Chapter 2: A Line in the Sand

The heavy door creaked as I pushed it open, revealing a room filled with tension. Men and women of varying ages, dressed in everything from sharp suits to casual streetwear, sat around a long, dark wooden table. Their eyes snapped to me the moment I stepped inside, recognition flashing in the gazes of those who knew me, confusion in the others. The low murmur of conversation died instantly. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of smoke, leather, and something faintly metallic. The walls were lined with old portraits, watching the scene like silent witnesses to countless secrets.

I straightened my posture, forcing calm to radiate from me, though my mind was racing. Every step I took felt deliberate, the echo of my boots against the floor amplifying the growing unease in the room. Jason moved past me with a purposeful stride, and I followed him to the front. The eyes of every person in the room bore into me, curiosity, fear, and speculation swirling behind their stares.

When I reached the head of the table, I paused, letting the moment stretch out. Those who knew who I was rose immediately, standing as a show of respect. Others remained seated, unsure of the protocol. I gave a curt nod, allowing them to sit. My gaze swept across the room, and though I tried to mask my emotions, I faltered slightly as my eyes landed on three faces I hadn’t expected. Max, Drake, and Ryan. They were sitting together, their expressions a mix of bewilderment and suspicion. They shouldn’t be here.

My watch glinted under the light as I glanced at it. Time was running late. I straightened up, exhaling softly. "Alright," I began, my voice calm but commanding. "Thank you for being here. For those of you in the know, you already understand why you're here. For those who don’t—well, you’re the second-in-command in your section, and that’s why you’ve been called. You can probably guess who I am, but just in case anyone's slow on the uptake, I’m Eliza Paxwood. I’m the big guy your boss reports to."

The room shifted slightly, some nodding in recognition while others exchanged confused glances. The second-in-commands wore expressions that ranged from cautious to downright perplexed.

One of them, a young man near the back, raised his eyebrows, clearly out of his depth. "Sorry, what?"

I eyed him for a moment, trying to place him. Jason leaned in, his voice low in my ear, "Tim from Eastside, armor.”

I nodded. "You heard me," I said flatly, not bothering to give him more attention than he deserved. His eyes darted down as he mumbled something under his breath, deciding it was wiser to stay quiet.

I scanned the room again, the silence pressing down like a weight. "Normally, I don't like people knowing who I am, or what I look like. But things are changing, and this will streamline certain... procedures." The tension grew thicker as I spoke. The leaders in the room remained stoic, but the seconds shifted in their seats, uneasy with the weight of the situation.

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"What happens in this room," I said, my voice dropping to a near whisper, "stays in this room. What you see, hear, and think does not leave these walls. Loyalty is not optional. Any disloyalty, any screw-ups—" I paused, letting the words hang in the air, "will not be tolerated."

Jason stepped forward, placing a small, sleek briefcase on the table. The metallic click echoed loudly as I opened it, revealing a gun inside. I held it up, watching the confusion ripple across the room. My grip tightened slightly as I let the weight of the moment settle.

"Speaking of loyalty, a little birdie told me someone’s been dipping into money and product in their section. Now, I could ask for volunteers to confess..." I smiled coldly. "But I'd rather not waste time."

Whispers erupted around the room, paranoia creeping into every corner. Faces twisted in panic and suspicion, and my irritation grew.

"Enough," I snapped, slamming the briefcase shut. "I already know who it is. You’ve got twenty seconds to confess, and if you do, maybe—just maybe—I’ll be generous." My fingers brushed over the gun, pulling out the clip and preparing it, every click amplified in the silence.

Twenty seconds ticked by like the countdown to a bomb.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

"Alright then. Jerry, stand up."

Jerry’s face paled instantly, his wide eyes darting around as if he might find an escape. He stayed frozen in his seat, hoping denial would save him.

"I said stand up, Jerry." My tone dropped, ice creeping into my voice.

Slowly, with the resignation of a man who knew his fate, he stood. The room seemed to shrink around him as every eye turned toward his trembling form. He looked defeated, the life already drained from him.

""I had high hopes for you, Jerry," I said, my voice low and cold as I walked toward him, each step deliberate. The weight of the gun in my hand felt like the burden of his choices. His eyes, wide and desperate, followed my every move, but he didn’t dare to speak.

"You had potential," I continued, circling him slowly. "But temptation..." I stopped behind him, pressing the barrel of the gun against his skull. He flinched at the touch, a trembling gasp escaping his lips. "It makes people stupid. And in this business, stupidity gets you killed."

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. The air reeked of fear. Every eye was on me, yet no one moved. They were waiting, knowing what came next.

"Sloppiness?" I leaned in close, my voice barely a whisper in his ear. "That’s something I can't tolerate."

Without warning, I pulled the trigger. The muffled crack of the silencer echoed through the room, followed by the sickening thud of Jerry’s body hitting the table. Blood sprayed across the surface, pooling beneath him as he slid lifelessly to the floor.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Eyes darted away from the gruesome scene, a few trying to hide their disgust, others masking their fear with indifference. But I saw it. I saw the shift in the room—the fear, the realization that I wasn’t someone to test.

I handed the gun to Jason, wiping an imaginary spot from my jacket, as if Jerry’s betrayal had left a stain. "Clean it up," I said, my voice calm, controlled. The cleaners moved quickly, no hesitation as they bundled Jerry’s body into the black plastic bag, erasing the evidence of what had just happened.

I returned to my place at the front of the room, the weight of authority settling back over me like a second skin. No one spoke. No one dared to.

"Let that be a reminder," I said, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "This is what happens when you cross me.”

I hated the messiness of it all. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. But it needed to be done. The new recruits had to know what happens when you fuck up in my world.

As I sat back down, I scanned the room one last time. "I think that’s enough for tonight. Everyone can leave... except for you, you, and you." I pointed directly at Max, Drake, and Ryan.

Their eyes met mine, a mixture of shock and apprehension crossing their faces. This was far from over.