Lucas rubbed his forehead, visibly annoyed.
"Marcus, why the hell do you always drag me out for investigations at night? You know I value my sleep. My nights are ruined because of you."
Marcus smirked, lighting a cigarette.
"Sleep? With that baby face of yours? Come on, Lucas. Stick with me—you'll get more adrenaline than sleep could ever give."
Before Lucas could retort, Marcus's walkie-talkie crackled. One of his member whispered,
"Sir, spotted someone stuffing bundles of cash into a trolley bag."
Marcus's eyes sharpened. "Keep him pinned. I'm coming."
Both he and Lucas rushed over. The man froze, clutching the heavy bag. Marcus barked,
"Open it. Show us what you're hiding."
The second he spoke, the man panicked, bolting for the exit. Marcus lunged, yanking his arm back and slamming a fist into his jaw. The man roared and swung back, spitting blood, shouting to his gang,
"Run! Take the goods! Don't let them catch you!"
Chaos erupted. His men charged in, throwing wild punches and kicks. Marcus's team countered, fists cracking against ribs, boots slamming into knees. The air filled with the stench of sweat, blood, and spilled liquor.
Inside the club, terrified guests scattered, screaming, trying to flee. Marcus bellowed, voice booming over the chaos:
"No one leaves! Every single person will be searched before they step out!"
Pinned to the floor, the man writhed under Marcus's grip. Marcus ripped off his shirt, binding his wrists with it. Disgusted, he pulled the man's filthy sock out and shoved it into his mouth.
"Goddamn stench. You make all this dirty money but can't even keep your ass clean? Pathetic."
The man's eyes never left Lucas, staring like he wanted to say something.
Marcus snarled, "What the fuck are you staring at him for? I'm the one talking to you."
The guy mumbled against the gag, desperate to speak.
Lucas suddenly stiffened. His nose caught a whiff—faint but telling. He leaned closer to Marcus and muttered,
"This guy isn't the drug dealer. He reeks of gunpowder. He's into arms trafficking. The drug dealer's somewhere else… probably in the back room."
Marcus's gaze darkened. He motioned to his men, and together they stormed toward the last chamber of the nightclub.
The door slammed open. What they saw made even Lucas flinch. A billiards table, covered with broken glass and white powder. A half-naked boy, barely conscious, sprawled across it. And over him, another man—long hair, a tiger tattoo etched across his chest—snorting a line of coke while grinding into the victim.
Marcus raised his gun. "Hands up, motherfucker!"
The tattooed man turned lazily, eyes bloodshot, lips curling into a smirk.
"Chill, bro… Let me finish first. Don't cockblock me. Pleasure before business, right?"
The boy beneath him moaned weakly, almost lifeless, drowning in the haze of drugs.
That was the last straw. Marcus's face twisted with rage. His voice thundered through the room, venom dripping from every word:
"You filthy son of a bitch. I'll fuck you up so hard, you won't even remember your mother's name. Let's see how much stamina you really have after I tear you apart."
The tiger-tattooed man laughed, but his laugh cracked as Marcus advanced, gun steady, eyes blazing like a predator ready to maul.
To be Continued....