Daggermouth

Chapter fourteenYou Know The Rules

The man’s whimper echoed off the concrete walls as Callum circled the metal chair, his footsteps unhurried. Blood already decorated the concrete floor in abstract patterns, spreading outward from where the elite slumped. Crimson covered his once pristine white shirt—an expensive piece now ruined beyond salvation. Callum flexed his fingers inside the brass knuckles, feeling the weight of the metal warm against his skin. He believed in consequences. He believed in order. This was a lesson in both.

Above them, the club’s bassline thumped through three floors of concrete and steel, vibrating through Callum’s bones like a second heartbeat. Down here, in the basement that didn’t exist on any architectural plans, the sound arrived muffled and distorted—a ghost of the revelry happening in the world above. The single bulb hanging from exposed wiring cast harsh shadows that turned the blood black where it pooled in the floor’s imperfections.

“Do you understand why you’re here, Davish?” Callum asked, his voice betraying none of the disgust coiling in his gut. He stopped his circling, positioning himself directly in the elite’s line of sight.

Davish—mid-forties, thi

“Please,” Davish croaked, spitting blood onto the concrete. “This is a misunderstanding. I didn’t kno—”

Callum’s fist co

“A misunderstanding,” Callum repeated, wiping a fleck of blood from his sleeve with fastidious care. “You truly didn’t know?” Callum kept his voice conversational, almost gentle.

He circled the chair again.

“Strange. Because Marina wears my mark. Right here.” He tapped the spot below his own ear where all his workers bore the same small copper tattoo—a singular rose on a stem, splitting his initials on either side. “Unless you’re telling me you didn’t bother looking at her face while you held her down.”

Davish’s sob came out as a gurgle. Blood ran from his nose in twin streams, disappearing into the ruin of his mouth.

“Let’s be clear about what isn’t misunderstood. You paid for time with Marina. You agreed to our terms. And then you put your hands on her.” He leaned down, bringing his mask inches from Davish’s exposed face.

The proximity was u

“No one touches what’s mine,” Callum said quietly. “Especially not like that.”

The elite attempted to straighten in the chair, dignity warring with survival instinct. “She’s just a Cardinal whore—”

This time Callum didn’t aim for the face. His fist drove into Davish’s solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs in a desperate wheeze. He doubled over as far as his restraints would allow, and retched onto the floor between his expensive shoes.

Callum crouched down to meet his one good eye—the other had swollen shut ten minutes ago.

“Marina has three younger siblings in the Cardinal,” Callum said casually when Davish had recovered enough to listen. “She sends ninety percent of what she earns to keep them alive.”

His fist crashed into Davish’s kidney, a precise blow that made him shriek. The sound bounced off the walls, distorted and inhuman. One of the guards glanced over at them but didn’t intervene. This was business, and business required clear messaging.

“Please,” Davish gasped between sobs. “I’ll pay. Whatever you want. Double. Triple the usual fee.”

“Payment?” Callum scoffed. “You think this is about credits?” Another punch, this one to the ribs. Something cracked. “Marina can’t work for at least three weeks. Three weeks of lost income because you wanted five minutes of feeling powerful.”

Callum slowly uncoiled from the floor.

“This isn’t about money. This is about respect.” He gripped Davish’s chin, forcing him to meet his eyes through the slits in his mask.

“You know the rules,” Callum continued, voice dropping to a near whisper. “Everyone who steps through my doors knows them. Hurt what’s mine, I hurt you back.”

He circled behind the chair again, letting his footsteps echo. Fear worked better when you couldn’t see where the next blow would come from.

“You came into my house, Davish. My house.” Callum spat each word. “So tell me why I shouldn’t cut your throat and drop your body in the Boundary canals?”

Davish’s pupils dilated with terror. “I have information,” he blurted. “Valuable information. About the Heart. About transactions—illegal ones. You collect secrets. I have secrets I could give you.”

Interest flickered through Callum, though he kept his posture relaxed, unaffected. “I’m listening.”

Callum did indeed collect secrets. The men and women that worked in his clubs throughout the Heart shared the things they learned about their clients with him. He kept these secrets filed away until the moment came where they could be leveraged, used for his own purposes.

“Serel Industries,” Davish gasped. “They’re moving supplies through false manifests. Medical equipment and food that never reaches the Cardinal or Boundary clinics. Redirected to private facilities in the Heart.”

Callum’s mind processed this rapidly. This could be useful. Potentially worth more than the satisfaction of breaking another one of Davish’s ribs.

“Details,” Callum demanded. “Names. Facilities. Routes.”

“I oversee the Cardinal distribution network,” Davish said, words tumbling out now that he’d found potential salvation. “Two shipments a week disappear from the manifest after they clear the agricultural customs. The verification codes are changed in the system. They go to a warehouse in Heart East, burn it, get rid of the evidence. The President is pla

Callum’s arms folded across his chest, his fingers tapping against his bicep. What was Maximus Serel up to now? He’d need to dig into this, use whatever contacts he had to collect more information.

He fought to keep the disgust from his expression. Medical supplies Callum knew they’d been hoarding, but food? They were now fully cutting off access to the already small amount of food that made it to the Boundary.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. One of his guards opened it slightly, exchanging quiet words with someone outside.

“Boss,” the guard said, turning back. “You have a visitor waiting in your office. Says it’s important.”

Callum nodded, stepping back from the chair. Davish sagged in his bonds, blood dripping steadily onto the concrete. The puddle had grown considerably since they’d started.

He crossed to the steel sink in the corner, pulling off the brass knuckles and letting them clatter against the metal basin as he turned on the water. The blood melted down the drain, disappearing into the city’s sewers where it would join a thousand other secrets.

He washed methodically—under the nails, between the fingers, up to the wrists. When his hands were clean, he dried them on a gray towel that’d seen too many beatings like this, then pulled his rings from a small dish by the sink.

Each one slid back into place with the comfort of routine—the onyx band on his left thumb, the two gold ones on his right pointer and ring finger, the copper rose one went on his left pinky, matching the mark his workers wore.

“It seems we’ll have to cut this short,” he said, turning back to Davish. “You’ve given me something useful. That buys your life, but actions still have consequences.”

The relief on Davish’s face was quickly drowned out with fresh fear.

“Take one of his fingers,” Callum ordered his guards as he flexed his bruised knuckles. “The one that would’ve worn his marriage band, I think. Poetic, considering where he put his hands.”

“No, please—” Davish’s protest dissolved into sobbing.

“Wait until dark,” Callum continued, adjusting his cuffs. “Then drop him at the clinic doors. The ones in Heart South. Let them see what happens when the elites abuse their power in my territory.”

“No!” Davish screamed, thrashing against his restraints. “Please! I have a family!”

Callum turned his face toward him, something cold settling behind his mask. “So does Marina.”

He approached Davish one last time, bending down to speak directly into his ear. “When you heal—if you heal—remember this: my rules aren’t suggestions. They’re commandments. Break them again, and I’ll take your hand. Break them a third time, and no one will ever find your body.”

He straightened, nodding to the guards. Davish’s pleading dissolved into incoherent sobs as Callum walked toward the door. He didn’t look back, didn’t flinch when the first scream pierced the air behind him.

Justice in the Heart was rarely clean.

The sound followed Callum up the stairs, growing fainter with each step until the club’s music drowned it out entirely.

His workers deserved protection. Safety. The ability to earn their living without fear of men who thought a Heart address made them untouchable. If that protection came at the cost of blood on concrete and fingers in boxes, so be it.

The music hit him first as he pushed open his office door—not the club’s pounding bass but something classical floating from the speakers he’d forgotten he owned. Lira stood with her back to him, silhouetted against the glass wall that looked down onto the main floor, her body held in perfect stillness that only years of Heart training could produce. She’d traded her usual formal attire for training gear—fitted black pants and a sleeveless top that revealed lean muscle she’d built over months of sessions he’d apparently forgotten about tonight.

“Shit,” Callum muttered, closing the door behind him.

Lira turned, one eyebrow arched behind her rose gold mask. “Eloquent as always.”

“Sorry I’m late, Li.” He moved to his desk, avoiding her gaze. The office still smelled faintly of the cigarettes he’d quit smoking three months ago, though he kept a pack in the top drawer for nights when the walls felt suffocating. “Got held up with business.”

Her eyes dropped to his hands, catching on his reddened knuckles that were starting to swell.

“Who crossed you this time?” she asked with the kind of directness that only came from years of knowing his patterns.