The moment the voice rang out, the once fervent crowd fell silent.
Heads turned toward the villa’s entrance, where a young man stood. He wore a plain shirt, jeans, and sneakers-unremarkable except for the pale, gaunt face that betrayed signs of malnourishment. He looked no older than twenty-five.
“Who the hell are you?” someone in the crowd barked, their voice brimming with hostility.
The young man didn’t respond. He stood motionless, his dark eyes scanning the gathering with a cold detachment that made the tension in the air thicken.
The villa was massive. Even with over a thousand people packed into its courtyard, the space didn’t feel cramped. Yet, all the attention had now shifted to the lone figure at the entrance.
Through the dense crowd, Dennis finally spotted him. His eyes widened, and he pointed with a trembling finger. “It’s him! That’s the guy!” he cried out, his voice a mix of disbelief and exhilaration.
Dennis pushed through the crowd, moving toward the man with hurried steps. The hulking Mr. Roberts followed close behind, his towering frame cutting through the masses like a ship through water. The crowd instinctively parted for them, a silent acknowledgment of their authority.
Outside the villa, a sleek Porsche idled by the curb. The doors opened, and two men stepped out, their rounded bodies jiggling with each step.
George Philips glanced at his companion, Asher Peters, his brow furrowed. “You’re sure it’s him?”
Asher nodded, his face twisted with a mix of anger and satisfaction. “I’d recognize him anywhere. That’s definitely him.”
As he spoke, Asher’s fingers brushed the bruise on his cheek-a painful reminder of their last encounter with Kayden. His anger simmered just beneath the surface, hot and volatile.
George’s frown deepened. He hadn’t forgotten either. The humiliation of being forced to kneel by the John family patriarch still burned in his memory. Now, seeing Kayden at the Lloyd family’s villa, questions swirled in his mind. What was the connection here?
“We can’t act recklessly,” George muttered, his tone measured. “Not until we know what he’s doing here. If he’s tied to the Lloyds in any way, it could get messy.”
Asher’s lips curled in frustration. “Messy? You think his backing is stronger than ours? My father-”
George cut him off with a sharp look. “I said, not yet. Let’s watch.”
The two men crept toward a tree near the villa’s gate, crouching low to stay hidden. From their vantage point, they had a clear view of the courtyard.
What they saw left them speechless.
Inside, over a thousand men stood facing a single figure. But it wasn’t a confrontation of fear or hesitation; the young man seemed to have walked straight into the lion’s den on purpose.
“Holy crap,” Asher whispered, his voice barely audible. “You think he came here to die? Like, he knows he pissed me off and decided to throw himself at the Lloyds as a sacrifice?”
George shot him an annoyed look and motioned for silence. His attention was fixed on the scene unfolding below.
Back in the courtyard, Dennis stopped a few feet from Kayden, his chest puffed out and his voice dripping with arrogance. “You’ve got guts, kid. We were just about to come find you, and here you are, handing yourself over on a silver platter!”
Behind him, Mr. Roberts stood silent, his sharp eyes studying Kayden. Something about the young man’s calm demeanor unsettled him. For someone to walk into a situation like this alone… they had to either be insane or incredibly dangerous. And Roberts had learned long ago not to underestimate anyone.
Kayden’s lips curled into the faintest of smirks. “Is this all you’ve got?” he asked, his tone flat, yet laced with a quiet derision that cut deeper than any shout.
Dennis’s face flushed with anger. “All I’ve got?” he sneered, gesturing to the men behind him. “I’ve got over thirteen hundred men here. You’re either blind or stupid.”
Dennis stepped forward, but Mr. Roberts grabbed his arm. He leaned in slightly, his voice low. “Careful. Something’s off about him.”
Dennis hesitated, glancing at Roberts, but his pride soon won out. “Careful? He’s just one guy!” he snapped, brushing the warning aside.
Turning back to Kayden, Dennis growled, “Break his arms and legs. Let’s see how cocky he is then.”
At his command, the crowd surged forward, weapons gleaming under the lights as they drew them in unison. The air grew heavy with tension.
Kayden’s smirk widened. With measured steps, he began walking toward the horde, completely unfazed by the sheer number of adversaries before him.
The first man lunged, swinging a baton at Kayden’s head. Without breaking stride, Kayden ducked and countered with a crushing blow to the man’s ribs. The sound of bones snapping echoed in the courtyard, and the attacker crumpled to the ground.
A machete glinted on the ground nearby. Kayden bent down and picked it up, the blade gleaming in his hand.
From behind, three men charged at him, their blades raised. Kayden pivoted sharply, swinging the machete in a wide arc. A sickening sound followed, and three severed arms hit the ground in quick succession.
Screams of agony erupted, filling the night air.
What followed was pure carnage.
Kayden moved like a storm, each swing of the machete precise and devastating. Limbs flew, blood sprayed, and bodies crumpled as he tore through the crowd with ruthless efficiency.
Dennis and Mr. Roberts, who had initially retreated to observe, stood frozen in place. The confidence on their faces drained as the reality of the situation hit them.
It wasn’t a fight. It was a massacre.
Kayden’s face remained expressionless, his movements cold and mechanical, as if he were performing a task rather than engaging in battle. He looked less like a man and more like a demon-a reaper plowing through a field of souls.
By the time the last man fell, the courtyard was silent once again. Only the soft, wet sound of blood dripping onto the stone remained.
Kayden turned his gaze toward Dennis and Mr. Roberts, his machete still glistening red.
“So,” he said, his voice icy and calm, “who’s next?”