His weakness

The little boy's scream echoed through the room.

“Please! Don't hurt my mother!”

Vincent struggled against the man holding him, but he was too small.

He was only ten.

His tiny hands clawed desperately at the man's arm as tears streamed down his face.

“Let me go!”

The man slapped him hard.

Vincent fell to the floor.

“Shut the fuck up, you bastard.”

Vincent's ears rang.

But he still looked toward his mother.

She was lying on the floor, surrounded by men he had never seen before.

They were huge.

Their bodies were covered with tattoos, and their cold eyes made Vincent's entire body tremble.

His father was on his knees.

A gun was pressed against his head.

“Please,” his father begged. “Whatever you want, take it. Just leave my family alone.”

One of the men laughed.

“You should have thought about that before betraying the wrong people.”

“We didn't betray anyone!”

“Enough.”

The man holding the gun pulled the trigger.

Click.

Vincent's father flinched.

Vincent screamed.

“Dad!”

The gunman smiled.

“Maybe watching your wife die will teach you a lesson.”

Vincent's eyes widened.

“No!”

He tried to crawl toward his mother.

A pair of strong hands grabbed him and pulled him back.

“Let me go!”

His mother looked at him.

Their eyes met.

Vincent could see the tears in hers.

“Mommy!”

She tried to speak.

No words came out.

Then the man standing over her pulled out his gun.

Vincent's heart stopped.

“NO!”

BANG!

His mother's body went still.

Vincent froze.

For several seconds, he couldn't breathe.

“Mom...?”

Nothing.

He stared at her.

“Mommy?”

Still nothing.

Something inside the little boy broke.

He began screaming.

His father fought against the men holding him.

“You bastards!”

BANG!

His father dropped beside his wife.

Silence.

Vincent stared at the two people who meant everything to him.

His mother.

His father.

Both dead.

His tears fell faster.

“Why?”

Nobody answered.

The leader of the group walked toward him.

Vincent backed away.

“Please don't kill me.”

The man raised his gun.

Vincent closed his eyes.

He knew he was next.

He thought about his mother's smile.

His father's voice.

The birthday cake they had shared two months earlier.

He thought he would never see them again.

Then—

BANG!

Vincent waited for the bullet.

It never came.

Instead, someone groaned.

Vincent slowly opened his eyes.

The man who had been pointing the gun at him was on one knee, clutching his bleeding hand.

The other men turned toward the door.

A stranger stood there.

A gun was in his hand.

His face was emotionless.

Another shot rang out.

One of the gang members fell.

Then another.

Then another.

Vincent watched in shock as the men who had murdered his parents dropped one after another.

The stranger walked toward him.

He stopped.

“Come with me.”

Vincent stared at him.

“Who are you?”

“Killarney Jackson.”

Vincent looked toward his parents.

“What about my mom and dad?”

K.J. glanced at their bodies.

“We'll take care of them.”

Vincent shook his head.

“No.”

He pointed toward the dead gang leader.

“I want to know why.”

K.J. looked at him.

Vincent wiped his tears.

“Why did they kill my parents?”

Before K.J. could answer, a weak voice came from behind them.

“C...A...P...E...”

Vincent turned.

The gang leader was still alive.

He struggled to breathe.

“Who is C.A.P.E.?”

The man's eyes closed.

He was dead.

Vincent stared at his body.

He didn't understand the name.

But he remembered it.

C.A.P.E.

K.J. reached for his hand.

“Come.”

Vincent looked at him.

“Where?”

“Somewhere safe.”

Vincent looked back at his parents one last time.

Then he took K.J.'s hand.

He didn't know it yet.

But that night, Vincent Raymond's childhood ended.

And nineteen years later, the world would know the boy who survived that night by one name.

Terror.

NINETEEN YEARS LATER

Black Mamba Clan

Terror sat alone in his room.

A small necklace rested between his fingers.

He had received it from his mother on his tenth birthday.

Two months later, she was dead.

Nineteen years had passed.

Nineteen years since that night.

Nineteen years since K.J. took him in.

Nineteen years since Vincent Raymond became the foster son and heir of Killarney Jackson.

And nineteen years since he began hunting the men behind his parents' deaths.

Terror closed his fist around the necklace.

A knock sounded.

“Boss.”

“Come in.”

The door opened.

Dagger walked inside with a thick file.

He placed it on the table.

“This is what you asked for.”

Terror opened the file.

Five names stared back at him.

Carlos Johnson.

Allan Hook.

Paul Jasper.

Elliot Austin.

And the name that mattered most—

Saint Raymond.

His father.

The men had once called themselves C.A.P.E.S.

They had been brothers.

Partners.

A family.

Until greed turned them against Saint Raymond.

Now they were powerful men.

Rich men.

Untouchable men.

But Terror had spent nineteen years waiting for them to become comfortable.

He flipped through the documents.

Carlos had become a powerful businessman.

Allan controlled his father's chain of hotels.

Paul had expanded the family's investments.

And Elliot, the youngest, was preparing to open a school using the Raymond family name.

Terror's jaw tightened.

They had built their lives on his father's grave.

His eyes stopped on Carlos's photograph.

“Still alive.”

“Yes, boss.”

Terror closed the file.

“When is the banquet?”

“Tonight.”

A dark smile slowly appeared on Terror's lips.

“Good.”

Dagger watched him carefully.

“What's the plan?”

Terror stood.

“Call the Circle.”

Dagger nodded.

“Power room?”

“Seven o'clock.”

Terror walked toward the door.

“And Dagger?”

“Yes, boss?”

“Tonight, we stop watching.”

He looked over his shoulder.

“Tonight, we start hunting.”

THE POWER ROOM

Seven o'clock.

The door opened.

Terror stepped inside.

Ten people immediately rose to their feet.

Five men.

Five women.

The most dangerous members of the Black Mamba Clan.

Dagger stood closest to him.

Sniper watched silently from the corner.

Creeper stood beside him.

Smoke leaned against the wall.

Torpedo rested a hand on the steel axe strapped to his back.

Calypso stood with her arms crossed.

Medusa's gloved fingers tapped against her thigh.

Vamp stared at the screen of her laptop.

Vixen remained silent.

And Foxy never took her eyes off Terror.

Terror walked to the center of the room.

No one spoke.

He placed the file on the table.

“Tonight, we have an exchange at Wind Rush Bridge.”

He looked at four members.

“Vixen. Torpedo. Sniper. Creeper.”

They stepped forward.

“You're going.”

Terror's voice remained calm.

“Poison Ives will be there.”

Torpedo smiled.

“And if they refuse the exchange?”

Terror looked at him.

“Then you already know what to do.”

Nobody asked another question.

Terror picked up the file.

As he turned toward the door, he stopped.

“One more thing.”

Everyone looked at him.

His eyes darkened.

“The exchange is only a distraction.”

Silence filled the room.

Terror slowly smiled.

“Tonight, we make our first move against C.A.P.E.S.”

Nobody moved.

Nobody breathed.

Then Terror walked out.

For nineteen years, he had waited.

Tonight—

the revenge began.

“Boss, are we heading somewhere?”

Dagger followed Terror as he walked out of the building, fully armed.

“I need to pay my debtors a visit.”

Terror climbed into the car.

“Sinaloa Cartel.”

Dagger raised an eyebrow.

“Pitbull?”

Terror nodded.

“An old friend.”

Dagger almost smiled.

Everyone knew what Terror meant whenever he called his enemies his “old friends.”

Pitbull was the lord of the Sinaloa Cartel, one of the biggest criminal organizations in the city. Some time ago, he had bypassed the Black Mamba Clan and taken one of their deals.

The money wasn't enough to hurt Terror but the disrespect involved was...

And Terror never ignored disrespect.

****************

Sinaloa Cartel

The moment Terror entered the cartel's compound, heads turned.

Women stared.

Men stepped aside.