Blackwood College was no longer battlefield, it was a graveyard.The once-prestigious institution had become a warzone, where alliances crumbled, and power shifted like sand through open fingers. Blood had soaked into the very foundation, and the ones who still fought weren’t doing it for survival anymore.They were doing it for control.Jones and Clinton weren’t just leaders anymore. They were kings fighting over a broken kingdom, their crews caught in the chaos of their war. But now, as the tide turned against him, Clinton was left with one choice—one that would change everything.The shattered windowpane rattled in the cold wind as Clinton leaned against the desk in what remained of the abandoned administration building. His crew, exhausted and bloodied, filled the room. Tension thickened the air, pressing down on them like a storm waiting to break.Nate, his second-in-command, wiped the blood from his cheek. "Jones isn't letting up. We lost the East Wing, and he's locking down the

The night was thick with tension as Jones moved through the ruins of Blackwood College, his steps silent but his mind loud.Kayla was gone.One second, she was beside him, her grip firm on his arm as they planned their next move. The next—she vanished.Jones’s stomach twisted. His crew had regrouped, but the moment he realized Kayla was missing, the war blurred into the background. He scanned the faces around him, searching for hers, but she was nowhere.His hands curled into fists.This wasn’t random. This was Clinton.He had planned this.Jones had underestimated how far Clinton was willing to go. The Syndicate controlled Blackwood, but Clinton wasn’t just interested in power—he wanted to break him.Not happening.Jones exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus. If Kayla had been taken, it meant she was alive. And if she was alive, it meant there was still time.But not much.He turned to his second-in-command, Darius. "We need to move. Now."Darius nodded, his expression grim. "You

Jones barely had time to gather his breath before the door slammed open. The Syndicates poured in like a wave of brutality, their eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. Heavy boots thundered against the floor as they surrounded him, their presence suffocating. The dim overhead light flickered, casting long, shifting shadows on the bloodstained floor. Jones knew what was coming. But he wouldn’t beg. He wouldn’t plead. He had survived hell before. This was just another storm to endure. A fist drove into his gut, sharp and punishing, knocking the air from his lungs. His body lurched forward, but the ropes around his wrists and legs kept him anchored to the chair. Another hit. This time to his already bruised ribs. Pain flared like fire. He gritted his teeth, his muscles tensing against the onslaught. Clinton stood near the wall, arms crossed, his smirk widening as Jones struggled. "You really are predictable," Clinton murmured. "Always playing the tough guy." A Syndicate memb

The tension in the air was razor-sharp as the crew gathered in the shadows behind the abandoned lecture hall. Blackwood College had always been a battlefield, but tonight, it felt like a graveyard.Dre clenched his fists, his knuckles still raw from the last brawl. He could feel the phantom sting of every fight they’d endured, every punch thrown in the name of survival. But this wasn’t about survival anymore. It was about vengeance."Jones and Kayla have been gone too long," he muttered, his voice like gravel."Clinton’s got them," Riley said grimly, pulling a knife from her boot. The blade glinted under the dim campus light, an extension of her rage. "And if we wait any longer, we’ll be pulling bodies out of that place instead of rescuing them."No one disagreed. The Syndicates weren’t known for keeping prisoners alive. If they had Jones and Kayla, it meant one thing—they were bleeding them out for sport.Jace tightened the strap on his brass knuckles, eyes locked on the darkened win

The silence after Kayla’s scream was deafening. It wasn’t just pain—it was a warning. A call for help. Dre gritted his teeth, his body screaming in protest as he forced himself to his feet. Jace was right behind him, holding his ribs, and Riley wiped the blood from her mouth, her breathing heavy but steady. They weren’t done. They couldn’t be. “We need a plan,” Riley said, voice sharp despite her exhaustion. Jace wiped sweat from his brow. “We can’t rush in like last time. We’re playing into his hands.” Dre’s eyes burned with fury, but he nodded. “Then we outthink him.” For the next few minutes, they whispered—crafting something fast, something desperate, something Clinton wouldn’t see coming. The room they were trapped in had a single vent, just big enough for Riley to squeeze through. It led to the upper halls of Blackwood College, where the Syndicates had turned classrooms into torture chambers. She’d go first. Find a weapon. And when she gave the signal, they’d strike.