The Unshackled King (by David Wu) 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—"

The motion was automatic. Muscle memory. In Dragon-Suppressing Prison, he hadn't even qualified to give Stefan back rubs. Foot massages were the best he could hope for.

Stefan took a long drag of his cigarette. Blew smoke toward the ceiling. "So, Norris. That guy—what's his name, Dawson?" He gestured vaguely at Dawson. "He said he called you up here to deal with me. Said I should kneel and beg. In front of you."

Norris' blood ran cold. He turned slowly. His eyes found Dawson.

Dawson had stopped moving and breathing. He was trying to process what he was seeing.

He knew who Norris was. Knew his reputation. No one—absolutely no one—talked to him like that.

And now Norris was on his knees. Giving Stefan a leg massage.

And yet here was this kid—this kid—tossing the name around like it was nothing.

"Dawson." Norris' voice came out in a roar. "I will fucking kill you and your entire family.

"You want to die? Fine. Die alone. But you do not drag me into it.

"Do you have any idea who this is?! Any idea?! You fucking blind idiot!"