The forest was pitch black and silent, save for the chirping of insects. Billy couldn't see a thing in front of him. With every limp forward—crunch, crunch, crunch—dried leaves cracked beneath his feet.
He clutched his gun tightly, nerves fraying at the thought of creatures lurking in the dark. Strange, ominous sounds echoed from deep within the woods.
Then came a growl—low, guttural, reverberating through the trees.
Billy inched forward.
Snap! A loud metallic sound exploded beneath him.
He dropped the gun—it vanished into the dark. Then came the pain. Sharp. Blinding. His ankle screamed.
"Ahhh!" he screamed, the agony building fast. He pulled and tugged, but the more he struggled, the tighter the grip—and the worse the pain.
Panic surged. He reached for his phone, fumbling to turn on the flashlight. He held the button. Nothing.
Come on! he thought, fingers scrambling. The screen was cracked.
"Shit!" he shouted.
He reached for his lighter, flicked it, and cupped his hand to focus the flame. The dim light flickered across the ground.
Then he saw it.
A bear trap. Clamped tight around his ankle.
"Fuck," Billy grunted, staring at the blood soaking through his sock.
He shoved the lighter back into his pocket—he couldn't afford to lose it—and reached down, trying to pry the trap open with his bare hands.
He pulled with everything he had. But it was no use. The steel jaws held firm, and fresh cuts began to bloom across his palms.
He tried again.
Then—rustling. Leaves shifting.
Billy froze.
The sound grew louder. Closer.
Footsteps. Just a few feet away.
He fumbled in his pocket for the lighter, but his fingers slipped—it popped open and fell to the ground.
The footsteps advanced.
Billy patted the dirt frantically, heart pounding.
The sound was right in front of him now. Inches away.
He couldn't find the lighter.
So he curled into a ball, covered his face, and squeezed his eyes shut.
He tensed. Waiting.
Seconds passed.
Nothing.
Slowly, he opened his eyes. Still blind in the dark.
He stretched out his right arm, sweeping the ground.
His fingers brushed something smooth.
The lighter.
He grabbed it, flicked it on, and held it out.
The flame danced.
And there was nothing.
No creature. Just the faint outline of trees. And silence.
***
The wind blew, carrying the sharp scent of pine through the air. Billy took a deep breath and flicked his lighter, scanning the ground around him.
Nothing but leaves and scattered branches—until he spotted the edge of a thick limb, just barely out of reach.
It might work.
He leaned down, reaching for it. The trap tugged hard, metal grinding against bone.
Still, he stretched.
The branch was only inches away.
The steel jaws sank deeper into his ankle. Sharp metal pierced bone.
Billy grunted, tears streaming down his face.
He stretched further. Flesh tore.
He screamed, mouth wide, face twisted in agony.
His fingers brushed the branch.
He grabbed it and pulled it toward him.
It was thick, but just narrow enough to grip.
He jammed it into the grooves between the trap's teeth—but it was too wide.
"Shit," he muttered, rubbing his sweaty face.
He pulled out his pocket knife and began carving the end of the branch.
Shavings fell away.
Soon, the tip was sharp and narrow.
He wedged it into the trap's groove and pushed with all his strength.
The trap groaned.
A rusty squeal echoed through the forest.
Slowly, the jaws began to release.
And then—freedom.
Blood poured violently from his ankle.
The pain was unbearable.
He couldn't walk.
So he flipped the branch, pressed the unsharpened end to the ground, and leaned on it.
***
Billy flicked the lighter again, scanning the forest floor.
A few feet from the trap, he spotted the .44 Magnum.
He reached down and grabbed it.
As he did, something caught his eye—footprints.
Not animal tracks. Shoes.
His breath caught.
Maybe these belonged to the guy who took Liz.
It was the only lead he had.
He gripped the stick, leaned into it, and began inching forward—following the prints into the dark.
Billy treaded forward, slow and aching.
It felt like hours.
His throat tightened. Sweat clung to him like a second skin. Fear dried his mouth, blurred his vision.
He stumbled.
Then—faint, distant—he heard it.
Running water.
He rushed toward the sound, ignoring the fire in his ankle.
Dropping to his knees, he drank.
The water tasted like fish and rot, but he didn't care. He gulped until his stomach ached.
He leaned back, breath ragged, and saw the quarter moon reflected in the stream.
Above him, stars scattered across the black sky.
He lay down.
Maybe I can rest here, he thought. It's peaceful. No danger. Just me and the forest.
I'm injured. A bullet in my shoulder. Head trauma. A sliced leg. A mangled ankle.
I should rest. Heal. Fish in the morning.
I'd be no use to Liz like this.
His eyes began to close.
But then—
Liz's voice echoed in his mind.
Billy, help me. Please.
"Shit," he muttered, eyes snapping open.
Liz. I don't even know what they want with her. She's just a kid. Innocent. And I'm sitting here talking about setting camp?
Her smile flashed in his mind. Her piercing green eyes.
He forced himself upright.
Pain screamed through his leg, his shoulder.
But he stood.
I'm scared, he admitted to himself. Scared of being gunned down.
But what must she be going through right now?
He popped a few Tylenol tablets, gripped the stick, and limped forward.
"Hold on, Liz. I'm coming," he whispered.
Unaware of the tracks—massive, clawed—not too far from where he was about to sleep.
***
He followed the bootprints to the end of the forest and saw lights in the distance. They were surrounding some sort of compound.
There were several buildings—square, industrial, surrounded by harsh floodlights.
It looked like an old manufacturing warehouse, flanked by single apartment units on each side.
Billy tossed the stick aside and drew his pistol.
He crouched in the shadows, scanning the area—eyes sharp, breath steady, pain pushed deep.
Men in suits moved in and out of one of the apartment buildings. Their uniforms matched the ones worn by Liz's captors.
He crept closer, ignoring the screams from his leg and ankle.
Two men stood apart from the others, leaning on a rusted rail.
Billy crouched low, staying silent.
One of the men pulled out a box of cigarettes, lit one, and handed the other to his friend.
As smoke curled into the air, one of them spoke.
"Bro, did you see how bad Eli was leaking?"
"Yeah," the other replied, flicking ash to the ground. "He must've had some serious trouble getting that girl."
Billy's ears perked.
"He was bleeding all over the place. Hell, some of it's right there."
The man pointed.
Billy followed the gesture. From a distance, he saw a faint trail—blood.
The men kept talking.
"Man, you know what I really envy?"
"Our capo," the other said, nodding.
"Exactly. Guarding her all by himself? If I were Vireo, I'd have some fun with that broad. Damn, she's cute."
The other man chuckled and nodded.
Billy clenched his jaw, disgust rising in his throat.
He focused on the blood trail. It led somewhere—but broke off, too faint to follow.
"Ugh," he muttered. "Three buildings. She's gotta be in one of them. But if I pick the wrong one…"
He scanned the area again, then crept back toward the two men.
I'll have to do this, he thought.
He crouched and waited.
The two men laughed, still talking about Liz.
Finally, one of them leaned off the rail.
"Imma get back to work, Carlos."
"Alright," Carlos replied. "I'll be there in a minute. Gonna smoke a few more."
The other man hesitated.
"You know, you really gotta quit, man. That stuff'll kill you."
Carlos raised an eyebrow. "You just smoked with me."
"Yeah, but I only had one."
Carlos shook his head. "Whatever you say."
The man waved as he walked off toward the apartment building.
"Take care of your health, Carlos!" he called.
The door shut behind him.
Carlos muttered to himself, "Yeah, you too, you crazy bastard."
He was alone.
Billy's grip tightened on his revolver.
This was his chance.
***
Deep within the compound, in a room dark with tiled flooring and wooden walls patched with metal, Liz sat fastened to a rusty metal chair—wrists and ankles bound tight.
She strained against the restraints, but her efforts only made the laughter echo louder through the room.
A tall, lanky man loomed over her. His curly mustache twitched with amusement beneath a red military cap, matching the crisp red uniform he wore like a costume.
"What's wrong, little girl?" he sneered. "Panicking because Daddy's not here to help?"
He leaned in, chuckling, breath sour and close.
"Don't worry. I'm here to keep you company. No harm—at least, not right away. You see, you're worth something. A hundred million dollars, to be exact."
He grinned, eyes gleaming.
"The boss will be thrilled. That kind of capital? Alongside my other deeds? I'll be made underboss of the Elk of Belmond."
He spun away, pacing like a man rehearsing his coronation speech.
"Oh, I can't wait."
Liz jerked against the restraints, eyes blazing.
"You're fucking insane. When my dad gets here, he's going to kill you."
The man laughed again—loud, theatrical, unhinged.
"Ah, no," he said. "There will be conditions. And they won't be in his favor."
His laughter echoed through the compound, bouncing off concrete and steel—sharp, metallic, and full of promise.
***
Outside, Carlos puffed another cigarette as the night wind blew across the compound.
Behind him, he heard the rustling of leaves.
He turned. "Who's there?"
Panic flickered across his face.
"Oh… it's nothing," he muttered. "The forest's right there. Probably a raccoon or something."
His cigarette had burned out. He dropped it onto the concrete and crushed it under his shoe.
"It's time I go join them," he said, stepping forward.
Click.
Cold steel pressed against his temple.
Carlos froze.
Billy stood behind him, revolver raised, eyes hard.
"Don't speak," Billy said, voice low and cold. "Or I'll blast your life away."
Carlos nodded slowly, breath shallow.
Billy grabbed him by the collar and dragged him into the forest.
***
Billy led Carlos to a spot just beyond the compound's reach—close enough to see the lights, far enough to be hidden. The trees muffled the noise. They were alone.
"Where's your capo Vireo?" Billy asked, voice low but sharp.
Carlos looked down. "I can't say."
Billy cocked his pistol. "Where is your capo?"
Carlos looked up, eyes soft with fear. "If I tell you… I'll be killed."
Billy sighed, rubbing his forehead in frustration. Then, without warning, he slapped Carlos across the face with the revolver.
"If you don't answer me, you will die," Billy growled. "Focus on certain death instead of potential."
Carlos winced, blood trickling from his cheek. He sighed.
"You see the manufacturing warehouse? The big building? He's in there."
"Who else?" Billy asked.
"Some other capos. The boss. The underboss."
Billy narrowed his eyes. "So how do I get in?"
Carlos hesitated.
"Tell me!"
"There's a door in the back," Carlos said finally. "It leads to Vireo's section of the compound. He's usually alone in there."
"Is the girl with him?" Billy asked.
Carlos nodded. "I believe so."
Billy exhaled, relief washing over him. "Thank you."
He turned toward the compound—but stopped.
Carlos was still conscious. If Billy left him here, he might run. Might warn the others.
Should I break all four limbs? Billy thought. No. That's evil.
Instead, he stepped forward and grabbed Carlos by the collar.
"What are you doing?" Carlos asked, voice trembling.
"Sorry," Billy said.
He slammed his fist into the back of Carlos's head.
Carlos crumpled to the ground, limp.
Billy knelt beside him, checking his pulse. Still breathing.
I hope that just knocked him out, Billy thought. It's more merciful than breaking bones. I hope there's no permanent damage.
He stood, turned toward the compound, and began making his way to the backside of the manufacturing warehouse.
***
Billy found the back door. No one was nearby.
He limped toward it quickly but quietly, heart pounding.
The handle was cold. He turned it slowly.
The door creaked—a soft, high-pitched squeal—and revealed a narrow stairwell leading upward, then curving left.
He slipped inside and began to climb.
Each step groaned beneath his weight. The wood was old, dry, and loud. He winced with every squeak, pausing between steps to listen.
Darkness wrapped around him, but somewhere above, he heard laughter—faint, distant, cruel.
He reached the top. A wall ran along his right side, shielding him.
He pressed against it, then leaned left, just enough to peek around the corner.
He saw that he was in a large dark room, one as if it was made of old wood.
His breath caught.
Liz sat in the center of the room seven meters away from him, strapped to a chair. Her head hung low, hair matted, arms bound.
Vireo paced in front of her, muttering to himself. His voice was low, but his posture was agitated—hands twitching, steps uneven.
Billy ducked back behind the wall, pulse racing.
This is it, Billy thought.
He gripped his revolver, fingers slick with sweat.
His breath slowed. Muscles coiled.
He was ready to spring from cover, aim, and end it.
But before he could move—
A door creaked open on the far side of the room.
Billy froze.
The sound was soft, but unmistakable. A hinge groaned. Light spilled in from the hallway beyond. Shadows shifted.
Someone was entering.
Vireo stopped pacing. His head turned toward the door, eyes narrowing.
Billy ducked back behind the wall, heart hammering. He clenched the revolver tighter, suddenly unsure.
One more person. Maybe two. Armed? Loyal?
He couldn't see who it was. But the timing was bad—too bad.
Liz stirred in the chair, lifting her head slightly. Her eyes flicked toward the door, then toward Vireo.
Billy stayed hidden, calculating.
***
Vireo smiled as a man entered.
He had short brown hair, looked mid-thirties, and wore a tan three-piece suit. His hands stayed tucked in his coat pockets, like he had all the time in the world.
"Hello, Vireo," the man said, voice soft but brash. "I see you have the girl."
"Oh yes!" Vireo beamed. "That plan you gave me worked perfectly. The abduction was a success. No one tailed us—well, one did, but he died trying to wreck our vehicle. Dumbass!" He laughed, sharp and cruel.
Liz gasped and stirred in the chair, her voice barely audible. "Billy…"
Tears welled in her eyes.
Vireo turned to her, sneering.
"Oh, what's wrong, little girl? Was he your friend? Don't worry—I'm sure he's enjoying hell right now."
Behind the wall, Billy clenched his jaw.
Don't let him get to you, Liz. I'm still alive. We're getting out of here.
Vireo turned back to the man. "We did it. With your plan, we really did it. The Elk of Belmond are going to have more capital than ever!"
But his smile vanished when muffled gunfire erupted outside.
Vireo jumped from being startled.
The man walked calmly to the window, lifted the curtain, and smirked.
"I don't think so, Vireo."
Vireo blinked. "What? What are you talking about, Vito?"
Vito pulled the curtain aside. Outside, chaos reigned—mafia soldiers firing on each other. Smoke. Screams. A warzone.
Vireo's eyes twitched. "Wh-what's going on?"
Vito turned, walking slowly toward him.
"You see, Vireo… you won't be doing anything with the girl. I will."
Vireo's face darkened. "What?"
Vito stopped a few feet away. "You've been played."
Vireo stiffened. "Played?"
"That plan I gave you?" Vito said, voice calm. "It was a front. Crafted by a brilliant kid in the Dragons. Triple-benefit strategy. No risk. All gain. Even if it fails, we win."
Vireo's voice cracked. "I… I don't understand."
Vito stepped closer.
"Do you really think I give a shit about the Elk? Their financial future means nothing to me. We had you nab the girl so we could pick her up from here. She's ransom—ransom to bleed the Phoenixes dry, of all their black pledge contracts."
Vireo staggered back, eyes wide.
"Yes, Vireo. The Dragons will be unstoppable. But first, we take from you—then the Tigers. And those members who submit to us will join as brothers. The others will be erased."
He smiled.
"Then the only name feared in the underworld will be the Blood-fanged Dragons."
Vito's voice dropped to a whisper.
"And once we get the contracts from Cordell… we'll kill him. And his daughter."
Liz thrashed in her chair, sobbing.
Billy's grip tightened around his revolver.
Vireo shook, sweat pouring down his face. His voice was barely a whisper.
"You mean to tell me… you were a traitor this whole time? A mole for the Dragons?"
Vito smiled. "From the beginning."
Vireo's jaw clenched. His hand shot toward the pistol at his hip.
Bang!
A bullet tore through Vireo's skull. Blood and brain splattered across the floor.
Liz screamed, gagging.
Vito chuckled as smoke came out of a bullet hole in his coat pocket.
Billy blinked from behind the wall.
What? When did he shoot him?
He hadn't seen a gun. No draw, no aim.
Did he fire from inside his coat?
Vito walked over and kicked Vireo's body aside like trash, then strode toward Liz.
He grabbed her by the neck, lifting her off the ground.
"You're coming with me, pretty girl."
Billy couldn't take it.
A man who betrayed his own. Who kicked a corpse. Who twisted a father's love. Who tormented an innocent girl.
He stepped from behind the wall.
Vito froze. "What—who is that?"
Billy's voice was low, steady.
"The dumbass who wrecked the vehicle."
He cocked his revolver, aimed, and fired.