Lex slipped out the back door of the gallery, the creak of the old brass hinges disappearing into the distant hum of the city. The cool air bit at his collar, and the alley behind the building was exactly what he expected—narrow, damp, and cloaked in shadows.
Rats scattered near a dumpster, their claws skittering against the pavement. A broken neon sign from a diner next door buzzed faintly, casting flickers of pink and green over the brick wall.
Lex reached for his phone, thumbing open his ride app, when something twitched in the corner of his vision.
He paused.
Then casually Record.
The second the red light blinked, he slid the phone into the inside pocket of his jacket, right over his heart.
He turned just as the first shape peeled off the wall.
Trent.
Of course it was Trent.
He looked the same as always—smirking like he was owed something, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows to show off his knift tattoo. Behind him, two thugs stepped out from the deeper dark—both broad, both stupid enough to think strength was everything.
Lex didn't flinch. "You're early," he said smoothly. "I thought you'd wait until after the board meeting."
Trent's smirk twisted. "You don't really get to set the schedule, Latham."
Lex smiled faintly. "Yet here you are. Right on mine."
The two goons flanked Trent, stepping forward in sync. One cracked his knuckles. The other looked like he was trying to remember how to form a threat.
Lex just adjusted his cuff. "So what's the play? You going to lecture me about loyalty? Or just break a few ribs and call it an accident?"
Trent took a step closer, voice low. "You're going to drop the motion. The lawsuit, the audits—whatever stunt you're pulling with Elias. You're going to walk away, Latham. Or you're not walking anywhere."
Lex's smile didn't reach his eyes. He shifted his stance slightly, planting one foot back, weight balanced.
He'd been jumped before. Beaten, threatened, held at gunpoint. In his first life, he'd lost that fight behind a bar in Queens—broken ribs, two teeth gone, and a concussion that never really healed.
This was child's play.
He shrugged. "That sounds like a threat, Trent."
Trent smirked. "Good. You're listening."
Lex tilted his head. "Yeah. But you should throw the first punch."
Trent blinked.
Lex's tone sharpened. "Otherwise it's not self-defense. And I really don't feel like explaining to Dante why three grown men got hospitalized without legal cover."
That got a twitch out of one of the thugs. Trent's smile wavered.
Lex stepped forward, just a little. "Go on. Hit me."
And Trent—predictably—did.
A lazy hook, meant to scare.
Lex ducked under it, twisted, and drove his palm into the man's solar plexus so fast it knocked the wind out of him before his fist finished swinging.
The thug on the right lunged, but Lex caught him by the collar, used his momentum, and slammed his face into the dumpster with a sickening clang.
Blood splattered the metal.
The last one hesitated. Lex didn't.
He turned, struck low, sweeping the man's legs out from under him and letting him land with a wet crunch against the alley's concrete.
Then it was just Trent, backing up, breath shallow.
Lex stepped over the second body, brushing dust off his sleeve.
Trent's eyes were wide now, no more smirk.
"You've gotten better," Trent muttered, wiping blood from his lip, voice tight with pain and disbelief.
Lex adjusted his cuffs and gave a half-smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I've had ten years of practice."
Trent blinked, a flash of confusion in his eyes.
"You mean ten years of—what, rich boy boxing classes?"
Lex didn't answer. He just smiled—slow and dangerous.
Because it wasn't a joke.
In his past life from twenty-one to thirty-one, Lex had been hunted, betrayed, beaten down. He'd taken hits that broke men twice his size. This wasn't just muscle memory—it was survival.
But Trent? Trent thought it was sarcasm.
That's why he'd already lost.
Before the air even settled, the far end of the alley lit up with the flash of camera strobes. A second later, a sharp voice cut through the dark like a razor.
"Tell me you didn't just cause a scene, Lex."
Dante emerged from the back gate of the gallery, flanked by two reporters in fitted jackets and expensive shoes. One held a compact camera already clicking. The other had a press pass swinging from his neck, recorder in hand and a grin like Christmas came early.
Lex didn't even look rattled.
"Relax," he said, straightening his coat. "I didn't throw the first punch."
Dante raised a brow. "And I'm just supposed to take your word for it?"
Lex pulled out his phone and held it up. "You don't have to."
He tapped the screen. "4K. Full audio. Whole thing's on tape."
He sent the file mid-sentence—just a flick of his thumb, then it pinged into Dante's inbox.
"Take care of it. Just make sure Barnie knows exactly how sloppy his little friend's getting."
The reporters' eyes lit up like slot machines hitting jackpot.
Dante let out a slow whistle, watching the file download onto his phone. Then he turned, lips quirking into a grin.
"My friends here," he said, nodding toward the reporters, "really appreciate the exclusive."
One of them laughed, already reviewing the footage. "This'll hit by lunchtime."
The other gave Lex a nod of respect. "You sure you're only seventeen?"
Lex gave a slow, amused smirk. "Depends who's asking."
Dante stepped in, clapping a hand on Lex's shoulder with a chuckle. "Lex, meet my two favorite paps."
He motioned to the one with the camera. "That's Arlo Cade—writes for The Watchpoint. Likes headlines that punch."
Then to the other, who was already skimming the footage. "And that's Jules Penn, Manhattan Focus. Lives for exposés."
Both offered quick nods. Jules reached into his coat and handed Lex a clean white card, printed in a sharp serif font.
Jules Penn — Investigative Features | M. Focus
If It's Worth Hiding, It's Worth Printing.
"Call me anytime," Jules said. "Especially when Barnie sends goons."
Lex took the card and tucked it into his breast pocket. "Trust me, I will."
Dante turned serious for a beat, voice low. "Want me to file a police report, or keep this off the books?"
Lex didn't hesitate. "File it. Assault. Harassment. Add everything on tape. Let Barnie squirm when it hits legal."
Dante gave a tight nod. "I'll get it filed before lunch."
"Good," Lex said, already checking his watch. "After that, meet me at Elias's office. We've got some update and a lawsuit to tighten."
Dante gave a short whistle. "Man, you never stop moving."
Lex's smirk returned as he adjusted his collar. "Barnie's still breathing. So no, I don't."
With that, he turned and walked down the sidewalk toward the car now idling at the curb—leaving behind paps, thugs, along with the first public crack in Barnie Maddox's glass castle.