Let's reach 250 Power Stones for an extra chapter
***
My breath catches in my throat. It's him. The man from the coffee shop. Luke. He stands there, a mountain of calm muscle amidst the tension of the warehouse, and the sight of him feels like a physical blow. What is he doing here? He doesn't belong in this grimy world of gang territory and violence. He belongs in the light, not lurking in the shadows with men like Big Donovan.
"Luke?" I call out, the name a whisper, a question.
He looks at me, his eyes flickering with something I can't quite place. It isn't recognition, not really. It's more like a deep, searching curiosity, as if he's trying to recall a face from a long-forgotten dream. He tilts his head slightly, a small crease appearing on his brow. He doesn't know who I am, but something about me is ringing a distant bell for him.
Big Donovan lets out a harsh, grating laugh that scrapes against my nerves. He steps forward, clapping a heavy hand on Luke's shoulder, a gesture of ownership that makes my stomach turn.
"Oh, you know my man, huh?" Donovan says, a wide grin splitting his face. "This here's Luke. My muscle for hire."
The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. A hired gun on his payroll. The image of Luke I had built in my mind—the quiet, respectable man from The Daily Grind, the one who complimented my coffee and radiated such a grounded presence—shatters into a million pieces. This isn't right. This just isn't right.
"This wasn't part of the deal," Luke says, his voice a low rumble, and he turns to Donovan, his eyes fixed on him.
Donovan just waves a dismissive hand, a lazy gesture that makes my blood boil. He's treating me like a nuisance, like I'm not even a real person.
"The deal was you handle any problems that come up, Luke," Donovan replies, his voice laced with annoyance. "Take care of her."
He says it so casually, like I'm a piece of trash he just wants swept away. Luke sighs, a heavy sound that seems to carry all the weight of the world, and he looks at me with an almost apologetic expression.
"Look, I'm sorry, Jewel," he says, his voice softening just a bit, but it doesn't make the words any less frustrating. "It's better if you just leave. I really don't want to hit a woman."
A wave of pure indignation washes over me. Like I'm some damsel in distress who can't handle herself. It makes me see red.
"I can't do that," I snap back, my voice sharper than I intend.
"I can't do that," I snap back, my voice sharper than I intend.
"You really don't want to do this, Jewel," Luke says, his voice a low warning now, all the warmth gone from it. "Just walk away."
Big Donovan grunts, a satisfied sound, and leans back against a stack of crates. He looks like he's enjoying the show, which just fuels my fire even more. He thinks I'm just some small-time hero, easily intimidated. He thinks Luke can just tell me what to do.
"I can't walk away when there's a problem," I reply, trying to keep my voice even, but the anger is bubbling up inside me. "And you, Luke Cage, are a problem right now."
I strike first, a desperate, powerful jab aimed at his jaw. My fist connects with a sickening thud, but it feels like hitting a concrete wall. Luke barely flinches, his head moving back a fraction of an inch. He doesn't retaliate immediately, just absorbs the blow. It's a test, and I just failed it. He's gauging my strength, and he's clearly not impressed.
"I warned you," Luke says, his voice flat.
He moves, and he's impossibly fast for a man his size. His hand shoots out, not a punch, but a firm shove to my shoulder. The force sends me skidding back several feet, my boots scraping against the grimy concrete floor. I stumble, catching my balance just before I fall. He's holding back, I realize with a jolt of shock. He could have hit me, but he chose to push. Why?
"You okay, Jewel?" Luke asks, and I hear a hint of genuine concern in his voice, which confuses me even more.
"I'm fine!" I retort, probably louder than necessary, trying to mask the sting in my shoulder and the shock of his speed. "Why are you even here, Luke? With them?"
I gesture wildly toward Donovan and his men, my frustration mounting. He's too good for this, too good to be working for a guy like Donovan.
"This is my job," Luke replies, his gaze unwavering, but I see a flicker of something in his eyes, something that looks like regret. "I told you, I'm here to handle problems. You're a problem."
"A problem?" I scoff, shaking my head. "I'm trying to help people! Marcus's mother is worried sick about him. This whole gang war thing is going to get people hurt."
Donovan lets out another one of his annoying laughs.
"Aw, look at the little hero," Donovan mocks, pushing himself off the crates. "Thinkin' she can save the world. You got no idea how this game works, sweetheart."
"I know enough to know that what you're doing is wrong," I say, trying to ignore Donovan and focus on Luke. "And you, Luke, you're better than this."
Luke just shakes his head, a weary expression on his face. He takes a step toward me, and I instinctively brace myself for another push, or worse.
"You don't know anything about me," Luke says, his voice quiet, almost a whisper. "And you don't know what I'm capable of. Go home, Jewel. Before someone really gets hurt."
"Someone is getting hurt!" I shout, my voice echoing in the warehouse. "Marcus! And probably a lot of other innocent people caught in the middle of this ridiculous turf war!"
I rush him again, a flurry of punches, aiming for his torso, his arms, anywhere that might actually do something. My fists land with dull thuds against his skin, but he barely reacts, his muscles rippling under the impact. It's like I'm hitting a brick wall made of flesh and steel. He's not even guarding himself, just letting me hit him, soaking up the blows.
"You're not listening," Luke says, his voice still calm, almost too calm.
He catches both my wrists in one swift movement. His grip is firm, unbreakable, and I can't pull away. I struggle, twisting and yanking, but it's no use. He holds me effortlessly, my superhuman strength completely nullified. He's so much stronger, so much more durable than I am. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks, a cold dread seeping into my bones.
"Let me go!" I demand, my voice strained.
"I can't do that, Jewel," Luke replies, his eyes still holding
I refuse to back down. I launch myself forward, putting all my superhuman strength behind a right cross aimed squarely at his chest. The impact is jarring, a deep, resonating thump that echoes in the sudden silence of the warehouse. Luke grunts, taking a solid step back this time, but his expression is one of mild annoyance, not pain. He looks down at his chest, then back at me, a low rumble in his voice as he speaks.
"Surprised?" he says, his voice losing its calm edge, a hint of something darker replacing it. "Bullets can't even pierce this skin, Jewel."
Before I can even process that impossible statement, a deafening crash echoes from the warehouse entrance. The heavy metal doors buckle inward, torn from their hinges with a CLANG. A wave of men in green and black uniforms pours in, their weapons raised. They are like a dark, relentless tide. They move with a brutal efficiency that sends a shiver down my spine.
At the head of this menacing force stands a hulking figure in a jagged, scorpion-themed armored suit. He's the boss. The one who made Big Donovan so scared. His face is hidden behind a menacing helmet, but the sheer menace radiating from him is unmistakable, a palpable wave of hostility washing over the warehouse. I have no idea who this guy is, but I know, deep in my gut, that he means business. The air crackles with unspoken threats. The gang war has begun.
Big Donovan, who was just moments ago so confident, visibly tenses, his eyes wide with something that looks a lot like fear. His bravado, which was so present just moments ago, has completely evaporated. Even his own men seem to shrink back a little. This guy is bad news, even for Donovan.
"Gargan," Donovan whispers, and the name hangs in the air, heavy and foreboding.
***
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