Zeke's Rule(3)

Zeke bent down, pushed his head to the side, and saw the slightly protruding jugular. He injected the needle right into the vein, depressed the shaft, and pulled it back out once it was empty. He could have easily overpowered him now. Zeke wasn’t a scrawny little kid any longer, he’d fought his way to where he was now, but that wasn’t how he wanted this going down. He didn’t need the details of his past linked to the empire he would rule.

He took a step back as he watched the drugs take effect, watched his father slump to the floor, and knew he’d overdose from this. It had been the plan, and everything had gone down quickly. Good, that’s how his past should have ended.

Now he was looking out for himself, for his future, and anyone that got in his way would meet a far worse and less humane fate than this.





Chapter Two





Zeke: twenty-five years old

“You’re in charge of your own fate. You either live life in fear, or be the ones others are afraid of.”

Zeke recalled hearing the words in prison. He did a small stint for possession. Some bogus charge landed on his head not long after he’d killed his father, but it still pissed him off. Zeke had learned from his mistakes, listened to the hard timers in prison, which was why he was now standing in the abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city, staring at the lowlife who thought he could steal.

He’d gotten out of prison and spent the last few years becoming unstoppable. Zeke made allies in men who had his back, but also made sure they were rewarded for that loyalty. The men who were his enemies, he dealt with swiftly, without fear or thought.

“Do you think you can steal from me, you piece of shit?” he asked, taking a knife from the table of tools, and plunging the blade into the bastard’s thigh.

The fucker screamed, begging for the pain to stop. Taking out the knife, he slammed it in again, relishing not only the feeling of power that he held, but the pain as well.#p#分页标题#e#

Twisting the knife left then right, Zeke smiled, and pulled the knife out. Staring at the blade, he smiled at the blood that dripped from the tip.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The darkness inside him wouldn’t disappear. It had begun when he was a young boy—after the first dozen or so beatings from his father. He’d begun to notice the little things. Like if there was someone hurt in the school playground, Zeke didn’t feel a thing. He didn’t care if another felt pain. He was more interested in seeing what kind of pain he could inflict on the bullies in school.

Zeke despised bullies more than anything else. What he did wasn’t bullying; it was business. He took his business seriously. If he let one fucker off with stealing, people would start to think that he’d gone soft. Now, he was building up his reputation; he was responsible for half the coke, guns, and women in the city. His competitors didn’t have a fucking clue that he intended to take it all.

As he’d gotten older, the darkness inside him manifested. Even now, his men watched him, and he saw some of them were a little too squeamish, but he didn’t care. He loved what he was about to do. If he was being honest with himself, punishing scum, like the guy in the chair, was a pleasure all of its own. There would come a time when no one would dare threaten him. He had a plan, a plan to control the whole city and even more. There would not be part of the world who didn’t think of his name without trembling in fear.

Wiping the blood on the bastard’s chest, he heard someone gag. Glancing behind him, he saw one of the guys he paid good money for cover his mouth.

“Do you have a problem?” Zeke asked.

The guy dropped his hand, and for the life of him, Zeke couldn’t recall the fucker’s name. That didn’t bode well for the guy. If he didn’t remember his name, it meant the fucker hadn’t made an impression.

“He stole a grand worth of coke.”

Zeke gave him his full attention. “Really?”

“You can afford a grand to go missing.”

“What’s your name?” Zeke asked.

“Sean.”

“Sean.” Glancing around at his men, he watched them all tense up. “Does anyone else agree with what Sean says? Do you think I should cut this fucker some slack? It’s just a grand, right?”

No one moved. The only sound echoing around the room was from the thief in the chair.

With a nod of his head, he watched as the three men closest to Sean grabbed him and started to hold him down.

“What the fuck?”

“Now, it’s time to send a bigger message. You see, Sean, being a disloyal bastard starts with stealing a grand of coke. Then it’s taking a couple of girls, followed by those girls being forced to hook, and beaten to fuck some disease-riddled bastard when they try to be independent. It all adds up. Before long, it’s assholes like you stealing everything from me. And then I’m wiped off the face of the street because I look like a pussy that can’t handle the fuckers that steal from me.” Flipping the knife over, he ran the blood soaked tip across Sean’s face, smearing the blood across his lips. “Will that money I lose come out of your pocket? Would you be willing to sit in his place?”