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
I admit, I got a bit lost in my quest for revenge that I forgot the goal was to get Victor out of his job, not offer him a different avenue. I guess there were no loopholes in the missions after all. The shareholders' meeting Victor called was tomorrow, and all was quiet—especially for me. Literally, everything had fallen into place exactly the way I wanted it to. My dad thought I was doing great by even getting a shareholders meeting called and going after HUG, unaware of my real intentions to get back at Ayla successfully... but I couldn't enjoy it. What the hell was going to explode?! The house? The car? Me? Is there an explosive in my belly? "My stomach," I mumbled. "It's just nerves, young master. Your first shareholders' meeting is tomorrow, after all, and you've successfully managed to get around HUG," Erwin said, his voice calm, but his eyes still scanning the room for any sign of trouble. "Yeah, that's cool and all, but why has Lance Spears been so quiet? I woul
"Quiet, call him now," Jared demanded, his voice low and sharp, his hand tightly gripping the gun aimed at the receptionist. Her hands trembled, and she froze, caught between fear and her only choice. Jared's glare was unforgiving. The rest of the office was dead silent, everyone avoiding making a sound as they tried not to be noticed by Jared. The tension in the room was thick, heavy. "Make sure none of the others make a sound to tip off Lance that we've arrived," Jared added, his commanding tone making it clear that there was no room for argument. Waving a gun, it turned out, was a remarkably efficient way to get things done. And disabling the security and surveillance systems had been so easy that it almost made me question how Jared wasn't a gangster. He had the potential, for sure. "Don't cry," Jared said, his voice softening just a touch. "I'm not interested in killing anyone, but I'm not above it either. As long as you all cooperate, no one will get hurt. Call him and sound
"We'll be executing a search and seizure warrant on allegations of illegal trading. I inform you that you are entitled to an attorney," the man in front of me announced, flashing his badge a little too close to my face. I squinted at his ID, even though I already knew his name—Victor Nelson. This slimy bastard had a reputation. A corrupt prosecutor, frequently bought out by conglomerates to abuse his position of power. In my past life, he had completely wrecked my reputation in the business world. He'd pinned fabricated charges on a garbage disposal company I had a stake in, overstepping his authority in ways I hadn't even noticed until I lost everything. That one move made it almost impossible for me to move up and go legit like I wanted. And now, here he was again. In this life. Just as corrupt. Just as bought out. This time, clearly working with HUG. I exhaled through my nose, keeping my expression casual. "Right," I said, turning back to my phone, feigning disinterest.
Mom was so pleased with how the reunion turned out that she took things a step further—by the end of the night, she had already initiated a hostile takeover of Johnson Hotels nationwide. She wasn't about to let anyone steal her bragging rights. As for Andrew Sullivan? He was demoted from his position as a show of loyalty to Dad. Dad, of course, praised me for handling things so efficiently. But he still wasn't ready to show his face in public yet. He looked fine to me, but I had a feeling it had more to do with insecurity. Debbie's attack had rattled him more than he let on. That was his problem. Mine? Ayla Spears. She was responsible for introducing gang shit into my life indirectly, and I had to get her for it. Thankfully, the system agreed. [New Mission: Defend Empire Reward: Company-wide Acknowledgment Penalty: Investor Dropouts] Good shit. *** "HUG Group has hired some really good lawyers, just as expected," Henry, Dad's assistant, informed me. "They'll spare no
"SHUT UP!!! JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE PRETTY AND SKINNY DOESN'T MAKE YOU BETTER THAN ME!!! YOU'RE JUST THE CHILD OF A MISTRESS!!!!" Sonny screeched. Oh, fuck no. I grabbed Mom's wine glass and threw the wine straight into Sonny's face. She let out a primal wail, stumbling back as the expensive wine dripped down her face and onto her ridiculous dress. "Oh goodness, Jack," Mom chuckled, watching the scene unfold. "HONEY!!!!" Sonny shrieked, wiping furiously at her face. Mom remained calm, completely unfazed. "I don't mind you being jealous, Sonny. I'm used to it. But me and my son can't listen to you insulting our family anymore." "HONEY!!! LOOK WHAT HE DID TO ME!!!! THAT CRAZY BITCH HAD HER SON THROW WINE IN MY FACE!!!" Sonny ignored us completely and ran over to a well-dressed, arrogant-looking man. Oh shit. It was about to go down. I could already tell from his expensive suit and high-and-mighty expression that this guy was trouble. How do I de-escalate a situation? ...Actually,
"When you make your own money, you don't need permission to buy things," Mom said with a vindictive smile, her eyes gleaming as she stared down Sonny. "My son is very good at making money, so I won't tell him how to spend it." Sonny's face twitched. Her breaths came heavier, her jaw clenched so tight I thought her teeth might crack. Then, as if clinging to some last shred of power, Sonny straightened her back and forced a smirk. "The alumni reunion is this Saturday at the Johnson Hotel. Make sure to be there with your husband!" I almost laughed. So this was her plan? She wasn't just going to take the L—she wanted a rematch. She probably thought she could humiliate Mom at the reunion in front of their old classmates. Unfortunately for her, I don't think my mom is a weak person. "Don't worry, my mom will be there," I said, rolling my eyes. "Right, Mom?" "Yeah... right," she said, her tone more amused than anything. "I'll be there." Sonny grinned victoriously, like she'd just trap
I didn't understand it. I really didn't. Even after laying everything out for him—the truth about Debbie, the Roth gang, all the shit they'd pulled—Dad still refused to take action. "You stubborn bastard! I'm warning you! Don't be foolish and focus on your studies!" Dad barked, his voice laced with frustration. "What? Why?" I demanded. It made no sense. We had evidence. We had opportunity. We could take down at least some of them before they ever saw it coming. Why not take the chance? "You think I don't know what you're planning?" Dad scoffed, giving me a sharp glare. "I can already imagine you going around and starting all kinds of trouble. Just thinking about it is already raising my blood pressure!" "Then what about you?" I shot back. "Can you even work with your head banged up like that?" "That's none of your damn concern! I fell—" "You were pushed!" "But I wasn't shot in the head!" he snapped. "Mind your business and go to school, you brat!" I clenched my jaw. He was be
"Name?" the receptionist asked, barely glancing up from his tablet. "Jack Spencer," I replied, trying to steady my nerves. "Name of the inmate you're visiting?" "Deborah Spencer." The receptionist's fingers danced over the screen, his expression indifferent. I tapped my foot impatiently, glancing around. The waiting area was cold and unwelcoming. The walls were a dull gray, and the fluorescent lights cast a harsh glare, emphasizing the grime and wear of the place. The air was thick with a sense of desperation and hopelessness, as if the building itself had absorbed the sorrow of its occupants. "Alright," the receptionist said finally, pointing towards a gate. "Through the gate, then left. You can go in." "Thanks," I muttered, nodding slightly as I walked past him. I entered the visiting room and took a seat, my eyes scanning the room. Most of the visitors were middle-aged men, probably fathers, brothers, or boyfriends. There were a few heavily tattooed women as well, sitting in
Mom's scream tore through the morning silence, jolting the entire house awake. "CALL THE DOCTOR, QUICK!!" My mother's frantic voice rang out, raw with panic and hope. "HONEY!" "Ma'am, please calm down!" "He blinked just now!" "Mr. Spencer! Can you see me?!" the doctor's voice barked, sharp and urgent. I shot up from my bed and ran to the door, peeking inside with my heart hammering against my ribs. "This is a miracle! He's completely woken up from his coma!" Right on time. "He just moved his finger a bit!" Mom sobbed, her hands clutching his arm like she was afraid to let go. I exhaled, stepping away from the scene before anyone could notice me. Slipping back into my room, I collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. This was it. This was the moment of truth. Where did Dad's loyalty truly lie? Would he side with me? Or would he choose his beloved little girl? I didn't leave my room that entire day. Doctors rushed in and out of the house, their hushed voices carrying do