Billy sat across from Darius Blackthorn, his body tense but his expression unreadable. The club buzzed around them—laughter, clinking glasses, and smooth jazz creating an illusion of luxury. But beneath the glitz, this was a den of vipers, and Blackthorn was the king snake.

  The crime lord leaned back, swirling a glass of dark whiskey in his hand. “You’re smarter than most,” he mused. “You didn’t hesitate to walk into the lion’s den. That tells me two things—either you’re confident… or desperate.”

  Billy remained silent. Let him talk.

  Blackthorn smirked. “You know, I’ve been in this game a long time. People like you? The ones who don’t belong? They either adapt… or they get buried.” He took a slow sip of his drink. “Tell me, Billy. Do you know why you’re still breathing?”

  Billy’s jaw tightened. “Because you want something.”

  Blackthorn chuckled. “Sharp. But that’s only half of it.” He leaned forward, his voice lowering. “You’re alive because they want you alive.”

  Billy’s fingers twitched under the table. They. The unknown force pulling the strings.

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  “You’re going to tell me who they are,” Billy said, his tone like steel.

  Blackthorn’s smirk deepened. “And what do I get in return?”

  Billy’s patience was running thin. “Your life.”

  For the first time, Blackthorn’s amusement flickered. Just for a second. Then, he laughed. “You remind me of a younger me, you know that? Cocky. Reckless. Thinks he’s in control.” He set his glass down, his expression turning cold. “But let me teach you something, Billy—power isn’t about killing. It’s about knowing who to kill.”

  Billy said nothing.

  Blackthorn exhaled and reached into his suit pocket. He pulled out a sealed envelope and slid it across the table. “Inside is everything I know. Names, places, connections. A glimpse into the real game.”

  Billy eyed the envelope but didn’t touch it.

  “What’s the catch?”

  Blackthorn smiled. “Simple. You don’t kill me.”

  Billy let the words hang in the air, his mind calculating. He could take the envelope, leave, and deal with Blackthorn later. Or he could put a bullet in him now and risk never knowing the full truth.

  His fingers finally closed around the envelope. He slid it off the table and into his coat. “For now,” he said.

  Blackthorn’s grin widened. “Smart choice.” He leaned back, the tension easing. “Oh, and Billy?”

  Billy stood.

  Blackthorn’s voice dropped to a whisper.

  “You’re running out of time.”

  Billy didn’t respond. He turned and walked out of the Crimson Club, the weight of the envelope heavier than it should have been.

  Outside, the night was colder. Something was coming. And for the first time in a long while, Billy knew—he might not be ready for it.