The Rise of Mackin Jones

Chapter 40

As the final confrontation with Marcus Wren approaches, Mackin knows the stakes have never been higher. With Wren’s plan to expose his past now in motion, Mackin must act swiftly to neutralise the threat before everything he’s built comes crashing down. The battle for control of the city—and Mackin’s future—reaches its explosive climax as both men prepare to face off in a war that only one can survive.

The game has been played, the pieces have moved, and now the endgame is here.

The night was thick with tension as Mackin Jones prepared for the most dangerous confrontation of his life. His mind buzzed with a single, unavoidable truth: Marcus Wren had to be stopped. Not just for Mackin’s sake but for everything he’d fought to build, for every sacrifice made along the way. Wren had dug too deep, threatening to expose the secrets that Mackin had buried under years of blood and power.

As he stood in his private study, gazing at the city that lay beneath his control, the weight of what was coming pressed down on him like a storm cloud. The file on his laptop, detailing Wren’s intricate plan to dismantle him both personally and professionally, had confirmed Mackin’s worst fear. Wren wasn’t just playing for money—he was playing for total dominance.

Mackin clenched his fists, the tension in his muscles matching the storm brewing in his mind. This was no longer about business or revenge. It was survival, and Mackin had no intention of going down.

Lambo entered the room quietly, his eyes sharp with focus. “The men are ready, boss,” he said, his voice steady despite the looming threat. “Wren’s holed up at one of his private estates. It’s fortified, but we’ve got a plan to get in.”

Mackin nodded, his gaze as hard as steel. “We don’t wait any longer. We take him tonight.”

Lambo’s lips curled into a grim smile. “We’ve been waiting for this. Once we’re inside, it’s game over for him.”

Mackin picked up his jacket, his eyes dark with resolve. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through him, sharpening his mind as the moment of reckoning approached. Wren had crossed too many lines, manipulated too many lives. Now it was time to remind him what real power looked like.

“Make sure the men know what’s at stake,” Mackin said as he headed for the door. “Wren has connections everywhere. We need to move fast, or he’ll slip through our fingers.”

Lambo nodded, following Mackin out of the office. “We’ll lock it down.”

The convoy of black SUVs cut through the night like shadows, weaving through the narrow streets that led to Wren’s private estate. The city, usually alive with the hum of activity, was eerily quiet tonight, as though it too sensed the gravity of the events unfolding. Inside one of the vehicles, Mackin sat in silence, his mind focused, his thoughts a whirlwind of strategy and determination.

He glanced at the men surrounding him—his most trusted soldiers, each one loyal to him through years of hardship, bloodshed, and victory. They knew what tonight meant. This wasn’t just about taking down Wren. It was about sending a message to anyone who dared challenge Mackin’s empire again.

Lambo sat beside him, his face as unreadable as ever, but the flicker of anticipation in his eyes gave him away. “We’ll breach from the east,” Lambo said, pointing at the map on his phone. “That’s where his security is thinnest. Once we’re in, we hit his command centre first. Cut off his communications.”

Mackin nodded. “Wren won’t be expecting us to come straight for him. He’s probably got escape routes, but we block every exit. No one gets out.”

The vehicle slowed as they approached the estate, a massive compound hidden away from the public eye, surrounded by towering walls and high-tech security. Mackin knew Wren would be prepared, but he also knew that arrogance was a flaw in men like him. Wren believed he was untouchable—that he could pull the strings of the entire city from his gilded cage without consequence.

He was wrong.

Wren’s estate was a fortress. High-tech surveillance cameras dotted the perimeter, and heavily armed guards patrolled the grounds. But Mackin’s team had come prepared. They moved with precision, disabling security systems and slipping through the shadows like phantoms. Within minutes, they were inside the walls, undetected.

Lambo led the way, his gun drawn, his eyes scanning every corner for movement. “The main control room’s up ahead,” he whispered into his comms. “We take out the guards, cut off their feeds, and then we go for Wren.”

Mackin moved beside him, his mind focused entirely on the task at hand. The air was thick with the tension of impending violence, but Mackin was no stranger to this kind of pressure. His entire life had been built on moments like this—moments where everything came down to a single decision, a single strike.

They reached the control room, where two of Wren’s men sat in front of a bank of monitors, watching the feeds from the estate’s surveillance cameras. Lambo moved first, his silenced pistol flashing twice in the dim light, dropping both guards before they even realised what was happening.

“Clear,” Lambo muttered as he quickly disabled the remaining cameras.

Mackin nodded, his eyes already shifting to the next phase of the plan. “Wren’s in the main house. He’ll have security close by, but we hit him hard and fast. No room for mistakes.”

They moved through the estate with deadly efficiency, taking down Wren’s guards one by one until they reached the main house. The large mansion loomed ahead, its towering columns and ornate facade a testament to Wren’s wealth and power.

But inside those walls, Mackin knew, was a man who had overplayed his hand.

Inside the mansion, Wren sat in his lavish study, a glass of whisky in his hand, his mind racing through the details of his next move. He knew Mackin would retaliate—he had anticipated it. But Wren had built his empire on careful planning, on always being two steps ahead of his enemies. Tonight would be no different.

Or so he thought.

The first sound of gunfire echoed through the halls, sending a ripple of tension through the estate. Wren’s guards scrambled, their radios crackling with hurried commands, but it was already too late.

Mackin and his team stormed through the mansion like a wave of controlled chaos, taking down anyone who stood in their way. They moved with the precision of men who had done this a thousand times before, each step calculated, each shot measured.

Wren’s heart pounded in his chest as he stood from his desk, his mind racing. He had underestimated Mackin—he realised that now. But there was still a chance to escape. He moved towards the hidden panel in the wall, where a secret passage led to a private tunnel beneath the estate.

But before he could reach it, the door to his study burst open, and Mackin stepped inside, his eyes cold and unrelenting.

Wren froze, his mind scrambling for a way out. “Mackin,” he said, forcing a smile. “Let’s talk about this. We don’t have to do this.”

Mackin’s expression didn’t change. “You made this choice when you came after me.”

Wren’s eyes flicked to the hidden panel, but Mackin saw the movement. “You think I didn’t know about your little escape route?” Mackin’s voice was low, calm. “There’s nowhere left to run, Wren.”

Wren’s smile faltered, his fear starting to seep through the cracks. “I can make you a deal, Mackin. I’ve got resources and connections. You take me down, and the whole city comes after you. We can work together. We can—”

Mackin raised his gun, cutting off Wren’s desperate plea. “No more games. You had your chance.”

Wren’s eyes widened in panic, his hands trembling. “Wait—”

The shot echoed through the room, silencing Wren’s words forever. His body slumped to the floor, the glass of whisky shattering beside him.

Mackin stood over him, his face impassive, his mind already moving beyond the moment. Wren had thought he could control everything and manipulate everyone. But in the end, he was just another man who had underestimated Mackin Jones.

Lambo entered the room, his gun still drawn, though the fight was over. “It’s done,” he said quietly, looking down at Wren’s lifeless body. “The estate’s clear. No one else left.”

Mackin nodded, holstering his gun. “Make sure there’s no trace. I don’t want this coming back to us.”

Lambo gave a sharp nod, already moving to coordinate the cleanup.

Mackin stared down at Wren for a moment longer, his mind quiet for the first time in days. The war was over. Marcus Wren, The Raven, the man who had nearly dismantled everything Mackin had built, was gone. But the victory didn’t feel like a celebration. It felt like survival—cold, calculated, and necessary.

As he left the mansion, the night air hit him like a wall, cool and bracing. The stars above seemed distant, indifferent to the violence that had just unfolded. Mackin took a deep breath, letting the tension drain from his body as he looked out over the city that was now, unquestionably, his.

The empire he had fought so hard to protect would stand, stronger than ever. But Mackin knew that this war had come at a cost. He had made enemies, powerful ones, and though The Raven was gone, the shadows of his past still lingered, waiting for the right moment to resurface.

For now, though, Mackin was the king of this city. And as long as he drew breath, no one would take that crown from him.