Chapter 5 - A WOLVES' MEETING
At 11:00 PM that night, in a dimly lit, smoke-filled back room of The Obsidian—Gabriel Ashford’s premier nightclub in the Seaport District—Detective Derek Lawson was drinking top-shelf bourbon.
Derek was thirty-four, heavy-set, with a flushed face, thin blonde hair, and the arrogant posture of a man who had spent a decade using a badge to intimidate the weak. He was surrounded by two fellow officers from Precinct 12, boasting about a recent drug bust.
The heavy VIP doors opened, and two imposing men in dark suits stepped inside, shutting off the ambient music.
Derek frowned, setting his glass down. “Hey! What the hell is this? We reserved this lounge—”
The men didn't answer. They simply stepped aside.
Gabriel Ashford walked into the room.
The atmosphere plummeted below freezing. Derek’s two police buddies instantly stood up, their hands instinctively dropping toward their sidearms. They recognized Gabriel immediately. Everyone in Boston police uniform knew who Gabriel Ashford was—and they knew that taking him on meant war.
“Detective Lawson,” Gabriel said, his tone casual as he unbuttoned his suit jacket and took a seat in the leather armchair opposite Derek.
“Ashford,” Derek sneered, trying to mask the sudden spike of anxiety behind a mask of bravado. “What’s a mob boss doing in my booth? You lost, or are you looking to get raided?”
Gabriel didn't blink. He gestured subtly with his hand. Within seconds, four more of Gabriel’s heavily armed men stepped from the shadows, blocking every exit. Derek’s two officer friends swallowed hard and slowly raised their hands, stepping away from Derek.
“Smart,” Gabriel murmured to the two officers. “Leave.”
The two cops didn't hesitate. They abandoned Derek, hurrying out the side door without looking back.
Derek was left sitting alone, his face turning red with rage and hidden fear. “What is this? You threatening a cop, Ashford? I’ll have fifty cruisers outside this building in five minutes—”
“Your phone has no signal in this room, Detective,” Gabriel said smoothly, leaning back and resting his hands on the armrests. “And your friends just realized what you are about to learn: your badge does not protect you from me.”
Gabriel pulled a sleek silver recorder from his pocket and pressed play.
Derek’s own voice echoed through the high-end speakers—a phone recording from six months prior, detailing a kickback scheme where Derek took twenty thousand dollars from a local cartel to clear a shipping container at the docks.
Derek’s face went completely ash-white. “Where... where the hell did you get that?”
“I own the docks, Detective. Did you really think you could steal in my city without my permission?” Gabriel leaned forward, his amber eyes burning with a lethal fire. “That recording goes to the Internal Affairs Division and the US Attorney’s office tomorrow morning.”
“You... you can't do that,” Derek stammered, his bravado crumbling into panic. “You’ll go down too!”
“I won't,” Gabriel smiled—a dark, cold smile that didn't reach his eyes. “I have immunity agreements you couldn't comprehend. But you, Derek? You will go to a federal prison. And as a corrupt cop who beat his wife, you won't survive your first weekend in general population.”
Derek slammed his fist on the table. “Is this about Harper?! Is that bitch sleeping with you now?! I knew it! She’s my wife—”
CRACK.
Before Derek could finish the sentence, Gabriel stood up, grabbed Derek by the throat with one hand, and slammed his head violently down onto the glass table.
The glass shattered. Blood welled from Derek’s nose, but Gabriel’s grip on his throat was like an iron vise, cutting off his air completely.
“Listen to me very carefully, you pathetic piece of trash,” Gabriel growled, his voice a low, terrifying snarl right against Derek’s ear. “Harper Vance is under my protection. If you look in her direction, if you say her name, if you even think about her, I will not send you to prison. I will drop you into the harbor with fifty pounds of rebar tied to your ankles. Do you understand me?”
Derek choked, gasping for air, his eyes wide with pure terror as he nodded frantically.
May you like
Gabriel shoved him back into the couch like a bag of garbage, wiped his hand with a linen napkin, and tossed it onto Derek’s bloody lap.
“Sign the uncontested divorce papers waiting at your precinct tomorrow,” Gabriel commanded as he turned to walk out. “Or start counting your final hours.”
