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Creed

It’d been a few months since everything went down with our twisted-ass father, and I was still working my way through the filth he left behind. His legacy wasn’t just blood and empire.

It was bodies. Secrets. And unfortunately the destruction children’s souls.

He ran a network of predators, masked by business fronts, charities, fake-ass schools. Sick bastards hidden behind six-figure suits and stock portfolios. And I’d made it my personal mission to find every single one of them.

One bullet at a time.

Tonight’s target? Raz Haim. Oldest son of Boaz Haim, a name that still made my teeth grind.

Israeli arms dealer, world-class sadist and collector of exotic animals.

His son was worse. I’d found Raz on one of my father’s encrypted lists—code-named, but clear.

Pedophile. Violent. Sloppy. He was one of three names left.

And lucky me… the sick fuck was right here in Manhattan.

The elevator let out a soft ding as it opened onto the top floor of a luxury high-rise in Tribeca. The hallway smelled like overpriced cologne. Cold light, marble walls. The kind of place that made predators feel safe.

I didn’t knock.

Picked the lock.

Silencer on. Glock ready.

The penthouse was all glass and shadows. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a quiet skyline. A single jazz record crackled low from the corner speakers. The lights were dimmed, casting eerie halos on brushed concrete.

I moved slow, checking each room.

The living room was empty.

So was the kitchen.

But then?—

I saw him.

Raz.

Or what was left of him.

He was slumped in a leather armchair, head tilted back like he’d just leaned into a good drink. Except the blood said otherwise. It spilled from his head, thick and black against his pale skin. A single bullet wound bloomed at the center of his forehead. Clean. Precise.

I didn’t do that.

From the corner of the shadows, a figure stepped forward, quiet and unbothered.

“Thought you were in L.A.,” I said, smirking as Riot emerged, gun still in hand.

“I got back early,” he shrugged. “Figured I’d handle that myself.”

I let out a low chuckle. “Man, I’m glad you’re finally helping clean up Pops’ mess.”

Riot didn’t smile. Just stared at Raz’s body, jaw tight.

“I’m hoping if I take out enough of ‘em,” he muttered, “it’ll make up for the shit I’ve done.”

I didn’t ask. I knew better. There were ghosts behind his eyes I hadn’t earned the right to name.

“You gotta let that shit go,” I said.

He didn’t answer.

That’s when we heard it.

The elevator.

Footsteps. Light. Hesitant.

A man stepped into the penthouse, hands raised, eyes wide as hell when he saw us standing over Raz’s corpse.

“Don’t shoot,” he said quickly. “Please.”

I stepped forward, gun low but ready. “Who are you?”

“I’m his cousin,” he stammered, nodding toward Raz. “I—he texted me. Told me to stop by.”

Riot raised his gun.

“Wait, wait,” the guy said fast, backing up. “I know who you are. You’re Creed and Riot King. My father does business with yours. We’ve never had beef. Please, we can talk.”

“We’d like to keep it that way,” Riot said coldly. “As long as you’re not a pervert.”

“I’m not,” the man said. “But Boaz… Boaz has seven girls chained in his basement. If you let me live, I can help you get to them.”

That made me flinch. What was up with all these rich niggas and their perverted predilections.

“What did you just say?”

“I can help you,” he said quickly. “I know the layout. Security codes. I can get you in. He has seven girls…”

Before I could ask another question—pop.

Riot’s shot rang out fast and final. The cousin hit the floor with a thud, blood pooling beneath his temple.

“Motherfucka,” I muttered, stepping back.

Riot holstered his gun without blinking. “He was a liability.”

“He had information.”

“He would’ve snitched as soon as we left. He was a risk. I don’t take those. Besides, you can’t trust a nigga that’s that quick to give up his people. You could cut off my dick and I’d never turn on my family.”

“Nigga, you gotta stop shooting first and asking questions later.”

“I ain’t got no questions,” he shrugged.

I stared at him.

He stared back.

That’s how it always was with Riot. I thought. He moved. I calculated. He destroyed. I weighed the odds.

And yet… I knew why he pulled that trigger so quick.

He killed Lionel and Pops the same way.

I’d been taking too long. Overthinking. Trying to find the “right way” to deal with our father. Riot handled what he thought was the problem. One clean bullet to the head. No hesitation.

And he wasn’t wrong to kill him. He was wrong in thinking Lionel had disappeared our father, but he was on his way to doing that.

Lionel had already started mobilizing. Trying to rally a coup. It was a war he was never going to win. Thankfully, Riot just got there first.

We’d always been like that.

Two sides of the same coin.

Reckless and righteous.

I looked down at the two bodies. One monster. One maybe-not. Didn't matter now.

Riot lit a joint and blew out a slow stream of smoke.

“If Boaz has girls locked up,” he said, eyes dark, “I’ll free them myself.”

I nodded once.

We were already in too deep.

And if Boaz was keeping trophies like that…

Then the Kings were going to burn his whole empire to the ground.