Chapter 118: After the Fight
Liam half-carried Ben out of the compound, the gravel lot behind them still littered with the aftermath of the night shell casings that had never been fired, the faint smell of blood hanging in the cold air.
Ben was barely conscious, his face swollen and split, one eye completely closed. Blood had dried in dark patches across his shirt.
Every few steps his legs gave out and Liam had to haul him back up. The night air was cold against the sweat and blood still drying on Liam’s own skin. His ribs ached with every breath.
The cut above his eye had reopened during the last exchange with Jack and now leaked a slow, steady trail down the side of his face.
Footsteps followed them at a steady distance, unhurried, never closing the gap and never falling back.
Jack didn’t try to hide it. He walked several meters behind, hands in his pockets, massive shoulders relaxed. When Liam glanced back once, Jack simply gave him a wide
,blood-smeared grin and kept coming.
They reached a quieter stretch of road before Jack finally spoke."You’re tougher than you look."
Liam didn’t answer.
Jack chuckled, low and rough. "I don’t care about the other one. Dexter. The organization. Any of it. I only care about fights that feel real." He rolled one shoulder, still grinning.
"When you’re ready, you and me. No interruptions. No audience. Just hands."
Liam adjusted his grip on Ben and kept walking.
"I’ll take that as a yes," Jack said.
He didn’t ask for a time or a place. He simply continued following.
The hospital was half-empty at that hour, the fluorescent lights overhead humming faintly, a lone janitor pushing a cart down the far end of the corridor without looking up.
Liam brought Ben in through a side entrance and spoke quietly to a night nurse. He left enough cash to cover everything and to keep questions to a minimum.
Ben was taken to a private room, cleaned up, and given enough painkillers to make the worst of the damage bearable. By the time the doctors finished, Ben was conscious enough to understand words.
Liam stood at the foot of the bed.
Ben stared up at him with his one good eye, fear still sitting deep in what was left of his expression.
"Dexter won’t come after you again," Liam said. His voice was flat, stripped of anything soft. "No one from that side will. This is finished."
Ben’s throat worked. He tried to speak, failed, then tried again.
"Why...?" Liam looked at him for a long moment and said nothing.
"You’re getting one chance," he continued. "Walk away from everything. The product. The money. The people. Live quietly. If you go back to that life, what happened tonight will look small."
Ben held his gaze for as long as he could, then gave a small, painful nod. I understand.
Liam turned toward the door. Behind him, Ben spoke again."Who are you?"
Liam stopped. He looked back over his shoulder.
"Doesnt matter."Then he walked out.
Jack was waiting across the street, leaning against the side of a building beneath a flickering streetlight.
A late bus rumbled past between them before the street went quiet again. When Liam started walking, Jack pushed off the wall and fell into step beside him.
"I was wondering how long you’d take."
Liam didn’t answer.
Jack laughed, unbothered. If anything, the silence seemed to entertain him.
They walked several blocks together, Jack keeping a comfortable distance close enough to stay beside him, never crowding.
Liam stopped at the curb and raised a hand for a taxi. Jack watched the car approach.
"You heading home?" Yes.
The taxi pulled over. Liam opened the door. Jack leaned toward the window before he could get in.
"I’ll find you again." His grin widened. "Don’t worry. I’ll wait until you’re healed."
Liam said nothing. He got in, and the taxi pulled away. For a moment he let himself think Jack might actually let this end here.
He was wrong.
The city had gone quiet by the time the taxi carried him most of the way home, neon signs sliding across the windows as the car passed rows of closed storefronts and the occasional late-night diner still lit, a single figure hunched over a counter visible through the glass as they went by. Liam paid the driver and walked the final stretch himself.
The private road leading toward the villa was empty, tall trees lining both sides in dark, uneven shapes against the sky, their branches moving faintly overhead in a wind he could barely feel. He could already see the gates in the distance when he heard footsteps behind him again.
He didn’t turn. He already knew.
The footsteps kept pace until Liam reached the edge of the private road, then stopped a few meters back. The gates opened. Liam stepped through, and Jack stayed where he was, on the other side of the line.
For a moment they simply looked at each other across the distance. Jack lifted one hand something between a wave and a farewell. Liam didn’t answer it.
The gates swung shut and locked into place behind him.
The villa was dark and silent, exactly as he’d left it. Liam stepped inside and stood there a moment, letting the quiet settle.
After three hours of fists and shouting, the silence felt almost louder than the fight had, the faint tick of the cooling house the only sound left in it.
The security feed glowed soft green on the wall panel. Nothing out of place.
He went to the kitchen, ran the tap, and watched pink streaks spiral down the drain as the water ran over his knuckles. Nothing serious. Nothing the System wouldn’t handle.
He splashed water over his face and pressed a towel to the cut above his eye until the bleeding finally slowed, the cold porcelain of the sink solid under his other hand.
Outside, beyond the gates, Jack was probably still there. Liam didn’t check. He already knew the answer.
He walked upstairs, each step heavier than the last, the banister cool beneath his palm, and sat on the edge of the bed in the dark. Ben was finished.
Dexter had been left on his own concrete floor. And somewhere out past the gates, the strongest fighter in that organization had decided he wasn’t done yet.