“Lev.” Creed’s voice is steel wrapped in velvet, a dangerous combination that means business.
“It is early,” replies the Russian.
“He will want to speak with me. Tell him who it is.”
“Lev’s not gonna like this,” the Russian on the other end mutters, but there’s a current of curiosity under the annoyance.
“Lev will want to hear this,” Creed insists, his tone brokering no argument. “It’s about the Diablos.”
The line is quiet for a heartbeat, just the crackle of anticipation. Then a rustle, like someone’s being roused from sleep—the sound of murmuring, the shuffle of movement, followed by a click as if a door closes somewhere far away.
“Speak,” a new voice commands, thick with authority and the remnants of disrupted dreams.
Creed leans in, his eyes narrow slits of calculation. “I’ve got aproposition that’ll benefit us both. It’s time to push the Diablo Cartel out of Jacksonville.”
“Yes?” Lev’s interest piques, almost tangible across the wire.
“Yes,” Creed confirms, a ghost of a smirk flickering across his lips. “We take them down, and we share the throne. You in?”
Silence stretches taut between them. Every second ticking by has my heart pounding in my chest. Reaper’s fingers twitch beside his blade, and Winchester’s stoic gaze is locked on Creed.
“Is this your move, Royal Bastard?” The title isn’t mockery but recognition.
“Checkmate.” Creed’s voice is a promise.
“Interesting.” Lev’s voice is a growl of approval. “You have my attention. Let’s talk.”
Creed nods once, sharp and decisive. He glances at us, his warriors, his brothers. We’re in this together, each of us ready to ride through Hell’s flames.
“Good,” he says. “Because when the Royal Bastards make a move, we play to win.”
“You’ve finally had enough of the Diablos, my friend?”
“Enough to make a deal.”
Lev chuckles, the sound like breaking glass. “And what makes you think we would align with the Royal Bastards?”
“Common enemy,” Creed shoots back.
“Ah, so it is war you’re preparing for.” He’s not asking but confirming what he already knows.
“War’s already here,” Creed says, scanning the room. Reaper, Winchester, and Justice are all stone-faced and ready. “Just picking sides now.”
“Ha!” He barks, a single, mirthless laugh. “Tell me your terms, Creed.”
“Simple…” Creed presses on, “Your muscle, your reach. In return, we carve up Jacksonville. Diablo Cartel gets the boot.”
“Generous offer,” Lev muses, the line humming with theweight of his consideration.
“Smart business,” Creed counters. “You get a slice of the South without dirtying your hands too much.”
“Yes, you have a point,” Lev concedes.
“Listen.” Creed leans in. “We’ve been underestimating each other. Time to correct that mistake.”
“Underestimation can be deadly, yes,” Lev agrees, a note of respect threading through his words.
“Then let’s make them pay,” Creed urges
