The Brutal Revenge

Chapter 5: The Battle for Power

The sun had barely dipped below the horizon when Jones entered the building’s lobby. The air was thick with tension, the walls reverberating with the low hum of whispers. People moved through the hallways in hurried, purposeful strides, avoiding eye contact. Word had spread fast, Jones was here, and Clinton wasn’t happy about it.

Inside the meeting room, Clinton sat at the far end of the long, polished table, flanked by his most trusted members. His cold eyes locked on Jones as he entered. A single flicker of recognition passed between them, but neither spoke.

Jones had known this moment would come. It had been inevitable. The fight for control of the college was no longer a matter of negotiation. This was war.

Clinton spoke first, his voice dripping with disdain. "I was wondering when you’d finally show up, Jones. Thought you were smarter than this."

Jones didn’t flinch, his posture straightening. “I’m not here for your games, Clinton. You’ve been running things into the ground long enough.”

Clinton’s lips twisted into a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "You think you can take it all? You think you can outsmart me? This is my domain, Jones. You’re just another pawn."

The words were sharp, but Jones wasn’t fazed. He had fought too many battles to be intimidated by threats. He’d learned long ago that Clinton’s power came from fear and control, two things that were now slipping from his grasp.

“We’re done with your reign," Jones shot back, his voice steady, carrying the weight of the declaration. "It’s time to take what’s ours."

Clinton stood abruptly, slamming his palm on the table. His eyes narrowed with fury, but Jones stood his ground, unwavering. The moment had arrived. There was no turning back now.

“You think you can just take control of everything? Let me remind you of something, Jones,” Clinton said, his voice low and menacing. "You’re nothing without your people, and you don’t have nearly as many supporters as you think."

Jones’ heart raced, but his gaze never wavered. “I don’t need all of them. I just need the right ones.”

Clinton’s laugh echoed through the room, an eerie sound that sent a chill down the spines of everyone present. “You’re delusional if you think you have what it takes to challenge me. You’ve barely made a dent.”

Suddenly, the doors to the meeting room burst open, and two of Clinton’s men stormed in. Without a word, they moved to grab Jones, but he was ready. In one fluid motion, Jones ducked, spinning to the side. He slammed his fist into the first man’s ribcage, sending him crashing into the wall. The second man lunged, but Jones was faster. He ducked low, sweeping the man’s legs out from under him and sending him sprawling across the floor.

The room erupted into chaos. Chairs scraped against the floor, and voices rose in angry shouts. Clinton’s supporters surged forward, but Jones wasn’t alone. His own men burst into the room, filling the doorway like a flood of reinforcements. The clash of bodies and shouted commands filled the air, but Jones kept his eyes locked on Clinton, whose expression had darkened into something far more dangerous.

“You think this is a fight you can win, Jones? You’ll regret this,” Clinton hissed, his voice now laced with venom.

But Jones was already moving, his hand reaching for the blade hidden beneath his jacket. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to fight dirty, and it wouldn’t be the last. He slid the knife out in a fluid motion, the steel glinting in the dim light.

Clinton’s eyes flickered toward the weapon, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he drew his own weapon, a sleek, black handgun and pointed it squarely at Jones.

The air in the room seemed to freeze as the two men stared each other down, both poised for the next move. The tension was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Jones,” Clinton sneered. “One wrong move, and I’ll have you buried before the sun rises tomorrow.”

Jones’ lips curled into a grim smile. “You’ve been threatening me for too long, Clinton. But it’s over. This time, it’s not just talk.”

Without another word, Clinton pulled the trigger.

Time seemed to slow. Jones ducked just as the bullet flew past him, the sound of it whipping through the air like a predator in flight. He dove forward, spinning to the side to avoid another shot, but Clinton was relentless. The room was a blur of chaos—clashing bodies, shouts, and the sounds of weapons being drawn.

But Jones had already closed the distance. In a blur of motion, he surged forward, locking his hand around Clinton’s wrist and twisting the gun from his grasp. Clinton growled in frustration, but Jones was faster. He drove his knee into Clinton’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him, and sent him sprawling backward.

Jones stood over him, his knife at the ready, eyes burning with fury. “This is your last chance. Step down, Clinton.”

Clinton’s eyes were wild, filled with rage, but he knew he was beaten. The power he had clung to for so long was slipping through his fingers, and he had no way to stop it. His followers, seeing the tides turn, hesitated. The room was silent, the weight of the moment hanging in the air like a storm ready to break.

“Last chance, Clinton,” Jones repeated, his voice cold and final.

Clinton glared up at him, a mix of pride and defiance in his gaze. But then, slowly, he dropped his shoulders in defeat. He knew the fight was over. Jones had won.

Jones didn’t hesitate. He raised the blade, ready to finish what they’d started. But just as the moment stretched on, a voice rang out from the back of the room.

“Wait!”

Jones paused, his grip tightening around the hilt of the knife. He turned to see one of Clinton’s top men step forward, his expression filled with uncertainty.

"Don’t make a mistake you can’t undo,” the man said, his voice trembling slightly.

The room was still, everyone waiting for Jones’ next move. The final decision hung in the balance. Would he end Clinton’s reign right here, or would he show mercy?

Jones' eyes flickered between Clinton and the man before him. A deep breath escaped his lips as he made his choice.

The tension in the room remained thick, but the outcome was clear. Jones had taken control.