Chapter 1: Julian
“Alright,” I mutter with a grin creeping across my face. “Batter up!”
I swing hard and the wood connects with a sickening crack against the thugs ribs. He groans loudly.
“Strike one!” I call out, spinning the bat with a flourish.
His moans fill the air as I take another stance, lining up my next swing. This one hits a little lower, landing with a sharp thud.
“Strike two!” I yell, laughing now as the adrenaline courses through me.
The thug sputters something unintelligible, but I’m not done yet. I take one last, mighty swing, and the impact reverberates up my arms as he lets out a guttural cry.
“Strike three!” I bark before leaning closer. “But you’re not out yet, Bud. We’re just getting started.”
The room reeks of fear and sweat. The single bulb swinging above casts uneven shadows, making the space feel smaller, more suffocating. The thug dangles upside down with his wrists bound and swollen face streaked with blood. He squirms against the chains as he pleads for mercy.
I grip the bat, letting its weight rest against my shoulder. Avery leans against the far wall, her sharp business attire immaculate even in this grimy hellhole. She observes the scene with her arms crossed, and her expression a blend of disgust and satisfaction.
I glance over my shoulder at her. “This is the piece of shit, right?”
She nods once. “That’s him. He tried to grab my bag outside the office. Pulled a knife.” She qirks a brow at me. “Though, you’ve already started beating him to hell, so it wouldn’t matter if it was him or not, would it?”
“Tomato, tomahto,” I mutter, rolling my shoulder as the bat rests loosely in my grip.
The thug lets out a whimper and his muffled ‘I’m sorry’ is barely audible through his swollen lips.
I ignore him, focusing on Avery. “You okay?”
Her lips twitch into a smile. “I handled myself just fine. Your guys stepped in before it got messy.”
“Good.” I turn my attention back to the dangling man. “But see, that’s not enough for me. Nobody—nobody—makes a slight against me. Not the streets, not my people, and definitely not Avery Sinclair.”
She quirks a brow. “Sweet of you, boss, but you don’t have to make this about me.”
“Wrong.” I swing the bat and the wood connects with the thug’s side in a satisfying crack. He screams, and Avery doesn’t flinch. She’s seen me do worse.
“It’s all about you, Avery. You’re the face of Sentinel Global. This guy doesn’t get it—without you, there’s no empire,” I tell her.
“Without you, there’s no empire,” she counters smoothly, stepping closer. Her heels click against the floor, each step measured, deliberate. “I’m just the one wearing the suit.”
I glance at her with a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. “And a damn good one at that.”
Avery Sinclair. The CEO of Sentinel Global. To the outside world, she’s a powerhouse in the corporate world, the picture of poise and professionalism. Unbeknownst to most, I’m the one pulling the strings. Sentinel Global is mine. Every skyscraper it’s built, every dollar it’s made—it’s all because of me.
Years ago, before Avery’s name carried weight, she was just a fresh college grad trying to make her mark in a city that chewed people up and spit them out. The Nightingales had other plans for her. Their men tried to snatch her off the street one night. For them, it was the wrong place, wrong time.
I was on my way to handle business when I saw the commotion. They didn’t even see me coming. Five minutes later, they were either dead or begging for mercy, and Avery was staring at me like I was some kind of avenging angel.
I didn’t stick around for a thank you, but she found me later. Turned out she had bigger dreams than just surviving. She wanted power, and I gave it to her. In return, she became my gateway into the corporate world I had no interest in navigating.
“Avery, do me a favor,” I say, keeping my voice calm as I step closer to the thug. “Remind him what happens when people break my rules.”
She tilts her head and her voice is like velvet over steel. “You’re alive because he allows it. And you’ll stay alive if you never cross him again.”
The thug whimpers, his eyes darting between the two of us. “I’ll do anything! Please!”
“Yeah, you’ll do nothing,” I growl before swinging the bat again. This time the crack of his ribs echo in the room.
I look to the side, my gaze locking onto the other guy—the one who had the audacity to follow his pal into this mess.
“And you, you piece of fucking shit,” I snap, my voice low and cutting as I stride toward him. “You were his happy little helper, weren’t you?”
He’s tied to a rusted carnival wheel. The thick leather straps keep his wrists and ankles pinned to the circular frame with his body stretched taut.
A crank on the side lets me control the speed, giving me full command over how much I want him to feel every rotation, every shift. I move the crank on the side, and he starts to spin.
“Round and round we go, where you stop... oh wait, you don’t!” I croon, my voice lilting in a singsong delight that echoes off the walls.
Once the wheel is spinning at just the right speed, I stroll over to the table, running my fingers along the edges of the objects laid out there. My gaze settles on a neat set of throwing knives. Picking one up, I test its weight in my hand, admiring the cold, sharp edge of the blade. A grin spreads across my face.
“I’ve seen this in movies and always wanted to learn. I wonder how hard it is?” I say, glancing at him.
His eyes widen in terror, darting to the glinting metal in my hand. He frantically squirms, the leather straps creaking with his desperate struggle.
With a flick of my wrist, I hurl the knife. It slices through the air and embeds itself in his thigh. His scream is instant, sharp and raw, filling the space with a satisfying echo.
“Whoops,” I say, laughing lightly as I stroll closer to the spinning wheel. “I was aiming for under your arm. Guess I need a little more practice.”
I grab another knife, the handle solid and familiar in my grip. “You know,” I say conversationally, tilting my head as I line up my next shot. “This is way more fun than dodge the bullet. Those guys always seem to die too quickly. They never last long enough for the game to get interesting.”
The next knife flies from my hand. Another scream. The sound fuels me, heightens the thrill, and I can’t resist throwing again, and again, the thuds of the blades meeting flesh mixing with the chaotic echoes of his agony.
I glance over at Avery, standing off to the side with a calm expression plastered on her face. Arms crossed, one brow arched in a way where she looks like she’s watching paint dry instead of the show of a lifetime.
“Thought you might enjoy a little entertainment,” I tell her.
She tilts her head, that stupid brow quirking higher, and lips curling into the faintest shadow of a smirk.
“I’m honored, truly,” she says, but her tone is as dry as the desert. “But how long will this show last? I’d really like to get some sleep tonight.”
Her deadpan delivery only makes me laugh, the sound bubbling out of me uncontrollably.
“The show will be over in a minute,” I say, my voice almost sing-song as I nudge the bat lightly against the man’s leg, just to hear the pathetic whimper that escapes him. “I’ve got to close out my performance.”
“You should really learn to delegate,” she replies, utterly unimpressed as always. “Speaking of which, the board meeting with Fennwick went as predicted. Groveling and veiled threats. But don’t worry, they took the restructuring announcement well enough from me. Someone had to clean up the mess after you scattered their little operation.”
“Tell me you handled it with your usual charm,” I say, flicking my wrist to send the bat flipping the air. “Fennwick isn’t useful to me if he’s scared out of his overpriced loafers.”
Avery shrugs with an elegance that somehow still feels like a rebuke. “He’s scared,” she confirms. “But he’ll fall in line. He always does. I made sure he understood that his survival depends on Sentinel Global’s good graces. Besides, the Singapore surveillance project is set to launch without delays—assuming you don’t decide to torch another key operation in the process.”
“There’s your problem, Avery,” I say, tapping the bat lightly against the ground. “You think too small. Sometimes you’ve got to make a scene to get the right kind of loyalty.”
Her smirk returns, as faint and cutting as the edge of a blade. “And sometimes,” she counters, shifting her weight to one hip. “You’re too busy making a scene to see the chessboard changing around you. Don’t forget whose job it is to keep the pawns in play.”
“That’s why I keep you around,” I say, ignoring the sideways glance she shoots me.
“What do you think?” I ask battered thug, gesturing lazily to Avery without looking at her. “Doesn’t she just have a way with words?”
Avery sighs before leaning back against the wall, her nonchalance a sharp contrast to the chaos unfolding before her. I catch her eye again, and for just a second, I swear I see a flicker of amusement there—brief, fleeting, easily missed. Or maybe I imagined it.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pause mid-swing, reaching for it, and glance at the screen. “Yeah?”
“Sir, it’s about Maggie,” the voice on the other end says, urgent but steady.
Avery steps closer, watching me with a raised brow. I wave her off as I focus on the call.
“What about her?” I ask.
“The doctor says she’s awake.” he says.
My chest tightens, a mix of relief and something deeper—something raw.
“Good,” I say. “I’m on my way.”
I hang up and slide the phone back into my pocket.
Avery watches me carefully. “Is it Maggie? She okay?”
“Yeah,” I mutter before turning to my second-in-command. “Keep this piece of shit alive, but make sure he remembers every second of tonight.”
“Yes, boss,” he says.
Without saying a word, I stride across the room. I stop in front of the old closet tucked into the corner, yank it open, and rummage through the mess of clothes hanging inside. After a moment, I pull out another outfit—something cleaner, sharper. Turning back toward Avery, I hold the clothes slung over one arm and smirk.
“I’m going to change and drive you home,” I tell her. I pause and glance at her before leaning against the closet doorframe. “And before you say anything, this isn’t gratuitous show. You can’t see my manly bits for free. You’ve gotta pay to play.”
To my surprise, Avery actually laughs this time, a quick, light sound that breaks through the tension like cracking glass.
“Don’t worry,” she shoots back with a mischievous gleam in her eye. “I wouldn’t pay for that even if it came with popcorn and a front-row seat.”
I step away to change out of y messy clothes. Once I finish changing, I nod at Avery. “Let’s go.”
She follows me with her heels clicking sharply against the ground. The cool air wraps around us as we climb into my car and she buckles in without a word. I slide into the driver’s seat, starting the engine with a low growl, and steer us out onto the quiet streets.
“You don’t have to drive me home,” she says after a moment.
“You saying I shouldn’t drop my CEO off safe and sound?” I joke.
She smirks, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. “I’m saying I’m a big girl, Julian. I can handle myself.”
I glance at her briefly. “Yeah, well, humor me.”
The silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. Avery’s good at reading me—knows when to push and when to let me simmer. Eventually, though, she speaks.
“Maggie’s important to you, isn’t she?” she asks. “You’ve told me about her and I’ve never seen you so hooked on a woman before.”
I don’t answer right away. The thought of seeing Maggie again, after what happened to her, makes my hands clench into fists.
“Yeah. She is,” I finally say.
“Want to talk about it?” she asks.
I shoot her a sideways glance. “You know me better than that.”
Her lips quirk in a small smile. “Doesn’t mean I’ll stop asking. You seem very worried about her.”
“Is this where you psychoanalyze me, Sinclair?” I say with a laugh.
She chuckles. “Just pointing out the obvious. You don’t let a lot of people in. When you do, it’s usually for a reason.”
“She’s important,” I say, my tone firm. “That’s all you need to know.”
“You’re a little psycho, Julian and Maggie seems nice. Don’t screw it up,” she says.
I glance at her, a small smirk breaking through the tension. “I don’t screw things up. You should know that by now.”
It’s been a year. I’ve been by Maggie’s bedside every moment I could spare. When I’m not making sure Sentinel Global is running smoothly or that my streets stay clean, I’m with her. Watching over her. Making sure the doctors and nurses don’t so much as breathe wrong when they’re around her. I’ve spared no expense, brought in specialists, ensured she has everything she could possibly need.
Every time I sit beside her, I hold her hand, willing her to wake up. But the longer she stays silent, the harder it gets to keep hope alive. It’s not just Maggie’s stillness that weighs on me— it’s the threat lurking in the shadows.
Nate.
His sudden reappearance a year ago wasn’t a coincidence. It was a calculated move, one designed to get under my skin. He didn’t come for the streets. He didn’t even come for power. He came to remind me that no matter how far I’ve climbed, no matter how many pieces of this city I’ve claimed, he’ll always be there. Watching. Waiting.
He made his intentions clear without uttering a single word. It wasn’t a reunion; it was a declaration. And he’s the only person alive who can make me feel uneasy.
We’re brothers. Same mother, different fathers. Nate, older by three years, was always a step ahead of me growing up. We fought hard, lived hard, and thrived in chaos. Where he barreled head first into the storm, tearing through anything and anyone, I calculate my moves and bid my time. When our mother was alive, she called us her two kings. The Devil and the Architect she’d joke.
Now, that’s exactly what we are. Two kings. Nate rules his streets with a ruthless hand, his reputation as the devil solidified in every whispered story of blood and fear. I took my own path—not kinder, but smarter. I built an empire on strategy and control. Where Nate thrives on fear, I thrive on precision.
The day our mother died changed everything. That was the day the line was drawn, the day the brother I grew up with became the enemy I can’t let my guard down around.
She did have it right: Nate is the Devil, but I have become known as the Executioner. Something did indeed snap inside me that fateful day. I won’t hesitate to kill, maim, or hurt anyone—but never without reason. But when I do, that broken part of me comes out to play in the most twisted, ruthless, and brutal way possible.
I know I’m fucked up in the head. I can switch my demeanor from one mood to another in seconds, giving those around me whiplash. I can’t help it. It’s like the sane and insane parts of me fight for control sometimes.
Contrary to popular belief, I don’t take pleasure in causing pain; I simply act when it’s necessary. I follow my own twisted sense of morals—a careful balance of right and wrong. I protect those I care about. As long as no one opposes or offends me, I take care of you. It’s a well-balanced façade I’ve managed to maintain.
The city is carved into two territories, and we’ve stayed out of each other’s way. But it’s a fragile truce, and Nate’s sudden reappearance a year ago reminded me just how easily it can shatter.
I still remember the day he walked into my territory like he belonged there. No fanfare, no warning, just that slow, deliberate swagger of his, as if he hadn’t been gone for years. That day wasn’t about power or territory. It was about sending a message. A reminder. And ever since, I’ve been more on guard than ever. Because Nate doesn’t just threaten my streets or my empire—he threatens the foundation I’ve built to protect the people I care about.
