The Ex-Con Who Conquered the World novel Chapter 65

A year inside. A year of eating prison slop and watching his back. Word was, some of the younger guys in the society had started whispering. Wondering if Norris had gone soft. If he still had it.

The men around him rose, cracking knuckles, rolling shoulders.

"Walking into our club like he owns the place? Kid's got a death wish."

"Mr. Burgess is right here, and this idiot thinks he can start something? That's a slap in the face to all of us."

"Let's go. Whoever he is, he's leaving in pieces."

The crew followed Norris upstairs, their footsteps heavy with intent.

At the sixth-floor suite, the lackey who'd led them up pushed the door open. "He's in there, Mr. Burgess."

Norris smirked. "Let's see what we're dealing with."

He strode in like he owned the place—chest out, chin up, that walk that said I'm the reason you should be scared. His eyes swept the room, ready to deliver a line, to set the tone—

Then stopped. His heart skipped. His eye twitched.

In the corner, on the sofa, legs crossed like he had all the time in the world, sat a young man. Smoking. The haze curled around his face, obscuring his features.

Norris didn't need to see his face.

The posture. The presence. That casual, infuriating calm.

No.

It was him.

The world tilted. Norris' knees went weak. His shoulders sagged.

He turned on his heel. "My mistake." His voice came out too high. "Wrong room. Sorry. My bad. Moving along."

He started for the door.

A hand clamped around his ankle.

"Mr. Burgess! This is the right room! It's me—Dawson! You have to help me! That bastard over there—he broke my arm, my leg—" Dawson was on the floor, clutching Norris' leg like a lifeline. His face was a mess of sweat and desperation. He looked past Norris, toward the figure on the sofa.

"You hear me, you piece of shit?! That's Mr. Burgess! Deputy leader of the Celestial Wyrm Society! You see him?! You'd better start begging—"

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