The Call
The private box smelled like leather and expensive cologne.
Jack lay on the couch, one arm draped over his eyes, his body still aching from the fight three nights ago. The bruises had faded to yellow-green. The swelling in his knuckles had gone down.
But the exhaustion remained.
He'd been thinking about Rider for hours. Turning the problem over in his mind like a Rubik's cube he couldn't solve.
The Crestfall bid war was good. It would hurt Rider financially. Force him to burn through connections, maybe even lose the deal entirely.
But it wasn't enough.
It wasn't lethal.
If Rider survived the bid war—if he found new investors, new capital, new leverage—he'd come back stronger. More dangerous. And Jack would be right back where he started.
No trust from his investors. No credibility. No power.
He needed something more. Something that would break Rider completely.
But he had nothing.
No dirt. No leverage. No angle he hadn't already explored.
The door to the private box opened.
Jack didn't move.
"Jack?" Maya's voice was soft, tentative. "You awake?"
"Yeah."
"I have the list."
Jack sighed and sat up slowly, his hand moving to his ribs. They still ached when he moved too quickly.
Maya stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She was wearing a black dress tonight—simple, elegant, professional. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail.
She crossed to the desk and set down a tablet.
"Seventeen members want to meet with you," she said. "Most of them are looking for investment opportunities in King's Paradise itself. Possible expansion ideas. A few want to discuss personal business deals."
Jack rubbed his face. "Tell them no."
"All of them?"
"All of them."
Maya hesitated. "Jack, some of these people are getting annoyed. They've been asking for weeks."
"I don't care."
"They're paying a lot of money to be here. They expect access."
"They have access," Jack said. "To the venue. To the girls. To the games. That's what they're paying for."
"They want access to you."
Jack looked at her. "When Bella was here, she handled this side of things. She was better with people than I am."
Maya's expression softened slightly. "I know. But she's not here now."
Jack was quiet for a moment. Then he stood, moving to the window that overlooked the main floor.
Below, the warehouse was alive. Music pulsed through the speakers. Bodies moved on the dance floor. Private booths were occupied, curtains drawn. The bar was crowded.
King's Paradise was thriving.
But without Bella, it felt hollow.
"Tell them no," Jack said again.
Maya sighed. "Fine. But there's one VIP member who really wants to meet. He's been very insistent."
"Who?"
"Marcus Whitmore."
Jack turned. "Marcus?"
"Yes. He said it's important."
Jack thought about that. Marcus had been one of the first VIP members. He'd brought his son to the venue multiple times. Spent serious money. Never caused problems.
And he'd been respectful. Always called Jack "King" without irony or mockery.
"Fine," Jack said. "I'll meet with him."
Maya nodded. "He's in Booth Seven."
***
Booth Seven was on the second floor, tucked into a corner with a view of the main floor below.
Jack and Maya walked through the warehouse, past groups of well-dressed men and women, past the bar where bottles of thousand-dollar whiskey lined the shelves.
The music was loud but not overwhelming. The lighting was dim, intimate.
This was what Jack had built. A place where people with money could indulge without judgment. Where power and desire intersected without consequence.
It should have felt like victory.
Instead, it felt like survival.
They reached Booth Seven. The curtain was partially drawn, but Jack could see movement inside.
Maya knocked lightly on the doorframe.
"Mr. Whitmore? The King is here."
"Send him in," came Marcus's voice.
Maya pulled the curtain aside.
Jack stepped inside.
The booth was spacious, with a large leather couch, a low table, and a private bar in the corner. Soft lighting cast everything in warm tones.
Marcus Whitmore sat on the couch, his legs spread, his head tilted back.
A woman knelt between his legs, her head moving slowly, rhythmically.
Beside him, his son—early twenties, clean-cut, uncomfortable—sat with another woman performing the same service.
Marcus looked up as Jack entered. His expression was relaxed, satisfied.
"King," he said, his voice warm. "Thank you for coming."
He didn't move. Didn't adjust his position. Just sat there, one hand resting on the woman's head, guiding her gently.
Jack crossed the room and extended his hand.
Marcus shook it firmly, still seated, still being serviced.
"Good to see you," Jack said.
"You too." Marcus glanced at his son. "David, say hello to the King."
David's face flushed. He started to stand, but Jack raised a hand.
"No need to get up," Jack said.
David froze, his expression caught between embarrassment and relief. He settled back into the couch, his hand moving awkwardly to the woman's shoulder.
Jack sat down in the chair across from Marcus. Maya stood beside him, her tablet ready.
"What can I do for you?" Jack asked.
Marcus's hand tightened slightly in the woman's hair. She adjusted her pace, taking him deeper.
"I need you to deal with someone for me," Marcus said, his voice steady despite the distraction.
Jack's expression didn't change. "What kind of deal?"
"There's a lawyer. Name's Gerald Finch. He's threatening to sue my company over some bullshit environmental violations. Claims we dumped chemicals into a river near one of our plants."
"Did you?"
Marcus smiled faintly. "That's not the point. The point is, he's making noise. Talking to the press. Trying to build a case."
"And you want him to stop."
"I want him to go away."
Jack glanced at Maya. She was already typing notes into her tablet.
"Details," Jack said.
Marcus rattled off the information—Finch's office address, his home address, his schedule, his habits. He spoke casually, like he was ordering dinner.
The woman between his legs didn't pause. Didn't react. Just kept working.
When Marcus finished, Jack nodded.
"I'll take care of it," he said.
"How much?"
"Consider it a courtesy. You've been a good member."
Marcus's smile widened. "I appreciate that, King. I owe you one."
"You do."
Jack stood. Maya followed.
"Enjoy the rest of your evening," Jack said.
Marcus's hand moved to the woman's head again, pressing her down slightly. She took him deeper, her throat working.
"Always do," Marcus said.
***
Jack and Maya stepped out of the booth, the curtain falling closed behind them.
The music was louder out here. The crowd was thicker.
Jack pulled out his phone and dialed Bones.
It rang twice before Bones answered.
"Yeah?"
"I'm sending you some information," Jack said. "There's someone I need you to deal with."
"What kind of deal we talking about?"
Jack glanced at Maya. She was still typing notes, her expression neutral.
"The cheap one," Jack said.
Bones was quiet for a moment. Then: "Got it. Send me the details."
"Maya will forward them."
"Anything else?"
"No. Just make it clean."
"Always do."
Jack ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
They walked back toward the private box in silence.
***
The private box felt emptier than before.
Jack sat down on the couch, his head tilted back, his eyes closed.
Maya set the tablet on the desk. "I'll send Bones the information now."
"Thanks."
She hesitated. "Do you need anything else?"
"No."
Maya nodded and moved toward the door.
"Maya," Jack said.
She paused, looking back.
"How many more requests are there?"
"Fifteen. Not counting Marcus."
Jack was quiet for a moment. Then: "Keep refusing them. I don't have time for this right now."
"Understood."
She left, the door clicking shut behind her.
Jack sat alone in the dim light, staring at nothing.
The Crestfall bid war was still his best move. But it wasn't enough. It wouldn't break Rider. Wouldn't destroy him completely.
And if Rider survived, Jack would lose everything.
He needed something more. Something devastating.
But he had nothing.
His phone sat on the table beside him.
Jack stared at it for a long moment.
Then he picked it up and dialed Bella.
It rang once. Twice. Three times.
Voicemail.
Jack ended the call and tried again.
Same result.
He tried a third time.
Still nothing.
Jack set the phone down, his jaw tightening.
Where the hell are you?
He thought about calling again. Thought about leaving a message.
But what would he say?
I need you. I can't do this without you. Come back.
He'd tried that. Didn't work.
So he sat there, staring at the phone, feeling the weight of his isolation settle over him like a shroud.
And then he thought of someone else.
Someone who shared his hatred of Rider.
Someone smart. Clever. Ruthless.
Someone he'd rather not work with.
But she knew Rider better than anyone.
She'd been inside his world. Survived his cruelty. Escaped his control.
Hela.
Jack's hand hovered over the phone.
He didn't want to call her. Didn't want to owe her anything.
But he was out of options.
He dialed.
The phone rang once.
Then Hela's voice came through, sharp and surprised.
"Jack?"
Jack closed his eyes.
"Yeah," he said. "It's me."
There was a pause. He could hear background noise—traffic, maybe. Voices.
"This is unexpected," Hela said. Her tone was guarded, curious. "What do you want?"
Jack opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.
"I need your help," he said quietly.
Another pause. Longer this time.
"With what?"
"Rider."
Hela laughed—a short, bitter sound.