Chapter 3 - The Kingpin in the Kitchen
The porch fell into dead silence.
Silas Reed blinked, his greasy grin vanishing as he tried to peer through the screen door into the dim cabin interior. Burl and Vance dropped their hands toward their belts, their faces instantly alert.
“Who the hell is that?” Silas demanded, stepping back half a pace. “You hiding a man in there, Lena? Another broke loser?”
The screen door creaked open.
Damon Vance stepped onto the porch.
He was barefoot, his chest wrapped in bloody linen bandages, his charcoal dress trousers rumpled and torn. He was visibly injured, leaning slightly against the wooden doorframe for support.
Yet, as he stood there in the morning light, his posture was so commanding, his gray eyes so full of absolute, terrifying malice, that Silas and his two enforcers unconsciously backed up two full steps on the porch stairs.
Silas looked at Damon’s face, taking in his sharp jawline, the bloody bandages, and then—his eyes landed on the silver signet ring with the roaring wolf crest on Damon’s hand.
Silas’s face went from red to a sickly, chalky white.
His jaw dropped. The toothpick fell from his lips, fluttering down onto the wet porch steps.
“V-Vance?” Silas stammered, his voice suddenly squeaking like an octave higher. “Don... Don Vance?”
Lena looked between Silas’s terrified face and the wounded man standing beside her. She had never seen Silas Reed look afraid of anything in his life. The man ran the county like a personal playground. Yet right now, he was shaking so hard his knees were knocking together beneath his leather coat.
“You know my name, Silas,” Damon said softly. His tone was conversational, almost gentle, but it carried the weight of a executioner’s axe. “Which means you know who I am.”
“Mr. Vance... sir!” Silas gasped, his hands flying up in a gesture of immediate, pathetic surrender. “We... we didn't know you were in Blackwood Creek! We thought... there were rumors on the radio that you were ambushed down at the docks in New York—"
“And you thought you could play king in my absence?” Damon interrupted, stepping forward.
Even wounded, every move Damon made was that of an apex predator. He stood over Silas on the porch, looking down at the low-level criminal like he was a bug under his boot.
“This woman,” Damon said, gesturing slightly toward Lena with his bloody hand, “saved my life. She pulled me from the river. She stitched my flesh. She fed me.”
Silas swallowed hard, his eyes darting frantically toward Burl and Vance, who were both trembling, staring at the floor, refusing to make eye contact with Damon.
“She... she’s just a local girl, Mr. Vance!” Silas whimpered. “Her husband owed us money—”
“Her husband is dead,” Damon stated coldly. “And as of five minutes ago, any debt, real or invented, associated with this house, this land, or this woman is erased from existence. Do you understand me, Silas?”
“Yes, sir! Absolutely, Don Vance!” Silas nodded frantically, backing down the steps so fast he nearly tripped over his own boots. “Erased! Gone! We never heard of Jimmy Mercer!”
“And if I see your face, your trucks, or your men within ten miles of Lena Mercer or her son ever again…” Damon’s gray eyes narrowed, flickering with a dark, unholy fire. “I won't just kill you, Silas. I will erase your entire line from the records of this state. I will burn your yards, I will take your homes, and I will leave your bodies for the river fish. Am I clear?”
“Crystal, sir! Crystal clear!” Silas squealed. He turned and sprinted toward his red truck like a frightened rabbit. Burl and Vance didn't wait for him—they piled into the cab, slamming the doors.
The truck engine roared to life, tires spinning wildly in the mud, spraying dirt into the air as Silas slammed the vehicle into reverse and tore down the dirt road at fifty miles an hour, vanishing into the fog.
Silence settled over the porch once more.
Lena stood there, holding her shotgun, staring at the road where the truck had been just seconds ago. Her breath came in short, stunned gasps.
She turned slowly to face the stranger.
Damon was still standing there, his broad chest rising and falling heavily, sweat pouring down his pale face from the sheer physical exertion of standing.
“Who are you?” Lena asked, her voice barely a whisper. “Really.”
Damon looked at her, his severe, terrifying mask softening just a fraction as his gray eyes met hers.
“I am the man who rules the people you were afraid of,” Damon said quietly.
May you like
Then, his knees buckled, his strength finally giving out, and he collapsed toward the wooden floor.
Lena dropped her shotgun and caught him before he hit the planks.
