Volume 6: The Flame of Vengeance
Synopsis: Jack has uncovered crucial evidence against Richard's criminal empire and begins meticulously planning his revenge. He not only intends to reclaim everything that was taken from him but also to send every betrayer and tormentor straight into hell.
Chapter 15: Alone Into the Lion's Den
Marcus looked serious as he pulled an old, rusted revolver from inside his coat and carefully checked the cylinder. His movements were smooth and practiced, betraying years of experience. In the dim light, the weapon's corrosion gleamed ominously—like a warning of the danger ahead. "This place has been abandoned for a long time," he whispered. "The last time I came here, it was to help Clayton dispose of some… messy business. But that sly fox—he always leaves traps. Don't get careless."
With the stealth of a wary wildcat, Marcus moved ahead, each step deliberate and cautious, scanning for any sign of danger.
Jack's heart pounded like war drums in his chest. His temples throbbed, and a wave of dizziness threatened to overwhelm him. But he pushed down the fear and anxiety clawing at his mind. He had to stay calm—any mistake could cost Isabella her life. Her gentle smile flickered through his thoughts, giving him strength. He clenched his fists until his nails bit into his skin, using the pain to keep himself sharp and focused.
He followed close behind Marcus, eyes alert like a hawk scanning the night, ears tuned to every sound. The wind howled through broken windows, wailing like a ghost mourning the death and sin buried in this forsaken place. The air reeked of damp decay, mixed with the acrid stench of rust and unknown chemicals. Graffiti-covered walls twisted grotesquely in the moonlight, their distorted shapes seeming to mock their intrusion.
"Wait!" Marcus suddenly halted, arm outstretched to stop Jack. Crouching low like a stalking panther, he listened intently for a moment before nudging Jack and pointing toward a relatively intact warehouse nearby. "There's someone inside—I heard voices." His whisper was barely audible, meant only for Jack's ears.
Jack held his breath, forcing himself to focus. Sure enough, faint murmurs drifted out—deep male voices, occasionally punctuated by cruel, chilling laughter. The sound carried malice and brutality, tightening the knot in Jack's stomach. "How many are there?" he asked quietly, his voice betraying a slight tremble.
Marcus shook his head. "Can't tell exactly, but at least three or four. Maybe more. Clayton is paranoid. He plans meticulously, never leaves things half-done. If anything goes wrong, he'll have an escape plan ready."
"Should we just charge in?" Jack's patience was wearing thin. He needed to see Isabella—to know she was safe.
"No," Marcus shook his head firmly. "Too risky! We don't know what's in there. Rushing in blindly will only scare them off—and put Isabella in even more danger. This might be a decoy setup. Clayton could've hidden her elsewhere."
Jack paced anxiously, frustration bubbling up. Every second felt like eternity. "Then what do we do?"
"We need to recon first. Find out if she's really in there, how many guards they have, what kind of weapons. Then we make a plan—one that gets her out safely," Marcus replied calmly, his experienced eyes reflecting a deep understanding of the stakes.
Jack knew Marcus was right, but the thought of Isabella suffering, waiting in fear for his rescue, made it impossible to remain fully composed. He had to act. Even if just a little. "I'll go in alone," he said softly, determination burning in his eyes. "You wait outside. When I give the signal, you come in fast."
"No way! That's too dangerous!" Marcus shot back, concern and disapproval lacing his tone. "I won't let you go alone. We came together—we go together!"
"I have to!" Jack snapped, his voice firm and unyielding. "Time is running out! If she's in there, I need to confirm it now and start planning her rescue. I can't waste another minute!" His gaze was resolute, filled with unwavering resolve. He knew the risk—but there was no other choice.
Marcus studied Jack's face—the worry, the urgency—and realized he couldn't change his mind. With a sigh, he pulled out a small, outdated listening device from his pocket. "Fine. Take this. It's old, but still works. Plant it near the warehouse, and we'll be able to hear what's going on inside."
Jack took the device carefully and tucked it into his coat. He inhaled deeply, stretched his limbs, and crept forward like a shadow, moving silently toward the warehouse. Like a predator stalking its prey, he kept his eyes locked on the entrance, scanning for any movement.
He circled around to the side of the building, staying close to the wall, and approached a dusty, broken window. Thick layers of grime and cobwebs nearly obscured the view entirely. Gently, he wiped away some of the dirt, revealing a narrow gap.
Inside, several burly men in black suits sat around a rickety wooden table, smoking and gambling with stacks of cash and knives as chips. Their faces were scarred and tattooed, exuding menace and bloodshed. The air was thick with smoke, alcohol, and cheap perfume—a suffocating mix.
In one corner, clutter and empty, rusted cages stood under dim lighting, adding to the eerie atmosphere. Bloodstains smeared the walls, hinting at past violence. A chill ran through Jack. Where was Isabella? What had they done to her?
He forced himself to stay calm and scanned the room again—until his eyes landed on a locked door deep within the warehouse. It was chained shut, but faint sobbing drifted from behind it—terrified, desperate. Like a knife twisting in his gut.
Isabella!
He was certain now—she was in there.
His fists tightened, his nails cutting into his palms. He wanted nothing more than to storm in and pull her out. But he knew better. Charging in would only get them both killed. He needed a plan.
Quickly and quietly, he placed the listening device on the wall near the window, ensuring it would capture everything inside. Then he slipped away, returning to Marcus. They had to strategize, create a foolproof plan.
But just as he turned to leave, a low cough echoed behind him—sharp and sudden in the silence of the night.
Jack's heart skipped a beat. Cold dread crawled up his spine.
He spun around—and saw a man in a black suit standing behind him. Towering and muscular, the man wore a mocking smirk, his eyes cold and contemptuous.
"Who are you?" the man growled. "What are you doing sneaking around here?"
Jack knew he'd been caught.
He inhaled sharply, trying to stay calm, though sweat already slicked his palms. "I… got lost. Just wandered in by accident."
The man chuckled darkly. "Lost? This is an abandoned industrial zone. You expect me to believe that crap? Do I look five years old to you?" He pulled out a gleaming knife, the blade catching the moonlight like a shard of ice. "Talk. Who sent you? Or I'll carve the truth out of you myself."
Jack knew there was no turning back.
He clenched his fists and prepared to fight.
For Isabella, he would risk everything—even his own life.
"I'm here to save someone!" Jack roared, fury and fear finally bursting free. With a burst of raw power, he lunged forward like a coiled panther ready to strike.
This was it.
Alone, against all odds—he had entered the lion's den.
And real vengeance was about to begin.