Knight Blood, also known in the underground as the Black Knight, stood calmly behind the Royal Mirage Casino & Resort, his sleek black car parked just a few feet away. Flames licked the night sky, the building groaning under the weight of its destruction. Wood cracked. Cement blocks fell like thunder. Screams and shouts pierced the smoky air.
Knight smiled.
His eyes glowed with the fire's reflection as he watched the chaos he'd created unfold. There was no joy in his grin. No sense of relief.
Just a sliver of satisfaction.
A tiny flicker of calm buried beneath the inferno of rage boiling in his chest.
Because this wasn't over.
Not yet.
One of his men stepped forward, voice tight with urgency. "Boss, we have to leave now. The police are….."
"Tell me that's not the prettiest thing you've ever seen." Knight interrupted, catching the man off guard.
The guy hesitated, unsure how to respond. His eyes darted to the fire, then back to Knight, searching for the right words. He glanced around, but none of the others met his gaze.
"It's what you wanted, right, boss?" he offered weakly.
That was a mistake.
Knight finally turned his gaze from the wreckage. "What I want?" he echoed, his voice slow, dangerous.
The man's heart pounded. He swallowed hard as Knight took a single step toward him.
"Do you really want to know what I want?" Knight asked, eyes narrowing.
The man nodded nervously.
"Use your words."
"Y–yes, sir."
Knight's smile widened, but it wasn't kind. "I want the mark on my woman's face gone," he said, voice calm, yet thick with venom. "And then I want the bastard who put it there kneeling at her feet—begging for mercy that will never come."
The man nodded quickly, trying to show understanding, but Knight wasn't finished.
"And," Knight added, "what I also want... is to put a bullet through your head for asking me that question."
The man dropped to his knees, bowing his head low. "I–I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
Knight stared down at him. "Of course it won't."
With that, he turned away. Another man opened the car door, and Knight stepped in without another word. Seconds later, the car pulled away, leaving the kneeling man behind.
The silence hung heavy.
"Stand up," one of the others finally said.
He rose slowly, his entire body trembling.
"You're one lucky bastard," someone muttered. "He didn't kill you."
He looked up, eyes wide, as the others chuckled and strolled toward the car like nothing had happened.
"He... he was really going to kill me?" he asked.
One of them snorted. "You think Knight bluffs? If he says he's gonna shoot you, that's him being polite."
The man wiped the sweat from his brow, still shaken.
Another slapped his shoulder, half-laughing. "Next time, don't open your mouth when the boss is in his feelings."
"In his feelings?" he repeated, baffled.
"Yeah." The first guy slid into the backseat. "You see that fire? That wasn't business. That was personal. And when it's personal, you stay quiet."
"But... he asked me a question," the man muttered, climbing in.
"Yeah," someone said dryly, "but you don't answer unless he says speak."
The man nodded, taking mental notes. He was new to this life. Too new.
He shivered, recalling what they'd told him about Knight—also known as Kier Blackwood to the rest of the world. When Marco offered him the job as one Kier's guards, he did what any sane person would do: looked the man up. Billionaire son of Donald Blackwood. Known womanizer. Charming. Laid back. Just another rich heir playing CEO.
That image shattered the next day.
He was taken below—the underground—and that's when he met the real Kier. Not the socialite. Not the golden boy.
Knight Blood.
And that was when he finally understood the whispers.
The devil walks among men.
And Knight? He wasn't just walking.
He was setting the world on fire.
The way that man could switch personalities was insane.
Seeing him in the upper world—what people in the underground called the surface life—was like watching a master actor slip into a role. The public, the cameras, the media… all saw the glamorous billionaire playboy. The charming smile, the designer suits, the luxury cars, the women on his arm. The perfect son of Donald Blackwood.
But down here?
In the shadows, behind burning buildings, beneath threats and bloodshed... Kier Blackwood didn't exist.
Only Knight did.
And Knight didn't smile for the cameras. He didn't sip champagne or close deals over polished mahogany desks. No, Knight burned things to the ground. He made people vanish without a trace. He ruled the underground like a chessboard—and every piece moved exactly how he wanted it to.
Because if it didn't?
It didn't stay on the board for long.
Rico—yes, that was his name—rubbed his arms as he sat stiffly in the back seat. He couldn't stop glancing at the others, watching how relaxed they were. How easily they leaned back, legs sprawled, chatting about nothing at all.
Like this was just another Tuesday night.
Like fire and death were normal.
"You'll get used to it," said Marco, the one who brought him in. He spoke from the passenger seat without even turning around.
Rico let out a shaky breath. "I don't think I want to get used to this."
Marco chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "You won't have a choice. Working for Knight isn't about what you want. It's about what he wants. Always."
Silence followed—long and heavy.
Rico turned to the window. The Royal Mirage still glowed faintly in the distance, flames reduced to embers, smoke curling into the sky like a warning to the city.
Don't cross Knight Blood.
Don't even breathe his name unless he allows it.
As the car drove deeper into the night, Rico realized one thing with cold certainty—
He wasn't in the upper world anymore.
He was in the devil's playground.
And he'd just been invited in.
****
"Where to, boss?" the driver asked.
Knight looked away from the window, eyes closed for a moment a
s he drew in a deep breath—bringing up that side of himself.
Then he opened his eyes, glanced at the rearview mirror, and smiled.
"Take me to the estate, Madrid."
The driver stiffened.
Madrid nodded slowly. The other boss was here now.
Kier Blackwood had returned.