Chapter 591
Chapter 591:
The SUV plowed through the blockade. Metal shrieked as two motorcycles were crushed under the reinforced bumper. Riders dove into the trash-strewn gutters to avoid being flattened. The SUV didn’t slow down. It bounced over the wreckage, the suspension groaning but holding.
Behind them, the bikers scrambled to their feet, shouting curses, but none of them followed. They knew a predator when they saw one.
Skye looked back through the rear window. Her heart was racing, not with fear, but with a strange, dark adrenaline.
“Welcome to Port Valor,” Alistair said, adjusting his cuffs. “The diplomacy portion of the trip has concluded p>
High above, in a penthouse overlooking the chaos, Parker Hayes stood before a bank of monitors, his face pale.
“He’s here,” Parker said.
Lucian, nursing a whiskey, chuckled darkly from the shadows. “Of course he is. Alistair doesn’t know how to yield. That will be his downfall p>
“He rammed the blockade,” Parker said, his voice trembling slightly. “He’s not playing by the corporate handbook p>
“Neither are we,” Lucian said. “Activate the asset freeze. Let’s see how Alistair fights when his credit cards stop working p>
The morning sun in Port Valor was harsh, stripping away the neon glamour of the night to reveal the grime beneath. Alistair and Skye left the hotel not in a convoy, but on foot. They wore plain clothes—linen shirts, sunglasses, no jewelry except for simple bands. They looked like expats, not targets.
However, they were not alone. Felix and four Shadow Guards, dressed in casual tactical gear, formed a loose but impenetrable perimeter around them, blending into the crowd but watching every shadow.
“We need to see the ground level,” Alistair had said. “Reports can be faked. Hunger can’t. And I need to see which gangs are enforcing Parker’s new rules p>
They walked through the market district. It was sensory overload. Vendors shouted prices for spices, counterfeit watches, and mysterious meats grilling on skewers. But beneath the noise, there was a current of fear. Shopkeepers flinched when police patrols walked by. At a busy intersection, a commotion broke out.
An old man, his skin weathered like dried leather, sat on a mat, begging. A tourist, clearly lost, dropped a few coins into his bowl.
𝘕аv𝘪𝗴аte е𝘢ѕ𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝘰𝗇 𝘣𝖾.𝘤𝗼𝘮
Instantly, three young men in leather jackets materialized from an alley. They didn’t look like beggars; they looked like predators.
“Tax time, Grandpa,” the leader sneered, kicking the bowl. The coins scattered into the muddy street.
The tourist tried to intervene. “Hey! That’s his money p>
The leader shoved the tourist hard. “This is Golden Dragon territory. You pay to breathe here p>
Skye stopped. Her instinct was to step forward, but Alistair’s hand clamped onto her arm. “Wait p>
“They’re hurting him,” Skye hissed.
“Look,” Alistair said, nodding toward the corner.
Two police officers stood there, leaning against a wall, smoking. They watched the assault with bored indifference. One of them actually laughed when the tourist was shoved into a puddle.
“The law is on the payroll,” Alistair said, his voice cold.
The gang leader grabbed the tourist’s wallet. When the old man tried to grab his leg to stop him, the thug raised a heavy boot.