Chapter 5 - The Escalation
The storm broke on a Thursday night.
Maya returned from her store shift at 11:00 p.m., her body shaking from rain and sheer exhaustion. As she reached the fourth-floor landing, she stopped dead in her tracks.
The heavy wooden door of her apartment—Apartment 4B—was standing wide open. The lock had been kicked off its frame, wood splinters littering the hallway linoleum.
Inside her apartment, two large men in leather jackets were tossing her drawers, ripping open her closet, and smashing her small kitchen table. Standing near the window, smoking a cheap cigar, was Eddie Vance.
Eddie was a broad, squat man with a scarred neck, wearing a greasy leather coat and gold chains.
"Eddie!" Maya gasped, rushing into the doorway, her hands trembling as she clutched her wet canvas bag. "What are you doing here?! I gave you eight hundred dollars on Monday!"
Eddie turned slowly, exhaling a cloud of foul blue smoke into her small living room.
"Eight hundred was the interest for last week, sweetie," Eddie sneered, stepping over her overturned chairs. "The principal interest jumped today. Marcus Webb took over the territory, which means all debt rates doubled. You owe sixty thousand now."
"Sixty thousand?!" Maya cried out, tears welling in her wide eyes. "That's impossible! The original loan was five thousand! You're destroying my sister's life!"
"Your sister is working hard at my club," Eddie chuckled darkly, stepping closer until his broad frame loomed over her. "But she's slow. And you're running out of time. So here's the new deal, Maya: you come with me tonight. I've got a private buyer in the West District who likes pretty, quiet girls like you. One night with him, and I'll clear five thousand off your sister's tab."
Maya backed away, her spine slamming against the doorframe. "Touch me and I'll call the police!"
Eddie laughed out loud, a harsh, brutal sound that echoed down the empty hallway. "The police? Sweetie, the police on this street work for me. Grabs her."
He reached out a heavy, calloused hand, grabbing Maya by her arm, dragging her violently toward the hallway.
Maya screamed, struggling with everything she had, her fingernails digging into his sleeve. "Let me go! Help! Someone help me!"
Right across the hallway, the door to Apartment 4A creaked open.
Tristan rolled out into the hallway in his wheelchair. He was wearing a plain dark grey sweater, his legs resting limp over the footrests, his shoulders slumped as if weakened by his condition.
"Let the girl go," Tristan said softly.
Eddie stopped, turning his head to look at the man sitting in the wheelchair. He looked at Tristan’s pale face, his crippled posture, and let out a contemptuous snort.
"Well, well," Eddie laughed, shaking his head. "Look what crawled out of the trash. The cripple from 4A. Mind your own business, gimp, before I throw you down the stairwell."
Maya looked at Tristan, her face pale with terror. "Tristan, no! Go back inside! Lock your door! They'll kill you!"
Tristan didn't look at Maya. His eyes remained fixed on Eddie’s hand, which was still gripping Maya’s forearm, bruising her skin.
"I'm going to give you three seconds to take your hand off her," Tristan said flatly. His voice wasn't loud. It wasn't angry. It was stone cold—the voice of a man reading an execution warrant.
Eddie’s smile vanished, replaced by an ugly rage. "You little piece of shit—"
Eddie let go of Maya, pulled a long switchblade from his pocket, flicked the eight-inch blade open, and stepped toward Tristan’s wheelchair. "I'm gonna carve your eye out—"
Eddie never finished his sentence.
Tristan’s left hand shot out like a steel trap, grabbing Eddie’s knife-wrist with crushing force. Before Eddie could even scream, Tristan twisted the wrist 180 degrees counter-clockwise with a sickening SNAP!
Eddie roared in agony, dropping the knife.
Tristan didn't stop. Still sitting in his chair, he slammed his right elbow straight up into Eddie’s jawbone. A violent CRACK echoed through the hallway as Eddie’s jaw shattered, sending teeth and blood spraying across the wall. Eddie collapsed onto the linoleum like a felled tree, unconscious and bleeding profusely.
Eddie’s two henchmen inside the apartment froze, their eyes wide as saucers, staring at the crippled man in the wheelchair.
Tristan slowly turned his head to look at them. His dark eyes were devoid of any human warmth—pure, unadulterated predator instincts burning through the dark.
May you like
"Take your boss," Tristan whispered. "And tell Marcus Webb that his time in this city is running out."
The two men didn't hesitate. They scrambled across the room, grabbed Eddie’s limp body by the collar, and dragged him down the stairwell as fast as their legs could carry them, leaving a trail of blood down the steps.
