Inside the Italian restaurant, Billy and Owen locked eyes. Billy didn't know who Owen was, but the intense, undisguised hostility in the man's gaze was unmistakable. He could feel the danger from across the room.
"That's him! He's the one who beat us up. That bitch—dunno if she's his girlfriend or what." The short-haired thug leaned in and identified Owen, saving him the trouble of an introduction.
"Crocodile Billy?" Owen walked over to the table, standing tall and looking down at them.
Billy set his utensils aside and gave a polite, almost amused smile—like he was all ears.
The restaurant went dead silent. Not a single whisper. No one had dared to challenge Billy in years. Apart from the town sheriff, Billy walked around Reville like he owned it.
He didn't look nearly as menacing as his nickname implied. In fact, his demeanor was pleasant, almost friendly. But Owen had already pegged him for what he was—a snake with a smile. His clean criminal record was the biggest clue. Guys like him rarely got their hands dirty; they preferred staying behind the scenes.
"I'm sure you know who I am," Owen said coldly. "I'm here to tell you that it ends now. Don't mess with Amanda or Brock again. Or else… that little operation you're running out of your shipyard won't stay secret much longer."
He looked Billy right in the eye, his tone flat and deadly.
Mentioning the shipyard was a gamble. Owen didn't actually know what Billy did there—but American street punks loved using their businesses as fronts for illegal activity. So when he found out Billy owned a boat repair shop, he decided to bluff.
The change in Billy's expression was immediate. His face tightened. Owen knew he'd guessed right. Of course the guy was doing something shady.
Then Owen turned to the short-haired punk. "And you. If I hear you call anyone a bitch again, I'll beat the shit out of you. Literally."
The punk tried to act tough, averting his eyes with a fake sneer. But everyone could see he was shaken. The beating in the parking lot was still fresh in his mind. If the cops hadn't shown up that day, he wasn't sure he'd still be breathing.
Owen looked to Nicole next. She avoided his gaze. For all her bluster, she wasn't stupid. She relied on her brother's name to stir trouble. But now that Billy had clearly backed down, she had no intention of sticking her neck out.
Satisfied with the reactions around the table, Owen turned and walked out.
The restaurant remained silent. Everyone pretended to eat, but eyes constantly flicked toward Billy's table.
CRASH—
Billy suddenly flipped the entire table. Politeness and smiles were a mask—rage was his true face.
The nerve of that bastard. He dared to threaten him?
Billy was furious with himself. For a split second, he'd actually felt fear. One man had shaken the three of them—and then walked away like it was nothing. And how the hell had he known about the shipyard? That place was way out of town. No one went there. Hell, even Nicole didn't know what he did there.
A terrible thought struck him. His men had said that guy was dangerous. But so what? This was America. No matter how strong someone was… could he beat a gun?
He felt the invisible stares around him and grew even more agitated. He stormed out with his men in tow. "Scott, take Nicole home."
Scott nodded and went to get the car. Nicole wanted to say something but saw the dark look on Billy's face and thought better of it. This was supposed to be a small act of revenge. Now things were spinning out of control.
Scott pulled up. Nicole said nothing and got in. Billy and the short-haired thug climbed into Billy's car.
"Where to?" the thug asked.
"To the shipyard."
As they drove, Billy pulled out a document—something he'd picked up while snooping around Brock's place. Yes, while Harry and Scott were bothering Amanda at the supermarket, Billy had gone to Brock's house hoping to torch his car. But when he saw the horses, he changed plans.
After vandalizing the stable, he'd poked around the house and stumbled upon a file—something very interesting.
Brock was a former cop.
That immediately put Billy on edge. Was this guy here to investigate him? Had the feds already caught wind of his new drug operation?
But no, he quickly dismissed the idea. What kind of cop brings a little girl along on an undercover sting?
Then he noticed something even more shocking: the names Danny Turri and The Wanderers.
Billy knew those names well. Danny Turri had once been the biggest drug distributor in New Orleans. His crew, The Wanderers, had ruled the region until the DEA dismantled their network. The crew still existed, but it was a shadow of its former self.
And Brock had a grudge against Turri? His son had died because of Brock?
Billy saw an opportunity.
If he could contact Danny Turri and hand over Brock—he'd never have to worry about selling product again. Turri's resources would flood his operation. And if he had The Wanderers kill Owen too? That would solve everything.
Billy got more excited the more he thought about it. A perfect plan. Let the real gangsters do the dirty work. He wouldn't have to lift a finger.
That night, in a run-down base used by The Wanderers outside New Orleans, a low-ranking member of their biker gang, Kill, was lounging around with a few guys smoking when his phone rang.
"Kill. How've you been?" a voice rasped.
"Hyena Billy? What the hell are you calling me for?"
Kill frowned. Billy had been a minor associate years ago—timid, shady, and always hiding behind others. People had called him "Hyena" for a reason. Hyenas were scavengers—often eating whatever was left behind by real predators.
Billy winced at the nickname but said nothing. He'd dubbed himself "Crocodile" after moving back to Reville, trying to rebrand. But now wasn't the time for pride. Money mattered more.
Billy quickly summarized the situation. Kill's expression grew suspicious.
"You know what happens if you're lying to me, right?"
Kill wasn't fully convinced. If he passed on fake intel, and it got traced back to him, The Wanderers would make him pay.
"Relax. I wouldn't gamble with my life," Billy said confidently.
Danny Turri might be in prison, but he was still running The Wanderers. Their supply chains and street power were intact. Even from behind bars, his influence was absolute.
A tip about the man who killed Turri's son? That was the kind of gift people killed for.
Billy was sure of one thing: Danny Turri would not ignore this. Especially since he'd been hunting Brock for years—and never found him.
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