My Brother Stole From The Underworld — And I Paid The Bloody Price
Part 1
Tyler had always been a terrible liar.
He stood in my cramped apartment two weeks ago, shivering in a thin coat.
A small silver flash drive passed from his trembling fingers into my palm.
He swore it was just bookkeeping data for a legitimate shipping firm.
I knew he was lying.
The dark bags under his eyes spoke of late nights and terrifying mistakes.
His voice shook when he told me to keep it hidden, no matter who came looking.
I hid the small metal rectangle inside an empty paint thinner tin under my sink.
I told myself he would come back for it.
He never did.
Tonight, the consequences of his ambition finally caught up with me.
Heavy fists pounded on my apartment door right as the midnight train rattled past my window.
Wood splintered into my narrow hallway before I could even reach for the deadbolt.
Three enormous men crowded into my tiny living space.
Rough hands grabbed my arms, hauling me backward over the coffee table.
Canvas stretchers crashed to the floor as I kicked wildly at a massive thigh.
A thick palm clamped over my mouth, tasting of stale tobacco and grease.
My easel shattered under the weight of a heavy boot, sending expensive oil paints bursting across the floorboards.
They dragged me down three flights of stairs in absolute silence.
Neighbors peeked through their peepholes, but no one dared to intervene.
Cold rain lashed my face as they shoved me into the back of a panel van.
Fear tasted like old copper in the back of my throat.
I didn’t know these men.
I had spent my life meticulously cleaning jaundiced varnish off nineteenth-century landscapes.
The darkest thing I dealt with was an accidental solvent spill.
Now, my wrists burned as coarse rope dug into my skin.
The van ride felt endless.
Tires hissed over wet pavement while my captors sat in stony silence.
Streetlights bled past the tinted windows, blurring into a sickening yellow smear.
The engine finally cut out in an industrial district devoid of life.
Metal doors shrieked open, revealing a bleak, cavernous warehouse.
Harsh fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting long, menacing shadows across the damp concrete.
The air smelled of rust, wet earth, and old blood.
One of the men, a massive brute with a cruel grin, hauled me out by my hair.
Pain spiked through my scalp as my knees slammed onto the unforgiving floor.
A faded yellow sweater offered no protection against the biting cold.
I tried to scramble backward toward the loading dock.
A heavy boot planted itself firmly between my shoulder blades, pinning me down.
The brute crouched in front of me.
His knuckles cracked loudly in the cavernous space.
He demanded the drive.
He promised to break every finger on my hands if I didn’t cooperate.
I squeezed my eyes shut, my jaw locked tight.
I wouldn’t hand over the only leverage Tyler had left me.
The first blow caught me entirely off guard.
A massive fist collided with my cheekbone, sending blinding white sparks across my vision.
My head snapped back, hitting the concrete with a sickening thud.
Warm liquid immediately began to pool on my tongue.
I gasped for air, but a heavy boot dug into my ribs, stealing the breath from my lungs.
Desperation hijacked my nervous system.
I twisted wildly, sinking my teeth into the closest forearm I could reach.
The brute roared in pain.
He yanked his arm back and delivered a brutal backhand across my jaw.
The metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth.
My left eye swelled shut within seconds.
The warehouse spun in a dizzying, nauseating circle.
I curled my knees to my chest, a pathetic attempt to shield my vital organs.
Another kick landed square on my hip bone, bruising the tissue instantly.
My lungs burned with every ragged, shallow breath.
Footsteps echoed from the far end of the room.
The heavy thud of expensive leather shoes cut through the ringing in my ears.
The brute stopped his assault, stepping back instantly.
I forced my good eye open, blinking through a haze of crimson and tears.
A man walked out of the shadows.
He wore a tailored dark suit that seemed entirely out of place in the grimy warehouse.
His features were sharp, carved from cold marble and absolute authority.
His dark eyes swept over the room, taking in the scene with terrifying detachment.
He didn’t look like a thug.
He looked like the devil disguised as a businessman.
He stopped three feet away from me.
His gaze dropped to the puddle of blood forming under my chin.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
He didn’t yell.
He didn’t raise his voice.
A terrifying, vibrating stillness radiated from him.
He looked at the handprint rapidly darkening on my jawline.
His polished shoes remained perfectly still on the filthy floorboards.
He asked his men what they had done.
The brute puffed out his chest, bragging about my resistance like a dog seeking praise.
The sharp-suited man didn’t blink.
He stared at the broken woman bleeding on his warehouse floor.
Something primal and unhinged flashed behind his cold eyes.
The ruthless executive evaporated.
A terrifying monster took his place.
He moved with blinding speed, crossing the distance before anyone could react.
His fist buried itself in the brute’s throat with a sickening crunch.
The massive man collapsed, clutching his crushed windpipe in wet, desperate agony.
Another goon stepped forward.
The suited man grabbed a heavy glass tumbler from a nearby desk and smashed it directly into the second man’s temple.
Whiskey and blood sprayed across the cinderblock wall.
The second man dropped like a stone.
Silence fell over the warehouse, broken only by my ragged breathing and the gargling sounds of the choking brute.
The boss stood amidst the carnage of his own making.
His white dress shirt was speckled with crimson droplets.
His knuckles bled freely from the shattered glass.
He turned his gaze back to me.
The coldness was gone, replaced by a dark, intense panic.
He slowly closed the distance between us.
He lifted his bloodied hands, and I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the final blow that would end it all.
