The whiskey burned going down, but I barely noticed. The rain hammering against my office window had become a familiar sound to me—one I was beginning to resent. The war with the Vultures had been dragging on for months, and the body count just kept climbing. The cops were breathing down my neck, demanding answers I didn't have. My crew—my family—was all I had left, and I'd fight to the bitter end to keep us on top.
But something was wrong. Jobs had gone south, shipments intercepted, safe houses raided like clockwork. Someone was feeding the Vultures intel, and deep down, I already knew who. Eli Roth. My right-hand man. My brother. We'd run this gang together since high school. I wanted to believe he was still the guy who had my back through shootouts, deals gone wrong, and nights when we had nothing but each other and a couple of stolen beers. But everything pointed to him. And soon, I'd have my proof. Not that I wanted it. Tonight, I should've gone to the warehouse to regroup after the last bloody shootout. My men—no, my dead men—were still fresh on my clothes. Instead, I went home. Something told me to. And that's where I found them. Eli, sprawled out on my couch like he owned the place, cigarette in one hand, the other resting possessively on Emily's thigh. My wife. The woman I had built this empire for. "You're home early," she purred, sipping whiskey from my favorite glass. Eli smirked, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray like he hadn't just betrayed everything we built. "We need to talk, bro." I froze in the doorway, fingers twitching toward my gun. "You better start fucking talking fast." "Relax, man," he said, exhaling smoke. "It's nothing personal. Business is changing, and I'm making moves. The Vultures have a bigger offer, and you? You've been slipping. Stuck in the past. It's time for something new." My pulse pounded in my ears. "You're really working with them?" Emily leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder like it belonged there. "And with me," she whispered, eyes glinting like a cat watching a dying mouse. "Why?" I hissed. Eli chuckled. "Because we're all tired of having a fag for a boss." White-hot rage exploded in my chest. I took a step forward, amazed at the audacity. I was ready to paint the walls with both of them, but before I could draw my weapon, the front door burst open. Bullets ripped through the air. I barely managed to dive for cover before my own men—no, not my men anymore—stormed in, guns drawn. Eli had turned them all against me. I had no choice but to run. ***** For days, I moved through the city like a ghost. No safe houses, no allies. Every rat in this town was after me, eager to claim the bounty Eli had put on my head. The people I once protected, made money with, had all turned on me the second it was convenient. I could've gone to my parents. Maybe. But after everything I did, after the way they looked at me the last time we spoke, I knew that door was bolted shut. They said they never wanted to see me again. They were still gladly taking my money, though. Whatever. A week passed, and I found myself deep in the boonies, a few towns over. No one knew me here. No one cared that I was crashing in a stolen tent on someone's property. The old woman who owned the land had found me once, but instead of calling the cops, she fed me. Asked no questions. She reminded me of my mother when she was sober. Kind. Gentle. Which is why I knew I had to leave. She was too soft and vulnerable for a bastard like me to be around. "My life is a mistake, old lady," I told her. She patted my head like I was some lost kid. "You'll only know that when you die," she said. "If you made mistakes, it's not too late to turn your life around." I scoffed. "I'm already in too deep, grandma." She smiled, like she knew something I didn't. "Stubborn boy. I can tell you have good karma coming your way." Delusional. That night, I packed up my tent. As I started down the hill, I felt the weight of the small silver cross necklace she'd pressed into my palm before I left. I hadn't robbed her. That was a start, right? Maybe if I started doing good things, something good would finally happen to me. The rain poured down in thick sheets as I trudged downhill, my boots sinking into the muddy earth with each step. The forest was dense, the trees stretching high above, their branches swaying violently under the storm's wrath. Water dripped from the leaves in heavy droplets, soaking my clothes and making the weight of my exhaustion all the more unbearable. The cold wind howled through the trees, whistling a warning I should've heeded. But I didn't. Up ahead, movement caught my eye. Four figures, barely visible through the downpour. Instinctively, I pulled my hood up, my body tensing. Were they waiting for me? No one should've been able to follow me out of the last town—I was sure of that. "Ugh!" One of them slipped, landing hard on his ass. He grabbed his ankle with a wince. "Hey, that's enough! Let's just set up camp here until the rain stops," another guy said, his tone frustrated but not panicked. "It's not like we can really mess around here," a third added. "Quickly help me up already!" The guy who fell snapped. "Ow! I can't fucking walk!" Hikers? Out here? In this weather? The old lady's words echoed in my head. "If you made mistakes, it's not too late to turn your life around." Could this be my chance to try like the old lady said? I had robbed, murdered, and destroyed countless lives. How much good would I have to realistically do to balance the scales? Probably live the rest of my life in hiding as a goddamn monk. But this? Helping some poor bastard down the hill? That was easy enough. "Hey!" I called out. "Do you need help? I heard you say you can't walk." The four turned to face me, eyes wary. Intimidated. I was used to that. I was a pretty big and scary guy after all.. The injured guy hesitated, then said, "Then... can you help me walk for a bit? We're trying to get all the way down this hill with all our stuff." I sighed. "Today's the day I decided to be a good guy, so I'll carry you as far as needed, kid." I lifted him onto my back with ease. The punk was surprisingly light. Do kids even eat these days? "Aren't I heavy?" he asked as we started moving. "That's why it's important to exercise every day," I said. "You're lucky you have friends to hike with." Lucky. The word tasted bitter in my mouth. I had just lost the one friend I thought I'd have until I died. And the worst part? I never even got to say how I actually felt. Eli would've laughed in my face. I would've been rejected, but at least I would've said it and been able to move on! "Is it?" the kid on my back asked. "Yeah. You guys just chose the wrong day to go hiking in the woods," I muttered. "We didn't though," he said. Something in his tone made the hairs on my neck stand up. "It looks like the day was exactly right, didn't we, boys?" Then— A sharp, familiar kind of pain. A pocket knife was buried in the side of my neck. "Argh!" I staggered as the kid leapt off my back. "Did you see that?! Fuck, I finished him!" He sounded excited. My only good deed was leaving that old lady's property before she got dragged into my mess. That had to count for something, right? I clamped a hand to my neck, trying to slow the bleeding. My fingers came away warm and sticky. "You fucking punk!" I hissed. Amateurs. They didn't even hit anything vital. "Wow, this can't be over all at once," the one with the knife muttered, nerves creeping into his voice. "What are we gonna do now?" another asked. "What do you mean? He's wounded in the neck! Let's just wrap this shit up!" I forced a breath through clenched teeth. "Do you guys even know who the fuck you're messing with right now? Who the fuck sent you?" One of them scoffed. "Are you fucking stupid or something? How do you not know about that huge bounty on your head? We all want $50 million!" Fucking hell. If they were here, how many more were close behind? I had to buy time. I should've played dead or ran but my ego wasn't letting me. "If you go now, I'll blame it on the adults and move on," I offered. "You think we'll get caught today?" "Fuck, this guy is gonna die good!" "I can already taste the money!" Motherfuckers. After everything, after all the power I built—this was how it was going to end? Like some powerless kid again? No. "Fuck!" I roared. "Then risk your life and come at me!" I charged forward, swinging hard, cracking my fist across the face of the little shit who stabbed me. He reeled back, stumbling. Another came at me with a knife—I dodged and drove my fist upward, smashing his jaw. His knife clattered to the ground. One of his teeth followed. "Die!" another screamed. He almost got me. Almost. I caught his wrist, twisted the knife out of his grip, and drove my fist into his gut. He crumpled. The first punk lunged at me from behind. I used the guy I just knocked down as leverage, kicking off his back and tackling my attacker. We rolled a few feet down the muddy hill. I landed on top of him, fingers wrapping around his throat. "I'm not going to fucking die in the boonies!" I snarled. His eyes went wide. He choked, gasped, struggled. Then— "Mommy!" he sobbed. "Save me! I'll just go home!" My grip faltered. Fuck. They sent kids after me? I hesitated—just for a second. Pain exploded in my back. Shit. My fingers loosened from his neck. A second blade. The kid I was choking shoved it straight into my stomach. "Thank god that old lady kept you here until we arrived," he laughed. "She made us a nice dinner." That raggedy bitch! She sold me out. All that kindness. All those words. She sure played her role well. Eli taught me better than to trust someone being too nice without asking for anything in return. But I still let my guard down. "What was it all for?!" More knives. One in my side. Another in my throat. The ground caught me as they pushed me down and pulled their blades free. I watched them run as I lay there, rain mixing with my blood. The pain wasn't sharp anymore. It was dull, spreading, soaking into my bones like the rain. My fingers twitched, but I couldn't lift them. My breath hitched, shallow, desperate. Was this how it felt to die? No gunfire, no glory—just bleeding out in the dirt like a stray dog. I couldn't move, but I could laugh. Not from joy. From shame. A fucking closet case betrayed by his best friend and wife, played like a fool for ten years. Burned every bridge for Eli, only to be his pawn. And now? Taken down by a grandma and some kids. All because I was starved for affection. Because it turns out I was the joke. Because I trusted out of love. Eli never loved me back. The thought tasted like blood, thick and metallic. A decade of loyalty, of sacrifice, of pretending my feelings were just friendship—worthless. My chest ached worse than the stab wounds. If I had another crack at life, I wouldn't fuck it up like this. I felt so afraid that for the first time in my godforsaken life, I prayed. "Please, God, if only I could have one more chance, I'd make the best out of it. I might still do bad things, but I'd live differently than I lived this terrible life! I won't make the same mistakes twice! I'll be the best version of myself this world has ever seen!" Was I really expecting a miracle when I was clearly dying. Mom was right when she said I'd die alone. At least I went out swinging, right? Darkness crept at the edges of my vision, curling inward, swallowing the trees, the rain, the laughter of those little shits running off with their blood-stained knives. My body felt weightless. Like I was already floating away. Maybe this was it. Death. [System Online]I woke up in a large, fluffy bed, feeling oddly invigorated. The last thing I remembered was being stabbed—multiple times—left bleeding out in the mud. But now, there was no pain, no aching wounds, nothing. I ran my hands over my body, half expecting to find blood-soaked bandages, but my skin was smooth, unblemished. I was sure I'd died in the woods. "I just don't feel 32 anymore," I murmured, flexing my fingers. My hands... had they ever been this soft? This small? My skin was paler than I remembered, almost delicate. It felt unnatural. Panic gnawed at my gut as I took in my surroundings. This wasn't a hospital. It was a fucking kid's bedroom. The walls were covered in posters of classic rock bands, the shelves cluttered with trophies and Power Ranger action figures. The bedspread was dark blue, patterned with white stars, and a scratched-up desk stood by the window, covered in doodles and stickers. Nothing about this place felt familiar. Did someone find me? Patch me up? Coul
I left for school on my own, skipping breakfast with the so-called family. If they didn't care about me, I wasn't going to waste my time trying to know them either. Besides, I had much more important things to focus on—like the insane amount of money sitting in my bank account. Apparently, my "dad," Leigh Spencer, ran a massive luxury retail franchise, and my "mom" owned a financial consulting firm. Together, they were almost billionaires. Even this loser kid's personal bank account held a staggering $15 million—all because he got a ridiculously high allowance and never spent a dime. I'd never seen that much legal money in one place before. It was just sitting there, untouched, waiting for me to burn through it. I couldn't fucking wait. "We've arrived, young master," Erwin announced as the car rolled to a stop. I looked out the window and holy shit. The school in front of me wasn't just a school—it was a goddamn castle. It looked like one of those elite European academies
I paid for both of our lunches, not because I was particularly nice, but because I couldn't be bothered with waiting for Damien to fumble around for his wallet. From the moment I saved his ass this morning, he hadn't left my side, even following me to the damn bathroom. It was like I had a lost puppy trailing after me. "Thank you again," Damien said, smiling. "Shut up and get your food already," I grumbled. He nodded happily and piled food onto his tray. I eyed the school pizza. Unlike the cardboard garbage I'd eaten in public school in my last life, this actually looked good. This entire cafeteria was a different world from what I knew. The polished floors, the crystal chandeliers, the gourmet food stations—it was like a five-star restaurant disguised as a school. I swiped my card for both of us, and Damien beamed at me. "Thank-" "Stop saying thank you so much!" I snapped. "But I'm grateful," Damien smiled. "Find another way to show it or something. This is getting really ann
"... and then you solve for X. Does anyone want to take a guess at the answer?" The math teacher beamed at the front of the room, seemingly oblivious to the collective groan that went through the students. Who the hell wanted a math lesson on the first day? Certainly not me. "How about Jack Spencer?" I glared at her. There were clearly other people with their hands raised—eager little nerds desperate to make a good first impression—but she picked me instead. She wasn't slick. She wanted to humiliate me, probably assuming I wasn't paying attention. "It's 45.7%," I said, barely sparing a glance at the problem. For some reason, I just knew the answer, even though, in my last life, I hadn't made it past Algebra I. I guess this Spencer kid was actually smart. "That's correct," the teacher said, a little too surprised. "I thought you weren't paying attention, but I guess I was mistaken." So she was trying to embarrass me? This was exactly why I hated school. Teachers were all the
The drive to Damien's house was quiet, aside from Damien occasionally giving Erwin directions. I wasn't used to silence in a car, especially after the kind of fight I just walked away from, but Damien didn't seem like the type to start a conversation. Annoying. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. His black hair fell over his face like a damn curtain. "Why's all your hair in your damn face?" I asked. "Can you even see?" "I can see just fine," Damien mumbled. "I just don't want people to see me." I scoffed. "Do you want me to see your face?" Damien hesitated. "...Kind of." "Then show me. I at least want to know who the fuck I'm speaking to." I could've said it nicer, sure. But his timid demeanor was pissing me off. I wasn't about to let my only friend turn into some mousy, quiet pushover. He needed to change, and he needed to change fast. "Promise you won't make fun of me?" He said in a small voice. I rolled my eyes. "I will if you're ugly." He looked hurt. "Fine," I
The first thing I noticed when I stepped into the drawing room was my parents' love and hate meters. Both their love bars were full, yet my dad's hate bar sat at 2%. I frowned. If they fully loved this kid, why the hell had they neglected him for so long? Something wasn't adding up here. Dad folded his newspaper and looked straight at me. "So, tell me all about your first day of school," he said. "You did attend, correct?" I raised a brow. Obviously. "That's why the uniform is on," I said, gesturing to myself. "And, actually, it went a lot better than I thought it was going to go!" Cue Deborah's bullshit. She scoffed. "Yeah, right." I turned my head toward her, already annoyed. "Problem, Debbie?" I asked, voice smooth and sharp. "Stop calling me that! My name is Deborah!" she snapped, her face twisting in irritation. Then she squinted at me, eyes narrowing. "Did you cut your brain off with that ponytail?!" Mom finally spoke up, her voice softer but still carrying an edge of
The first taste of ice cream in this body was unreal. The cold sweetness melted on my tongue, sending a chill down my spine. "Oh yeah! Damn, that hits the spot!" I licked the ice cream Damien had bought me as a thank you, savoring every bit of it. I hadn't enjoyed an ice cream cone since I was about five years old and I stole one from the vendor. "Feels like I haven't had good shit like this in almost twenty years." "Twenty years?" Damien raised a brow at me. Now that he'd finally cut his hair, I could actually see his face. With his slicked-back dark hair and sharp, calculating eyes, he looked like a young Lucky Luciano—suave, dangerous, and just a little too refined for high school. It suited him too well, not that I was looking. "Are you sure you're feeling alright? It's just ice cream." "Ah, it's fine, dummy. You wouldn't believe it even if I told you," I chuckled. This ice cream cone tasted so much better without the fear of being caught for stealing it. Before he could qu
Changing in the locker room was... an interesting experience. Apparently, it was my first time actually getting dressed in here instead of hiding away somewhere else. As soon as I pulled off my shirt, the whispers started. "No surgery scars! He wasn't a girl!" "But I was so sure he was!" "He still kinda looks like a girl, though." "Would you hit it, though?" "If he was quiet and it was from the back." "You think Damien hit it already?" "I don't see any marks." What the actual fuck? Before I could turn around and tell those perverted bastards off, Damien suddenly stepped in front of me, holding up a large towel to block me from view. His face was turned away, pointedly avoiding looking at me himself. I sighed. "Thanks." At least like this, I could change in peace. *** Today's gym class was soccer. I liked playing soccer, not watching it. Something about running, strategizing, and taking control of the ball felt good. Besides, with a quick headcount, it seemed like there'd
A week had passed, and no one had found Declan's body. Things were moving fast, and without speaking to my dad first, I took the initiative and bought everything related to McIntyre Corporations. It was a massive undertaking. We had to fire the entire board and replace them with our own people. The financial webs were deep, tracing money from offshore accounts, and the intel I'd gathered? It was a goldmine of blackmail material, exposing nearly every business owner, politician, and high-ranking official in the city. My dad didn't hesitate for a second. He immediately used this treasure trove to his advantage. He worked quickly, killing the news of Declan Sr.'s disappearance so that no one outside our circle would know what happened. My mom, of course, was confused. The official story was that Declan had fled to avoid the scandal, but I later realized something: My dad hadn't lied to her—he just didn't want to ruin her newfound peace. She had taken a liking to Jason, and Dad didn't wa
I couldn't get the system's words out of my head. "You'll soon be too preoccupied to think about it." What the hell did that mean? What could possibly take my mind off the weight of what I'd done in my past life—of Gianna, of Jason, of everything unraveling? [Mission Accomplished! You will receive secret intel!] I froze. That... that would do it. What the actual fuck was going on? I hadn't even made a move toward atonement yet, and the mission was already marked as complete? How? Why? My phone buzzed, Jason's name lighting up the screen. It was nearly 2 a.m. A part of me didn't want to answer—I was exhausted from the party and from... well, everything. But I picked up. "Hello—" "Jack?" Jason's voice was breathless, panicked, and definitely crying. "I—I need you... to come over! I need you to come over now!" He was gasping like he couldn't breathe. "What's up? Is it your dad?" "No! No! No, no—" "Tell me what happened!" I snapped, heart racing. "No! I—I can't actually say—"
{TW: Suicide attempt} The memory came back like a bullet to the skull—sudden, searing, and impossible to ignore. I was seventeen. A parking garage bathed in that awful yellow-white light, nearly abandoned except for the low hum of flickering fluorescent tubes above me. The scent of oil and cold concrete filled the air. My footsteps were quiet, deliberate, echoing through the still space as I closed in on her. Gianna Lionetti. A cloth gripped tightly in my hand, soaked in chloroform. She didn't even have time to scream. I grabbed her from behind, pressing the cloth to her mouth and nose with a vice grip. She fought hard. Nails like razors dug into my wrist, her limbs thrashing with the kind of panic only people on the edge of death can summon. It took a full minute and a half—ninety long seconds of struggle—before her body finally sagged, unconscious in my arms. I eased her down like a sleepwalker, like she was fragile glass. Then, almost robotically, I opened the passenger door,
I sat stiffly on the edge of the velvet couch, hands clenched loosely in my lap as camera flashes exploded from every angle. The drawing room was filled to the brim with reporters—some with cameras, some already holding up mics with eager hands, all of them watching me like a hawk about to strike. This was actually kind of terrifying. The last time I'd been in front of this many cameras was... well, it wasn't exactly a shining moment. I was being perp-walked in my last life, paraded in handcuffs while people shouted for my head. The bright lights, the judgmental stares—it all felt a little too familiar. A woman in the front row leaned forward, mic close. "How did you manage to get such incredible scores?" I blinked at her. "Studying like a normal person. It's not like there was much else to do besides that and work." Click. Click. Flash. "Your first appearance on TV left people with a bad impression of you. What do you think about that?" another reporter asked. I rolled my eyes
Ok, wow. I don't even know when I lost consciousness. All I know is that I've never felt anything like that in my life. It was overwhelming—in the best, most mind-blowing way. The kind of thing that leaves your body aching, your brain blank, and your soul just a little bit altered. Eight-plus rounds. All night. Lust without restraint. I hadn't known a first-timer could go all out like that, but apparently Damien had been holding back a lot for me. I remembered everything. I'm not a virgin anymore either. Every time he said my name in the heat of it, it sounded so damn good—like music tuned specifically to my ears. He loved biting and leaving marks, and now there was an obscene amount of them all over me. My body still felt wrecked. My mind? Still trying to catch up. The first light of dawn slipped through the curtains, soft and golden, casting a gentle hue across the rumpled sheets. I turned over—and there he was. Damien's sculpted torso rose and fell with
"Jack!" Damien's voice rang out, sharp with alarm. Before I could react, Emmett's hands were around my throat, tightening like a vice. My air was cut off instantly, my vision tunneling. He was trying to choke me out. Not happening. I gritted my teeth and kicked his shin with all the force I could muster. A pained grunt escaped him as his leg buckled, his grip loosening just enough for me to break free. Seizing the opportunity, I grabbed him by the collar and yanked him forward. Then I closed my eyes and bit down on his neck. Hard. Pain shot through my jaw as my teeth sank into flesh. Warm, metallic-tasting blood rushed into my mouth, the coppery tang coating my tongue. Emmett screamed—a raw, agonized sound—as he shoved me off him, stumbling to the ground, his hands clamping over the wound, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. Spitting out the blood, I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand and spotted a large rock nearby. Perfect. I picked it up, weighing it in my hands
{TW: violence} Emmett's car screeched to a halt in front of the old warehouse, headlights cutting through the dimly lit lot. I stood waiting, arms crossed, as he slammed the door shut and stormed toward me. His glare was the hardest I'd ever seen from anyone—he sure was pissed. "Jack Spencer, you cocky asshole!" he roared. "How dare you play around with me?! Do you even know what you've done?! You motherfucker!" I smirked, unfazed. "What did I do? I followed the rules," I said casually. "You took the money and ran before the results came out. Did I scare you that much?" "You little rat!" "Only one of us is acting like a little rat right now," I taunted. "I can actually help you out if you ask nicely." "You bitch!" he spat, fists clenching at his sides. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, but his rage was barely held back. "Did you think it would be worth a try to fight here or something?!" Then, something changed. His glare wavered, replaced by something almost de
"Let's get fired up!" Clap-clap-clap-clap. "We are fired up!" Clap-clap-clap-clap. As the football players took the field, the cheerleaders worked to get the crowd energized, their hands clapping in perfect rhythm. "Really fired up!" Clap-clap-clap-clap. The crowd erupted into cheers, and I scanned the field, telling myself I wasn't looking for Damien and Jason—I was just looking. But when I spotted them sitting with a few other players, my stomach did a little flip. "Let's go, Tigers!" Beatrix yelled through her bullhorn. Off to the side, Jared stood in his full mascot outfit—a giant fuzzy orange-and-black-striped jumpsuit topped with an oversized tiger head. When the cheerleaders hit their final pose, he rushed in, slid to a stop on one knee, and threw out his arms like he'd just pulled off the greatest trick in the world. Idiot. The crowd clapped listlessly. A few half-hearted whistles floated through the air. The coach wasted no time, yelling for the cheerleaders to
{TW: Fight} For the past two weeks, we had been attending amateur sports matches, and everything had gone exactly as I planned. The underdog teams were winning—thanks to the extra funding I had helped secure for harsher trainers and last-minute substitutions. Basketball was already over, and the second match had ended in a reverse victory. Now, with only one game left, I was certain Emmett had caught on by now. Desperation would make him reckless. He would most likely send someone to stop my winning streak. Which is why I had come more than prepared. This was all part of the plan—to make him notice me, to make him move first. And I took full advantage of the fact that there was no upper limit on bets. If I kept going unchecked, Beck10 would have no commission left. Soon, they'd have no choice but to inquire about the dividends themselves. The most logical move would be to scam me now, but they hadn't. Which meant they still had someone in their corner, raising the stakes a