The Million Dollar Janitor

Chapter 11 Shadows of Loyalty

Evan Creed stood in Kane’s tech-filled control room, gun aimed at the silver-haired man who’d just offered him a piece of the Syndicate’s crumbling empire. Voss’s roar—“Kane! Creed! You’re done!”—echoed up the stairs, boots pounding as his crew stormed the factory. Screens flickered behind Kane—Voss’s trucks aflame, Russo’s club swarmed, Elena’s penthouse raided—proof the council was breaking. Ricky gripped his bat beside Evan, tense, ready to swing. Tony, Jay, and Mike—Ricky’s bouncer pals—shifted behind, weapons up, eyes darting. Kane’s calm held, that faint smile daring Evan to choose.

“Pick a side,” Kane repeated, voice steady despite the chaos closing in. “Time’s up.”

Evan’s finger twitched on the trigger—five bullets left. Kane’s words stung—Tommy’s kid, useful, chaos. The South Side hacker turned Syndicate brain had watched his dad die, waited out Hale’s fall, and now played Evan like a chess piece. Voss’s scarred fury crashed closer—council muscle, all fists and blood. Loyalty split the air—Kane’s cold trust, Voss’s hot revenge, Evan’s own crew teetering.

“You let Tommy die,” Evan said, low and rough. “Watched Elena cut him—Hale too. Why should I trust you?”

Kane’s smile faded, eyes sharpening. “I didn’t swing the knife—Elena did, greedy and quick. Tommy was my friend—South Side scrappers, we stuck tight. I warned him—‘dig slow.’ He didn’t. Hale trusted her; I didn’t. Couldn’t save them—saved myself.” He stepped closer, screens glowing. “You’re not them—raw, stubborn. Syndicate’s a mess—join me, we fix it.”

Ricky snorted, bat tapping his palm. “Fix it? He’s a snake—bit Tommy, biting you.”

Evan’s gut churned—Ricky wasn’t wrong. Kane’s backstory rang real—poor kid, tech genius, Hale’s shadow—but his hands stayed clean while Tommy bled. Voss’s shouts grew louder—doors below splintered. Mia’s voice crackled in Evan’s earpiece: “Voss’s crew—ten, armed heavy. Cops circling—move!”

Evan glanced at his team—Ricky’s fire, Tony’s bulk, Jay’s chain, Mike’s quiet steel. Syndicate cash bought them, but they stuck for him—nobodies like he’d been. Kane offered power—real power—but at what cost? “You’re council,” Evan said. “I’m a janitor—why me?”

“Chaos,” Kane said, nodding at the screens. “Voss fights, Russo folds, Elena’s trapped, Marcus hides. You’re the wild card—they can’t read you. I can—South Side grit, Tommy’s guts. Help me hold this.” He tapped a screen—cash flows, Syndicate veins pulsing. “Or die with them.”

A crash—Voss burst in, scarred face twisted, pistol up. “Kane!” he roared, firing wild. A bullet sparked off a server—Kane ducked, suits piling in behind Voss, guns blazing. Evan dove, dragging Ricky down—Tony, Jay, and Mike hit the floor, swinging back. Chaos erupted—bullets pinged, glass shattered, screens flickered out.

Evan fired—two shots, nailing a suit’s leg—three bullets left. Ricky swung, bat cracking a knee—guy dropped howling. Tony tackled another, fists pounding—Jay’s chain lashed, Mike’s crowbar smashed. Voss charged Kane, roaring, “You let Creed run—my cash, my turf!” Kane sidestepped, cool, pulling a slim pistol—pop—Voss’s shoulder bled, but he kept coming.

Evan scrambled up, gun on Kane. “Call ‘em off!” he yelled—Voss’s crew, Kane’s play, all a mess. Kane glanced back, mid-fight, Voss’s fist swinging—missed.

“They’re not mine,” Kane said, ducking again. “Voss’s mad—your hits broke him.” He fired—Voss grunted, arm limp, still raging. Evan’s choice hung—join Kane, end Voss, or run from both.

Ricky grabbed Evan’s arm. “He’s stalling—let’s go!” Tony roared—suit down—Jay and Mike held, but Voss’s crew pushed, relentless. Sirens wailed—cops close. Evan’s earpiece buzzed—Mia: “Exit’s south—hatch still clear—now!”

Evan’s eyes locked on Kane—Tommy’s friend, Syndicate king, cold as hell. “You’re alone,” Evan said, backing off. “Fix it yourself.” He bolted—Ricky and the crew followed, Voss’s suits firing wild. Kane’s voice chased him: “You’ll see, Evan—chaos burns!”

They hit the hatch—Mia’s sedan screeched up, door flung. Evan dove in, Ricky’s crew piling—Tony bled, Jay cursed, Mike panted. “Go!” Evan yelled—Mia floored it, tires spinning past flashing lights. Voss’s roar faded, Kane’s calm lingered—Syndicate splitting at the seams.

Mia swerved, alley tight. “Kane’s got Voss pinned—cops’ll grab ‘em both. Russo’s quiet, Elena’s holed up—council’s toast.”

Evan caught his breath, gun hot in his hand. “Kane’s not done—wants me in. Tommy’s why.” The key—Hale’s stash—burned in his pocket, files tucked safe. Syndicate power teetered—Kane’s brain, Voss’s fists, Elena’s greed—loyalty a ghost.

Ricky wiped blood from his bat. “He’s a creep—Tommy hate him.”

“Maybe,” Evan said, staring out. “But he’s winning—council’s breaking, he’s not.” Mia pulled into a junkyard—safe, dark. Evan dumped the bag—cash, guns, files. “We’re not out—Kane’s right, I’m chaos. We use it.”

Mia nodded, laptop glowing. “Files say Kane’s got backups—cash stashed, tech hidden. Voss’s done—Russo might flip. Elena’s weak—Marcus?” She scrolled. “Silent—scared.”

Evan paced—Tommy’s shadow loomed. Kane trusted him once—pushed him to dig, watched him die. Loyalty twisted—Kane’s South Side bond turned Syndicate steel. Evan wasn’t Tommy—wouldn’t bend. “Russo,” he said. “He’s loud—weak link. We hit him, flip him—or break him.”

Ricky grinned. “Club’s his baby—smash it again?”

“Yeah,” Evan said, splitting cash—Tony, Jay, Mike got stacks, eyes hungry. “Buy more—street guys, anyone. Mia, find his hole—now.”

Mia tapped fast—map popped up. “Club’s locked—cops left, Russo’s back. Basement stash—cash, guns, his pride.” She smirked. “Easy pickings.”

They rolled—city gritty, dawn fading. Russo’s club buzzed—neon flickered, guards light after the raid. Evan led—gun up, crew tight. A bouncer loomed—Jay’s chain lashed, guy dropped. Inside—music thumped, Russo lounged at a table, gold chains glinting, drink in hand.

Evan stormed up, gun out.

“Russo—game’s up!” Ricky’s crew fanned—Tony cracked knuckles, Mike loomed, Jay twirled his chain.

Russo laughed, sloppy—too many drinks. “Creed—janitor punk! Kane’s toy now?” He stood, swaying, pulling a pistol—slow, dumb.

Evan fired—one shot, grazed Russo’s hand—gun clattered. Two bullets left. Russo yelped, clutching—Ricky swung, bat to ribs—down he went. “Talk,” Evan snapped, kneeling, gun at Russo’s head. “Kane—Elena—traitor—who?”

Russo groaned, blood and booze mixing. “Elena—killed Hale, Tommy—cash grab. Kane knew—let it ride. Voss fought—lost. Me—I just played.” He coughed, smirking. “Council’s dead—Kane’s king.”

Evan pressed—cold steel on Russo’s forehead. “Join me—flip on Kane—or die.”

Russo’s eyes widened—fear cut the bravado. “Okay—okay! Kane’s got a vault—north docks, big cash—his ace. I’ll talk—just don’t!”

Evan stood—Ricky hauled Russo up, bat ready. “Tie him—basement,” Evan said. Tony and Mike dragged—Russo whined, loyalty gone. Mia hacked—club cameras looped, stash raided—more cash, guns, Russo’s ledger.

“North docks,” Evan said, key in hand. “Kane’s last play—end it.” They piled out—city waking, Syndicate bleeding. Russo flipped—Voss down, Elena cornered, Marcus silent. Kane stood tall—Tommy’s friend, Evan’s foe.

Mia floored it—docks loomed, cranes stark. The vault—steel, hidden—matched the key. Evan slid it in—click—cash spilled, files thick—Kane’s backups, Syndicate soul. A note: “Tommy saw—chaos wins.”

Engines roared—Kane’s limo rolled up, suits piling out, guns hot.