The War
994 Words
Morgan and her gang stormed the tring tong taking them by surprise the same way they had taken her parents by surprise years ago.
Gunfire echoed through the compound, the sharp scent of blood and gunpowder thick in the air. Morgan moved like a shadow, her steps precise, her gun an extension of her body. The Triad Tong barely had time to react before they were cut down, just as her parents had been all those years ago.
Too easy.
She frowned as she stepped over a lifeless body, scanning the battlefield. Where was their strength? Their brutality? Had they grown soft over the years, or had they never been as powerful as she once believed?
It didn’t matter.
She pressed forward, her vision tunneling until only one thing remained—him.
The man who had murdered her parents stood before her, his face paling as he took a stumbling step back. His eyes darted to the door. No escape.
“No… please,” he whispered, his hands trembling. “Just one chance. Mercy—”
Morgan’s grip on the gun tightened. Her heartbeat was steady. Cold.
“You didn’t spare my parents.”
She pulled the trigger.
Once. Twice. Again.
The bullets tore into his chest, his body jerking with each impact. He gasped, eyes wide with shock, before crumpling to the ground in a heap.
Silence.
Morgan exhaled, tilting her head toward the sky.
"Mum, Dad… you can rest in peace now."
A single tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away before anyone could see. Around her, her men stood victorious, some nursing minor wounds.
“Take anything useful,” she commanded, her voice steady.
As they moved to obey, Morgan stepped deeper into the compound, her gaze sharp. There might still be something left to find—something worth knowing before she left this place for good.
Morgan stalked through the dimly lit hallways of the Tring Tong mafia house, her boots echoing against the cold floor. Papers and broken furniture lay scattered, the aftermath of her ruthless search for information on rival gangs.
With a sharp exhale, she kicked open door after door, her patience wearing thin. Most rooms were empty, save for the occasional stash of documents or weapons. But as she reached the final door at the end of the hallway, she hesitated. Something about it felt… different. Unlike the others, this door was pristine—untouched, as if shielding something important.
Narrowing her eyes, she raised her foot to kick it open, but the door refused to budge. Her jaw tightened. “Find the key,” she barked at her men.
Minutes later, one of them rushed back, tossing a key retrieved from the Tring Tong boss’s office. She wasted no time, twisting it into the lock until the door creaked open.
Inside, curled up on the cold floor, was a boy—no, a delicate creature who looked to be around 21yrs, barely moving. His long, dark lashes cast shadows over his pale cheeks, his pink lips slightly parted as if he had just gasped in his sleep. Silken strands of hair fell over his face, and his slender frame trembled under the dim light.
Morgan stepped closer, her head tilting. So, this is the hidden son of the Tring Tong boss. They had gone to great lengths to keep him a secret, but now, he was hers to claim.
A slow smirk spread across her lips. He fascinated her in a way she couldn’t quite explain. A strange beauty, locked away like a forgotten treasure. He would make an interesting toy.
“Take him,” she ordered, stepping back.
Her men hesitated, exchanging wary glances. One of them opened his mouth as if to protest, but the sharp glare Morgan shot in his direction silenced him instantly.
She was the boss. Her word was law.
They drove away from the mansion, the night air thick with the scent of gasoline. Morgan leaned out of the car window, gripping a burning cloth. With a flick of her wrist, she hurled it toward the house. The moment it landed, flames licked hungrily at the walls, spreading like a beast finally unleashed.
A slow smirk crept onto her lips as the fire roared to life, illuminating the dark sky with shades of orange and red. Perfect.
“Drive,” she ordered, settling back into her seat. The car sped off, leaving behind a burning graveyard of memories.
When they reached her estate, Morgan stepped out, her boots clicking against the marble driveway. “Take him to my room,” she commanded one of her men, nodding toward Tyler’s unconscious form. The man gave a stiff nod before carrying the delicate boy inside.
Morgan turned to the rest of her men. "Tonight, we celebrate," she announced, her voice strong and unwavering. "In honor of my parents' death anniversary and the revenge we just took, there will be fun all night."
A chorus of cheers erupted, but with a simple lift of her hand, the room fell silent.
"But let me make one thing clear," she continued, her eyes scanning the crowd. "The injured will get treatment, but that does not mean anyone slacks off on duty. You all know the rules."
Her voice dropped, dangerously calm. "Negligence is punishable by death. Stay alert, or you won’t live to regret it."
A tense silence filled the space before she dismissed them with a flick of her hand. As they scattered, she turned on her heel, heading toward her office, but stopped short in her tracks.
Something felt off.
her instincts prickled with unease. Where is the man I sent to drop Tyler in my room?
A heavy feeling settled in her chest as she changed directions heading to her quarters instead, her pulse thrumming in her ears.
The moment she reached her room and pushed open the door, she froze.
Her breath hitched.
What the hell—?
- Writer
