When Aron thought about the Black Hand, he usually did so while trying to forget everything about it. It was a constant struggle to push those memories down into the depths of his mind. After all, it was his old life, a life he had walked away from to start something new. He needed to focus on his current reality, which meant protecting Max and navigating the dangerous waters of the gang world they had entered. But the past had a way of creeping back in, no matter how much he tried to bury it.
However, curiosity did eventually get the better of him during the quiet moments. There had been a specific period in Aron’s life, shortly after he had started working for Max, where things actually seemed to be going well. Max wasn’t in any immediate trouble, attending school on a routine basis and keeping his head down. Due to the deal they had set up between each other, Aron found himself with a significant amount of time on his own. It was during these gaps in his schedule that he decided to look up or try to find any information he could about the Black Hand.
Of course, getting information about a secret group that most people had never even heard of wasn’t as easy as just searching for it on the internet. The Black Hand didn’t have a website or a public record. But he could still gather information in other ways. He started by looking up the specific areas where he knew they had operated, studying the surroundings and local news reports from that time. He was looking for hints—strange disappearances, unexplained murders, or shifts in the local criminal power structure that would point toward their influence.
With his high wage and his current position, Aron had resources. He was able to get in contact with people in the underworld who specialized in information, people who usually didn’t talk unless the price was right. He pushed his contacts, asking the right questions in the right circles. He wanted to know if they were still active, if they were still recruiting, and if they were still a threat to the life he was trying to build.
Only the information he eventually received was completely unexpected. According to the most reliable sources he could find, the Black Hand no longer existed.
It hadn’t just broken up due to lack of funds or been abandoned by its members. It seemed like the entire organization had been destroyed, and the information he received suggested that the destruction had come from within. It was an internal collapse. Most likely, one of the high-ranking members had decided to go against the commander, or maybe a group of lower-level agents had led a bloody coup to take control and ended up burning the whole thing down.
The situation was what it was, and now Aron was left in a strange position. He had no clue who was left alive from his old life, or what they were doing now that their leash had been cut. Getting information on survivors of a secret program was near impossible. Which was why it had taken Aron by complete surprise when he saw someone like Evon using the exact same combat techniques that he himself had been taught.
’The one thing I would never want is for that program to exist again,’ Aron thought, his jaw tightening. ’They say the Gilt Rats are researching into various things? I hope one of them isn’t the same type of projects and work the Black Hand were involved in. If someone is trying to start up that entire program again, I need to stop them. No one should be put through what I was put through.’
Thinking about what Evon was, Aron wondered if the man was considered a failure. And more importantly, if there were plenty of other well-trained fighters like him within the Gilt Rats, this was going to be an incredibly dangerous fight. More so than anything he had faced so far, Aron felt like he needed to be on the top of his game. He couldn’t afford a single mistake.
High in the hills of Notting Hill city, the landscape was vastly different from the crowded streets below. There was an array of massive villas that looked out into the sea, perched on cliffs that offered a perfect view of the horizon. This was a private area, a place for the wealthy that had its own high-end shops and bars, far removed from the grit of the city’s syndicates.
There was one particularly large private manor that had stood there for a number of years, a landmark of wealth and power. Today, this manor was the site of a very special meeting. A large, all-black SUV pulled into the long, winding driveway, the engine purring quietly before it came to a stop. Stepping out of the vehicle were Darius and Jett.
The two of them walked side by side as they approached the residence. There were guards stationed all around the outside, but they didn’t look like typical gang members. All of them were dressed in simple white clothing, almost making them look like doctors or lab researchers. However, their muscular frames and the cold, crude looks on their faces proved they were anything but medical professionals. These were the frontline members of the Gilt Rats, and they were clearly prepared for violence.
Walking through the massive front door, Darius and Jett continued through the grand entrance of the house. They didn’t stop in any of the opulent rooms, instead making their way to the back garden. A large seating area had been prepared for them, and the smell of food being cooked on a BBQ filled the air. It looked like a casual gathering, but the tension in the air was thick.
There were two individuals already sitting down at the table. One was a more frail-looking old man with round glasses. His beard was turning white, and he too was wearing the same type of white clothing as a scientist. This was Roman, a man who held a significant amount of power within the Gilt Rats’ structure.
Then, sitting right by his side, there was another man dressed in a leather jacket and jeans. He looked young, appearing to be in his twenties or so, but he had a presence that was far more intimidating than the old man. The most distinctive feature of his appearance was the eye patch that covered one side of his face, giving him a jagged, dangerous look.
When Jett and Darius came forward, Roman looked up at them and offered a small, knowing smile.
"Ah, you made it on time," Roman said, his voice thin but clear. "I guess that’s expected though, right? Since you guys are the ones calling on us for this meeting."
"The situation is unexpected, and I’m sure we can talk more in detail now that we are all together," Darius answered. He took a seat at the table, and Jett sat down right by his side, his eyes scanning the area.
"The situation is indeed tricky, and I have found out quite a lot of information since we last spoke," Roman continued. He leaned back in his chair, looking at the two leaders of the Black Hounds. "But before we get into the business of the money and the arenas, I want you to meet this man. His name is Skull. I don’t think you have met before."
Darius leaned over the table, and he and Skull shook hands. The grip was firm and cold.
"You might be wondering why I’m here," Skull said, his voice a low rasp. He looked at Darius with his one good eye, a look that made Jett shift uncomfortably in his seat. "But you see, I’m trying to find out something very important. I want to know exactly who it was that killed my failure of a student."