vibration of his phone shattered the peace.

It was Jackson Hayes. The message was brief but carried the weight of a thunderhead: Nathan Black had returned. More importantly, he hadn't come back alone. Beyond the four elite escorts led by Nate, Nathan had brought thirty heavily armed, high-tier mercenaries into the heart of Larkspur.

Almost simultaneously, Owen—the operative known as Number One—personally pulled up to the curb of Ocean Manor in a blacked-out SUV to retrieve Kane. The air in the vehicle was thick with unspoken tension. As Kane climbed into the back, he noted the presence of both Ford and Blaze. To have three of the top-ranking brothers serving as a single transport detail meant the Shadow Eagle Clan leadership was on high alert. Something about the return of the Venom was making everyone's trigger fingers itch.

"Is there an actual problem, or are we just being cautious?" Kane asked, leaning back against the leather seat. He signaled for Marcus Grady, Dante Romero, and Elias Thorne to follow in their own vehicle, maintaining a tight security envelope.

Ford, ever the blunt instrument of the group, didn't mince words. "The Venom is back, Boss. But these thirty guys he brought with him... they aren't just hired muscle. They're operators. Every single one of them is kitted out like they’re invading a small country. Their tactical awareness is off the charts. We suspect that he might be—"

"That’s enough," Kane interrupted, his voice calm but absolute. "Nate and his team were with him the entire time, were they not? Have they reported anything suspicious?"

"No," Ford admitted. "But—"

Kane offered a faint, cold smile. "Then there is no problem. We have to trust our brothers. Nathan Black is one of the eighty-one. He is one of us. If he’s brought fire to our doorstep, I trust it’s meant for our enemies, not for me."

When the SUV screeched to a halt at the Seabreeze Tower, the atmosphere in the eighteenth-floor staging area was practically electric with hostility. Bobby and a dozen other members of The Talons were scattered around the lobby in various states of calculated lethality. Some were idly sharpening Bowie Knives, others were field-stripping sidearms, but every single one of them had their predatory gaze fixed on the twenty-six stone-faced mercenaries standing at attention like steel pikes. The sheer amount of military-grade hardware in the room was enough to make a SWAT commander sweat.

Kane stepped into the center of the hall and slapped Bobby on the back of his massive head. "It’s barely breakfast time. Don't you lot have something better to do than have a staring contest?"

Bobby rubbed his head, a sheepish grin breaking his tough-guy facade. "Boss told me to bring the boys and keep things... stable."

Owen rolled his eyes at the big man’s lack of tact. "Stable, not hostile, you big ape."

Kane gestured toward the elevators. "Clear out. Go to the southern outskirts and assist Rex Dalton and Ethan Skyler with the new recruits. They need more eyes on the perimeter than I need here."

"Yes, sir," Bobby grumbled, waving his crew toward the exit, though they cast one final, lingering look at the mercenaries before departing.

Entering the inner sanctum of the executive office, Kane found a significantly leaner Nathan Black. The man looked as though he had been carved out of dry wood—hard, weathered, and remarkably focused. He was sitting on the edge of a leather sofa, flanked by Nate, Noah Grayson, and three newcomers who radiated the quiet, dangerous aura of career soldiers.

The moment Kane crossed the threshold, Nathan stood up, his posture snapping into a respectful bow. "Mr. Adler."

"Mark," Kane laughed, crossing the room in two long strides to pull the man into a powerful embrace. He thapped Nathan’s back with a force that would have winded a lesser man. "You’ve lost some weight, old friend. The road must have been long."

The tension that had been visible in Nathan’s jaw vanished instantly, replaced by a surge of genuine warmth. He returned the embrace with equal fervor. "It’s good to be home, Kane. Truly."

Nathan stepped back and gestured toward the three men standing with Noah. "Noah you already know. These three were my most trusted lieutenants during my time in the wilderness. Meet Aaron, Timothy, and Scott."

The four men, including Noah, stood at attention, their voices synchronized in a rhythmic bark: "Good morning, Mr. Adler!"

Kane signaled for everyone to be seated. "Welcome to the family. I’ve heard quite a bit about the caliber of men the Venom keeps in his circle."

Without waiting for a formal prompt, Nathan leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. "I’ve spent the last few weeks with Nate and Noah performing a surgical audit of my entire distribution 'channel.' Luck was on our side, Kane. My brother, in his infinite cowardice, was so terrified of the system collapsing that he kept my disappearance a secret. He didn't change a single protocol or contact. He’s been hiding out in the Appalachian foothills, trying to run the whole show via remote link while using my 'survival' as his shield."

Nathan’s eyes turned cold. "When I showed up at the various hubs, the reaction was mostly shock. I gave everyone a choice. Those who wanted to fold into the Shadow Eagle Clan were brought into the fold. Those who hesitated... I handled them. Discreetly."

"And the total headcount?" Kane asked.

"The personnel were recruited from all over the world—professional operators, former special forces, and top-tier mercenaries. They’ve been on my payroll for years. Total strength is five hundred and seventy-one men. They are elite, Kane. The men you saw outside, led by Chris Evans, are the vanguard of that force. I’d be honored if you would personally audit their skills. I guarantee they meet the standard of The Talons."

Kane glanced at Nate, who gave a subtle, affirming nod. The numbers were real, and the loyalty was vetted.

"That won't be necessary," Kane said with a smile. "If they’re good enough for the Venom, they’re good enough for me."

Owen chimed in from the corner, his voice carrying a hint of professional suspicion. "That’s a hell of a lot of firepower to bring into the city limits, Mark. You’ve got enough hardware out there to start a small war in Larkspur. How did you even get that much lead past the city line?"

Nathan grinned, a flash of his old, shark-like confidence returning. "Owen, I didn't get to be the 'd**g Purse' of the north by being sloppy. I know every blind spot in the Rust Belt Corridor."

Kane patted Nathan’s shoulder. "Ignore him. I’d rather have our brothers armed than not. But I suspect you didn't rush back here just to show off your new toys and return my escorts. What’s the real news?"

Nathan’s smile faded, replaced by a grim, business-like mask. "You’re as sharp as ever, Kane. I came back because we have a crisis—or an opportunity, depending on how fast we move. It concerns the narcotics pipeline from the Emerald Triangle."

Kane’s brow furrowed. "Is the supply line failing? Did Miles Keaton’s death cause a diplomatic rupture with the cartels?"

Nathan shook his head. "The link is frayed, but that’s an easy fix. I can head down to the Rio Grande Border myself; the generals down there have known me for a decade. They don't care about the name on the contract as long as the money is green, and I’m their biggest revenue stream. They won't bite the hand that feeds them."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The problem is the crop. Reports from the Emerald Triangle indicate that the poppy yields are going to be disastrous this coming year. A blight or a shift in the climate—it doesn't matter why. What matters is that the global supply is about to hit a bottleneck. The cartels are already preparing to reallocate the quotas."

Nathan’s eyes were alight with the fever of a high-stakes gambler. "Because of the shortage, the price of pure product is going to skyrocket by the spring. It’ll be a gold mine for whoever holds the largest share of the stock. Word of the shortage hit the global underworld two weeks ago. Every major syndicate, every independent d**g lord from Mexico to Colombia, is currently mobilizing. They’re all heading to the Rio Grande Border to secure their piece of the pie."

"Ten days ago, the three major military juntas in the Badlands sent out a formal summit invitation through their intelligence networks. They’re holding a 'Distribution Convention' to decide who gets the lion’s share of next year’s product. My invitation arrived five days ago. I realized I had to bring this to you personally, Kane. This isn't just a business meeting; it’s a summit of the most dangerous people on the planet."

Kane’s eyebrows shot up. "The Three Cartel Generals?"

The air in the room seemed to chill. The Emerald Triangle was governed by a trio of warlords who operated with more sovereignty than many recognized nations. Their word was law in the global d**g trade, and an invitation to their table was both an incredible honor and a death sentence for the unprepared.

"Exactly," Nathan continued. "We’re talking about General Warhawk Turner of the Hawk Cartel, and the leaders of the Bengal Syndicate and Tomahawk Tactical. They control the flow. If we don't show up, or if we show up weak, the Shadow Eagle Clan will be frozen out of the most profitable year in the history of the trade. But if we can secure a dominant quota... we won't just own Larkspur. We’ll have the capital to buy the entire state."

Kane stood up and walked back to the window, his mind racing. This was the expansion he had been waiting for, but it was happening faster than he had anticipated. Going to the Emerald Triangle meant stepping into a world where their reputation in Larkspur meant nothing. It was a world of Russian mercenaries, Kuro-Ryu Clan assassins, and the Elite Union.

"When is the summit?" Kane asked, his back to the room.

"Fourteen days from now," Nathan replied. "We need to move, and we need to move with a force that commands respect. We can't just send a representative. They need to see the face of the Shadow Eagle Clan."

Kane turned around, a sharp, decisive light in his eyes. "Jackson, cancel my appointments for the next hour. Dixon, get in here. We aren't just going to a meeting. We’re going to war for the future of the Rust Belt Provinces."

The "Death Training" in the Appalachian foothills had barely begun, the mole in their midst was still a shadow in the corner, and now the sirens of the Emerald Triangle were calling. Kane Adler felt the familiar rush of adrenaline—the same feeling he had when he first walked into the Confinement Death Ward. The game was getting bigger, and the stakes were now measured in billions of dollars and thousands of lives.

"Nathan," Kane said, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "Prepare your thirty mercenaries. We’re going to the border."