Chapter 94: When two irons Strike together (ii)
Maxson was pacing the room, clearly disturbed. His brother Scott hadn't called, hadn't sent a word - nothing. The silence was driving him crazy. Just as he picked up his phone to try again, it buzzed.
Joan.
He answered immediately.
"Hello, babe," her voice came through the line - tense, but steady.
"Yes, dear," he responded quickly, his own voice heavy with frustration.
"I'm so sorry," Maxson said softly. "You know I'm not happy about any of this either, but I promise you - I'll do everything I can to make sure our daughter is found. Please, just bear with me. I know you're hurting."
Maxson closed his eyes and let out a sigh, trying to calm his racing thoughts.
"It's okay, baby. I understand. I know you're doing your best over there," Joan replied calmly.
Joan was quiet for a moment. Then her voice changed - firmer now. "But we both know we can't keep waiting. Since we've not gotten any response from your brother, we have to act."
Maxson's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"We need to release Royce," she said without hesitation. "It's time to strike a deal with him."
"Joan..."
"He's the only one who can get close to Arthur," she continued. "Let him hunt him down. If we can't risk ourselves, let Royce pay the price for everything he's done. Let him make himself useful for once."
Maxson was silent, thinking. It was dangerous. Reckless, even. But deep down, he knew she was right.
They had no other choice.
Joan sat slumped on the edge of the couch, tears silently streaking down her cheeks. Her hands trembled against her lap, knuckles pale from how tightly she held them together. Aria sat beside her, a steady hand wrapped around her shoulders, whispering soft words of comfort.
Joan tried to breathe, tried to steady herself, but the unknown - the terrifying uncertainty of her baby's condition - gnawed at her soul.
Meanwhile, Maxson stood a few feet away, reflecting on what his wife had said earlier. Her voice still rang in his head - the plea in it, the frustration, and finally, the cold logic. She was right. They had no help, no backup. It was time to make their own move.
Maxson exhaled sharply and made up his mind.
He descended the hidden steps into the underground holding. The scent of damp stone and iron filled the air. The light overhead flickered faintly, casting long shadows across the narrow hallway. He moved with purpose, flanked by Raphael, until they reached the heavy door.
It creaked open, revealing the dark chamber within.
"Turn on the light," Maxson ordered.
Raphael flipped the switch, and the bulb overhead buzzed before flickering to life. There, slouched in the corner on a metal chair, was Royce - his hair damp with sweat, his face pale, jaw clenched even in his sleep.
"Wake him up," Maxson said without emotion.
Raphael didn't hesitate. He walked over to the side and picked up a plastic bucket from the corner. Cold water sloshed over the edge as he carried it back - and in one swift motion, dumped it over Royce.
The man jolted awake instantly, gasping for breath, his eyes wide in panic. His head whipped around, disoriented and soaked. His breathing was loud in the silence that followed.
Maxson stepped forward, voice low and steady. "Royce. We need to strike a deal."
Royce blinked, lips parting, confused. But before he could speak, Maxson turned to Raphael. "Bring the contract."
Raphael left briefly, then returned with a manila folder. He dropped it on the metal table in the center of the room. Royce's eyes followed it slowly.
Maxson nodded at him. "Read it."
Hands still trembling from the cold water and exhaustion, Royce reached for the folder. Inside was a single sheet - the terms were simple, clear, and binding. He understood what they were asking. He was to hunt down Arthur. In exchange, he would get back his freedom.
Royce looked up at Maxson. His voice cracked from disuse. "You... trust me to do this?"
Maxson didn't flinch. "No. But we have no other option. You started this mess. Now fix it."
There was silence for a moment.
Then Royce picked up the pen with unsteady fingers. He stared at the paper for a beat longer... then signed.
Maxson released a long breath, his chest finally loosening just a little.
The game had changed.
~~~~~
Royce signed the contract.
Maxson gave a short nod, then turned to Raphael. "Equip him," he ordered.
Raphael didn't argue. He walked off to get what was needed.
Just then, the others returned - the ones who had gone out, the battlefield men. Dust clung to their boots, their faces grim but alive.
Venom joined them. He gave a sharp nod as he entered, the air around him thick with intensity.
Without wasting time, Maxson addressed them all. "We move to Arthur's house. Royce goes with us."
Royce's eyes flicked up. He knew what that meant.
He would face the devil he once followed - this time, as the weapon meant to bring him down.
Royce never knew Arthur was the one sending those private messages to him in the past. But ever since he'd been locked up in the Regime Gang's underground, the puzzle had started to come together. Something about those messages... something about the timing... it all pointed back to Arthur. He just hadn't seen it before.
Now, he did.
So, they all got ready - Willy, Kong, Rome, Roar, Venom, and Royce. Each of them strapped in for what could be a one-way mission. They took two different Limousine cars - the sleek black-tinted ones used as hideout transports by mafia elites. No trace, no identity. Just shadows on wheels.
Using the most recent location they had, Arthur was tracked to be in his own underground lair.
They didn't waste time.
A strategy was drawn. With the help of Dragon, Spider, and Hack - the tech trio working remotely from their own bunker - they fed critical data, real-time updates, and coded signals to the team en route to Arthur's den.
As they approached the outer layer of Arthur's underground, they moved with precision. Disguised. Their weapons hidden beneath layers of fabric, tucked close to their skin.
Then they saw it - the first barrier.
Armed security men flanked the front gate of Arthur's base.
The air tensed. No turning back now.
Just as they got to the front gate, they spotted the armed men. Instantly, everyone went on high alert.
Then Venom made a move - deliberately stepping out to divert the security's attention. He emerged into the open, casual but calculating.
"Who are you?! Come in!" one of the guards barked, raising his weapon.
They were ready to shoot.
But Venom was faster.
In a flash, he leapt over an electric barrier complex and landed on another side of the underground fence. Without hesitation, the security men chased after him, splitting up in pursuit.
That was the opportunity the others needed.
With the guards distracted, the rest of the Regime Gang moved swiftly. Royce, Willy, Kong, Roar, and Rome passed through the first gate undetected, keeping low and sharp.
But as they reached the second gate of Arthur's underground, a new wave of armed guards approached them.
Clearly, Arthur had anticipated resistance.
Royce's eyes locked onto a particular figure - a man in a black mask. Something about his presence tugged at Royce's memory. That build. That stance. That aura.
Then it clicked.
He had fought this man before. He remembered the scars, the silence, the brutality.
This was Arthur's second right-hand man - the one who had once sent him an anonymous warning. The same one he had sworn to settle scores with.
Yes... this was perfect timing.
"Today is the day," Royce muttered under his breath, his fingers tightening around his weapon.
Without another word, the battle began.
Steel clashed. Gunfire rang. Each member of the Regime Gang engaged Arthur's men, charging with fury and precision. Fists flew. Blades struck. The underground echoed with the sounds of war - a chaos Royce had longed for.
He had waited for this fight.
And now, it was personal.
Black Eye instantly recognized him - this was Royce.
A grin tugged beneath his tight black mask. "You again," he muttered inwardly, amused by fate's cruelty.
Royce smirked too. He didn't care that he was still recovering from the brutal wounds he'd sustained during the underground fight with Scott. That pain had trained him harder. Sharpened him.
Prepared him for this.
He was ready - even if it meant walking out of here with more scars.
The fight turned bloody fast. Royce moved like a weapon himself, clearing his path with brutal precision, using the enemies' own weapons against them. Blood splattered. Grunts echoed. Every strike was personal.
He wasn't just fighting.
He was unleashing.
Every blow he landed carried weight - not just muscle, but rage. Memories. Betrayals. Nights he'd bled in silence. Voices that told him he'd never make it out alive.
Now, he was here. Making them pay.
Black Eye lunged. His blade missed Royce's throat by a hair.
Royce ducked, spun, kicked out a leg, sending Black Eye crashing into a steel beam. No words exchanged - they both knew this was a fight long overdue.
A clash of ghosts.
A reckoning.
Another guard tried to sneak up behind Royce, but he was too seasoned now. He twisted, grabbed the man's wrist, snapped it sideways with a sickening crack, and stole his weapon in one fluid move.
Roar's voice cut through the madness from somewhere behind - "Royce! Left!"
Royce turned just in time to block a swinging pipe, parrying and driving his elbow into the attacker's jaw. The man dropped like stone.
Black Eye came back again, relentless. But this time, Royce didn't dodge. He met him head-on.
They traded blows - fists, knees, elbows - brutal and fast. No technique now. Just fury and instinct.
Royce's lip was bleeding. One eye swelling.
But he didn't stop.
He couldn't.
Not when Arthur was just beyond the next gate. Not when this was the moment his entire downfall had led him to.
This wasn't just about vengeance anymore.
It was about ending everything that had broken him.
And finally... breaking it back.
~~~~
Just as the fight raged on, voices began erupting in Royce's head. Loud. Mocking. Relentless.
His sister's face came first - the one who left him like he was nothing. Cold. Wicked. Gone.
Then his mother. That image of her back. The way she walked away from him like he never existed. Like he was a mistake.
One by one, the faces came. The betrayals. The pain. The echoes that never really left.
And then the voice.
That damn voice.
"You're going to die like this... in chains. In jail. Alone."
It punched through his skull like thunder.
Royce froze.
The battlefield vanished in his head. The chaos outside dimmed, replaced by the storm inside him. He staggered, vulnerable, lost in a loop he thought he'd buried long ago.
That was all Black Eye needed.
He struck hard. First to the jaw. Then a brutal slam to the head.
Royce hit the ground, spine-first. Hard.
His vision blurred. His heartbeat slowed.
Everything around him darkened - not just the sky. It felt like the night itself was swallowing him whole.
Black Eye stood over him, knife in hand, aiming low - straight for his stomach.
But then-
Like thunder breaking through smoke, Venom arrived.
He didn't shout. He didn't waste breath.
He slashed.
The blade tore through Black Eye's ribs. Deep. Sharp. Vicious.
Black Eye let out a scream that cut through the air. He stumbled backward, blood soaking his side, his grip on the knife faltering.
"Retreat!" he barked through clenched teeth. "Retreat, everyone!"
His men didn't wait. They scattered. Fast. Fading into the shadows they crawled out from, dragging their own behind them.
The moment broke.
"Let's also leave," Willy said, stepping out from the dark, eyes sharp.
Venom moved to Royce, helping him to his feet. Steady. Silent.
Royce winced but nodded. His jaw was tight. His fists still clenched.
They didn't win by chance tonight.
They survived through fire.
And this?
This was far from over.
~~~~
It was midnight.
Flora was driving home, the city lights blurring through her tears. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, but her mind was somewhere else - stuck in the memory she wished she could forget.
She had gone to the hotel Diana had texted her to come to - no explanations, just an address.
The place was bigger than she expected. Elegant. Silent. Tucked away like a secret in CTV. She had never noticed such a hotel before, but somehow it felt like everyone inside already knew she was coming.
The moment she walked through the doors, the receptionist looked up and smiled politely. "Are you Miss Flora? Please, follow me."
Flora blinked. "Yes... I am."
She hesitated, but followed. Her heels clicked against the marble floor as she walked behind the woman in uniform. Everything felt strange - too smooth, too rehearsed, like a scene she didn't know she was a part of.
They stopped at a door. Room 709.
The receptionist turned to her, bowed slightly, and without a word - walked away.
Flora opened her mouth to ask who was inside, but the words never left her lips. Something about the silence on the other side of the door made her chest tighten.
She reached for the handle and turned it.
The door opened slowly, quietly.
The first thing that hit her was the scent - thick, expensive perfume lingering in the air. The light in the room was on. Dim. Soft. Almost romantic.
And then - she saw it.
What her eyes met, her heart could never unsee.
Scott. Her husband.
Lying in bed.
Asleep.
With Diana curled up on top of him, half-covered, her body draped across his chest like she belonged there.
Diana wore a sheer, almost see-through nightgown - the kind of thing no woman wore unless she knew exactly what she was doing.
It didn't take much imagination to know what had just happened in that room.
The tangled sheets. The scent. The way his hand still rested on Diana's back even in sleep.
It hit Flora like a thousand knives.
She didn't scream.
She didn't cry - not at first.
She just stood there.
Frozen.
Everything in her broke in that moment. Her heart. Her soul. Her spirit.
And now, on the road back home, the tears finally came. Hot. Furious. Endless.
The kind of pain that leaves scars, not just memories.
The kind of betrayal that doesn't whisper...
...it screams.
Just as Flora stepped inside, her voice rang out-tight with rage and shaking from something deeper than anger.
"Diana, what are you doing with my husband?"
Diana turned slowly, like she'd been waiting for her all along.
"Your husband?" She laughed. A dark, wicked sound that sliced through the air. "Oh, sweetie. I own him now."
Flora's chest burned. Her hands clenched.
"I'm just using him for you," Diana added with a sneer. "He's nothing but a toy to me. A worn-out one."
"You're disgusting," Flora spat, voice low.
Diana smirked, crossing her arms like a queen watching a servant fumble. "Don't tell me he's never told you we were a thing-long before he ever came crawling to you with that little contract marriage."
Flora's breath caught.
Contract marriage.
The words punched through her chest like a bullet. Sharp. Unforgiving.
How did she know?
Had Scott told her?
Was any of it real?
"What are you trying to pull?" Flora asked, her voice laced with both steel and doubt. "How do you even know about the contract? And who says we don't love each other?"
She stepped forward.
"You think you can just barge in here and rip apart what we've built? You better step back before I do something-"
"Wait," Diana snapped, lifting a hand.
Her eyes narrowed. "What do you think you are, Flora? Some fairytale heroine? A perfect little wife? Please. Your husband is a toy. And if you had any shame, you'd be down on your knees, begging me not to ruin him."
She laughed again, colder now. "Do you even know where you are? This is City C.B. I run things here. I could crush both of you in one breath and still have time for brunch."
Diana gestured lazily toward the bed. "I just wanted you to see him. To see that I hold him now. That he's mine."
Flora didn't flinch. She didn't wait.
With a sudden, sharp motion, she grabbed Diana's arm and shoved her-hard.
Diana slammed against the floor with a loud crash.
"Ouch!" she screamed, wincing in pain. "You psycho!"
Flora ignored her. Her eyes were on Scott.
She moved to the side of the bed. "Scott," she said, her voice trembling. "Let's go home."
He stirred. But not for her.
"Leave me alone," he muttered, eyes barely open. "I'm with... my wife."
Flora froze.
Silence dropped like a stone in the room.
He didn't even realize... she was the wife.
The floor felt like it vanished beneath her feet. Her throat tightened. Her arms dropped limp at her sides.
She stood there, broken in the middle of the room.
Then she turned.
And without another word, she walked out-past the woman still groaning on the floor, past the man who had just unknowingly torn her heart in two.
She walked out of that room.
Out of the lie.
Out of that nightmare.
P