I Am the Devil of This Hell

Chapter 068

The heavy, metallic scent of the previous night’s bloodbath still seemed to cling to the curtains of the executive office in Ocean Manor, despite the morning breeze. Kane Adler sat behind his mahogany desk, watching the steam rise from a fresh cup of coffee, while the giants of his inner circle sat around the glass conference table, deconstructing the logistics of a city reborn in their image.

"The landscape has shifted entirely," Jackson Hayes began, tapping his pen against a leather-bound notebook. "As of six o’clock this morning, there isn't a single organized criminal outfit left in Larkspur that isn't flying our colors. The Brotherhood and The Warlords alone accounted for over four thousand surrenders. When you add the minor street crews, the independent syndicates, and Shane Hall’s thousand-man student vanguard, we have a staggering fourteen thousand men currently garrisoned in the southern outskirts."

Dixon Jace, his face as pale and inscrutable as a marble bust, leaned back in his chair. "Larkspur has always been the black sheep of the North. It’s a city built on volatility. To put it in perspective, the sheer density of the underworld here is four times that of any neighboring metropolis. We haven't just conquered a city; we’ve inherited an army."

Jackson nodded, adjusting his glasses. "Rex Dalton, Ethan Skyler, and Reno Keyes have been on the ground since dawn. They’re running the intake protocols. Per Kane's directive, we’re being selective. Out of the fourteen thousand, we’re aiming to purge at least four thousand—the addicts, the cowards, and the old guard who are too set in their ways. We’ll have a preliminary roster of ten thousand soldiers within five days."

Kane looked up, his eyes sharp. "Dixon, I want the Execution Unit on this 24/7. Monitoring ten thousand new recruits is a logistical nightmare and a security risk. We cannot afford a single leak or a hidden loyalist. Jackson, tell Rex and the others that if the vetting takes ten days, or even twenty, so be it. I want quality over speed. I want men who fear us, but more importantly, I want men who see our banner as their only path to survival."

Both men murmured their assent. The room was quiet for a moment, the weight of their expansion settling over them.

"Now, regarding the distribution," Kane continued, standing up and walking toward a map of the state pinned to the wall. "The ten thousand will be split. Three thousand one hundred soldiers will be assigned to each of the three main crews: the Mad Tiger Crew, the Hades Crew, and the newly formed the Direwolf Syndicate crew. Not a man more, not a man less. Balance is the only way to prevent internal friction."

He turned back to the table. "The remaining seven hundred will be divided between our intelligence and disciplinary wings. Two hundred to the Execution Unit, and five hundred to the Shadow Division. Furthermore, I’m rebalancing the leadership. When the Mad Tiger Crew and Hades Crew were established, they each received fifteen of our original brothers—the elite. Reno Keyes and Hank Steel are currently struggling to manage the chaos in the north with a skeleton crew of veterans. Jackson, you will facilitate the transfer of five elites from both Rex and Ethan to the Direwolf Syndicate crew."

Jackson Hayes winced, looking down at his notebook. "Boss, you’re asking me to walk into a lion’s den and take away their favorite toys. Those thirty brothers are the lifeblood of their operations. Rex and Ethan won't touch you, but I’m fairly certain they’ll use me as a punching bag for the afternoon. Can’t we send Marcus Grady? He can talk his way out of a burning building, and even if they do get mad, he’s built to take a hit."

Marcus, who had been happily systematically destroying a plate of French toast, paused with a fork halfway to his mouth. "Hey! Watch the suit, Jackson. My face is my fortune."

Kane chuckled, a rare moment of levity. "Don't worry, Jackson. Use the Shadow Division to issue the orders directly. Bypass the local commanders for now. Tell them it’s a direct mandate for the stability of the Shadow Eagle Clan. If they have a problem, they can bring their grievances to me. I promise you won't be collateral damage."

Jackson sighed in relief. "If you say so, Kane."

Kane’s expression then softened, a shadow of genuine concern crossing his features. "And the others? The ones we lost last night?"

The atmosphere in the room turned somber. Dixon Jace took the lead on this one. "I’ve already coordinated with Cillian Moss. We lost thirty-four brothers in the street fighting. Another sixty-nine are in the hospital with severe injuries—some won't be returning to the field. Cillian has already pulled a significant amount of cash from the Execution Unit’s reserves to ensure the families are taken care of."

Kane nodded slowly. "We cannot be just another g**g that treats its men like disposable assets. I want the men to know that when they bleed for us, they’re bleeding for a family. Dixon, I want you to formalize the indemnity policy in the Shadow Eagle Clan charter. For every brother who falls, a payment of roughly $100,000 will be made to their next of kin. Furthermore, the Clan will provide a monthly stipend of $1,000 for their dependents indefinitely."

He paced the room, his voice gaining strength. "For the crippled, we pay for every cent of the medical bills, give them a lump sum of $80,000 for their transition to civilian life, and continue the monthly support for their families. If they can still work, we find them a place in our legal businesses. No one gets left behind."

Dixon scribbled the numbers down. "It’s a massive financial commitment, but it will buy us a level of loyalty that money alone usually can't."

As they were finalizing the numbers, a knock at the door signaled the arrival of Harvey, Ryder, Sev, and Anthony Russo, the deputy head of the Shadow Division.

"You called for us, Mr. Adler?" Harvey asked, his eyes scanning the breakfast spread.

"Sit. Eat," Kane commanded. Once they were settled, he got straight to the point. "How is the situation in the southern outskirts?"

"Under control," Harvey replied, tearing into a piece of toast. "Silas Rivers is acting as the primary deterrent. Between him and the display of force from Rex and Ethan, the prisoners are suitably terrified. We started the formal induction interviews about thirty minutes ago."

"Good," Kane said. "But that’s not why I called the three of you here. I have a long-term project in mind, one that will determine the future of this organization. As we expand beyond Larkspur and Hawthorne State, we’re going to face threats far more sophisticated than street gangs. We’ll be dealing with the Deep State, international cartels, and the elite assassins of the global underworld."

He leaned over the table, his gaze intense. "Twenty members of The Talons are not enough. We are a blade, but we need to be a serrated one. I’ve decided to expand The Talons to eighty members. But I won't just 'hire' them. I’m going to build them."

The room went silent. Harvey stopped chewing.

"I want the three of you, along with Anthony, to conduct a secret selection process. Scour our fourteen thousand recruits. Find four hundred of the youngest, strongest, and most untainted prospects—boys in their late teens or early twenties with minimal prior g**g ties. We’re going to bring them into the Appalachian foothills, deep into the wilderness."

Harvey’s toast dropped to the floor. He swallowed hard. "Kane... you aren't serious. You want me to leave the action, leave the city, to go play babysitter in the mountains?"

"It’s not babysitting, Harvey," Kane said firmly. "It’s a secret, year-and-a-half-long 'Death Training' program. You’ll have them sign waivers. They need to understand that not everyone comes back from the forest. Harvey, you are fifth among our eighty-one brothers for a reason. Your blade-work and your footwork are unmatched. Ryder, your style is grounded and brutal, and you have a stomach for the unnatural stuff we use for interrogation. Sev, your proficiency with firearms is second only to Elias. And Anthony, your background in military recon makes you our foremost expert in intelligence gathering."

Harvey was already frantically kicking Dixon under the table, pleading with his eyes for the strategist to intervene. The thought of being stuck in the woods for eighteen months while the Clan conquered the state was a t*****e worse than any Riot Police cell. "Boss, come on! The Clan just started! There’s going to be so much fighting, so much to do! I’m a front-line guy!"

Dixon Jace, surprisingly, didn't help him. His eyes lit up with a cold, intellectual fire. "Actually, Kane, it’s a brilliant move. If we can successfully integrate the specialties of these four into a single unit, we won't just have eighty soldiers. We’ll have eighty ghosts who can kill, interrogate, and disappear before the bodies are cold. I’d even suggest taking Cillian Moss to handle the disciplinary side."

"No, Cillian is too busy with the Execution Unit," Kane countered. "Ford has enough experience with 'pressure' to handle that side of things."

Sev looked like he wanted to cry. "Kane, please..."

"I’ve made my decision," Kane said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I’m choosing you because I need the best to train the best. I want a unit that surpasses even us. In eighteen months, I expect you to bring me back eighty men who are worthy of the name The Talons."

Dixon leaned back, a rare look of satisfaction on his face. "If this works, we won't just be a g**g. We’ll be a superpower."