Chapter 1 The night exploded without warning.
Gunfire ripped through the alley beside King's Palace, sharp and wild, shattering glass and sending screams crashing into the dark. Neon lights flickered as bodies scattered, heels slipping, drinks spilling, prayers muttered too late. Marcus King stood in the open, unfazed, jacket off, white shirt already stained red that wasn't his.
He lifted his gun calmly and fired twice.
One man dropped. Another stumbled back into the wall, clutching his stomach as blood painted the bricks. Marcus didn't blink. His jaw was tight, eyes cold, calculating. This wasn't chaos. This was business going wrong, and he hated loose ends.
"Move," he barked.
His men reacted instantly. Crow dragged one wounded shooter away while others secured the entrance. Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder, closer. Marcus scanned the street, heart steady, mind sharp. Rival colors. Victor Hale's people. Bold move. Stupid too.
Marcus stepped over broken glass and grabbed the dying man by the collar.
"Who sent you," he asked quietly.
The man coughed, blood bubbling at his lips. "Church… street… all burns the same," he spat, then went limp.
Marcus released him with a grimace. Something about the words lingered, scratching at him like a warning he didn't ask for.
"Clean it," he ordered. "We're gone."
They vanished before the police arrived, leaving silence and fear behind.
Across town, church bells rang.
Tina Williams was already late.
She hurried down the quiet street, Bible tucked against her chest, breath uneven as she glanced at her phone. Evening service had run long, her father's voice still echoing in her head about obedience and walking the narrow path. She hated being out this late, hated the way darkness pressed in.
A car sped past too fast, tires screeching.
Tina flinched.
She crossed herself instinctively and whispered a prayer. The city felt different tonight. Heavy. Like something wicked had been stirred awake. She picked up her pace, heels clicking against the pavement, heart racing for no clear reason.
Then she heard shouting.
She froze.
At the corner ahead, two men argued violently, their voices sharp with anger and alcohol. One shoved the other. Tina's instincts screamed at her to turn back, but another car roared up beside them and doors flew open.
She stepped back, unseen, breath caught.
Men spilled out, armed, dangerous, fast. The argument turned into panic. Someone ran.
Someone screamed. Tina pressed herself against the wall, shaking, as a body slammed to the ground not ten feet from her.
A gun went off.
She screamed.
Marcus heard it.
The scream cut through everything, thin and terrified, wrong for this place. His head snapped toward the sound before he could stop himself.
Crow cursed beside him.
"Marcus, we gotta move," Crow said.
Marcus ignored him.
Across the street, half-hidden in shadow, was a woman.
No, a girl.
She stood frozen, Bible clutched to her chest like a shield, eyes wide, face pale under the streetlight.
Fear rolled off her in waves. She didn't belong here. Not in this blood-soaked night.
Their eyes met.
Something hit Marcus hard and unexpected, like a fist to the ribs. Not desire. Not guilt. Recognition. As if he was looking at a life he'd never been allowed to live.
Another gunshot rang out.
The girl flinched and dropped to her knees.
Marcus moved without thinking.
He crossed the street fast, grabbed her arm, and pulled her behind a parked car as bullets cracked into metal. She cried out softly, breath hitching, fingers trembling against his sleeve. He covered her with his body, gun raised, eyes scanning.
"Don't move," he said low.
She looked up at him, terrified.
"You're bleeding," she whispered.
He glanced down. Blood from someone else streaked his shirt.
"It's not mine," he said.
Her eyes filled with tears anyway.
Marcus fired twice over the hood, precise and deadly. Silence followed, broken only by distant sirens. His men retreated, engines roaring. Crow shouted his name.
"Marcus! Now!"
He looked down at the girl again.
"What's your name," he asked.
"T-Tina," she said, voice shaking. "Please… I just want to go home."
The word home landed heavy in his chest.
He stood, pulled her up gently, then forced himself to step back.
"Run," he said. "Don't look back."
She hesitated, eyes locked on his.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Then she ran.
Marcus watched her disappear into the dark just as police lights flooded the street.
Crow grabbed him and dragged him toward the car.
"What the hell was that," Crow snapped. "You trying to get us killed over some church girl?"
Marcus didn't answer.
The engine roared and the city blurred past, but his mind stayed behind, replaying her face, the way she'd clutched that Bible like it mattered more than her life.
"Church girl," he muttered.
Crow snorted. "Yeah. Bad sign."
Marcus leaned back, jaw tight.
For the first time in years, the blood on his hands felt heavier than usual.
And somewhere across the city, Tina Williams knelt on her bedroom floor, hands shaking, praying harder than she ever had before, unable to forget the eyes of the man who had pulled her from death and sent her running toward God.
Their worlds had touched.
And neither of them would sleep again the same way.