Across the city...
Another warehouse.
Another gang.
Another leader.
The air in the abandoned industrial harbor of Sector 4 was thick with the stench of cheap whiskey, stale tobacco, and engine grease. Broken concrete floors were stained with decades of oil, and flickering halogen lamps cast long, jagged shadows against the corrugated metal walls.
At the center of the room, seated on a makeshift throne of steel crates, sat Victor Vance—the ruthless, calculating leader of the East Kings. His face was a canvas of fresh bruises and deep cuts, the brutal parting gift left by Asher Knight just forty-eight hours prior.
Victor stared down at his bloodied knuckles, his expression twisted in dark, simmering rage. He tilted his head back, draining the last drop of amber liquid from his tumbler,
