You're a US police officer, what are you thinking about going back to the East for?

After sending the text message, Trey stared intently at the monochrome screen.

Less than half a minute later, the screen lit up.

[Run? If you run now, how are you going to survive in the Blood Gang?]

[Marcus and his two heavily armed bodyguards were killed, and you, his trusted lookout, not only escaped unscathed but also vanished overnight?]

Do you think the Blood Gang leaders who received favors from Marcus will immediately consider you a traitor and issue a city-wide kill order?

Immediately afterwards, a second text message arrived.

[Go back. Set up the scene.]

Find a rock and break your head, or stab or shoot yourself, then lie down near the back door and pretend to be unconscious.

If you are seriously injured, Marcus's death will not be your fault.

Hurry up, if the bodyguards' scheduled communication is interrupted, the Blood Gang will be there to check soon.

As Trey stared at the words on the screen, the urge to run away that had risen in his mind out of fear was instantly extinguished, as if doused with a bucket of ice water.

He froze for a few seconds, then clenched his teeth in pain.

The Mexicans are right.

The Blood Gang is not some insignificant street gang with only three or five members.

In those small gangs, you can simply betray the former leader, grab a gun, and forcibly take over as the boss.

But the West Side Bloods branch under Marcus's command was a behemoth with a tight organization.

Marcus employs dozens of small-time bosses responsible for different neighborhoods. Many of these men are either people who have received favors from Marcus or are die-hard loyalists who were promoted by him.

With Marcus dead, these guys will definitely jump out like hungry wolves to grab territory.

Who does he think he is?

He was just a trusted confidant who handled dark web communications and money laundering for his boss, and he did have a few clever underlings who were always at his beck and call and only listened to his orders.

But he was essentially still a civilian employee and did not have a real armed faction that could rival the other neighborhood bigwigs.

If he wants to take over Marcus's legacy and rise to power, he can only rely on his identity as a "survivor who fought to the death" to win the support of the gang elders who have not yet taken sides.

He orchestrated infighting among Marcus's cronies, and then, with the covert support of the Mexicans, eliminated his rivals one by one.

If he escapes unscathed now, he'll be like mud that fell into his crotch—even if it's not excrement, it'll still be excrement. The first person the entire gang will want to tear him apart alive will definitely be him.

At that point, the Mexicans wouldn't go to war with the Blood Gang branch for a dead dog that had lost its usefulness.

"Fuck you..."

Trey turned off his phone and shoved it back into the hidden compartment under the seat.

He took a deep breath and rubbed his stiff cheeks vigorously with both hands.

I can't leave. I have to go back and suffer again.

Trey pushed open the car door, glanced at the desolate safe house in the distance, gritted his teeth, and like an unlucky man heading to his execution, turned and walked back towards the backyard.

……

In Seattle's South Side, there's a car repair shop that appears to have already closed down.

The private office at the back of the repair shop was filled with the smell of a mixture of engine oil and cheap coffee.

Maria was slumped in a worn-out swivel chair as if she had no bones, her legs casually propped up on a desk covered with machine repair orders.

She was a 29-year-old Latina woman with short, neat black hair. She was wearing a dark blue jumpsuit stained with oil, but the top half of the jumpsuit had been casually peeled off and tied around her waist. She was only wearing a tight black tank top on her upper body, revealing two firm, toned arms.

Maria was a notorious ruthless figure in the Sinaloa Group's Seattle periphery network.

She draws her gun incredibly fast, and in close combat, her body is as flexible as a snake. She once single-handedly took down three burly gangsters in a minute using only a car wrench.

But normally, she always gives her subordinates the impression of being lazy and unenthusiastic about everything.

He always had an unlit Marlboro cigarette dangling from his mouth, swaying it up and down.

She didn't seem to have any so-called fanatical loyalty to the group's senior executives in Mexico. They always talked about commissions and vacations, and she was just doing things for money.

"drop."

Maria took out a phone, edited the somewhat incoherent message Trey had just sent, and pressed the send button.

She had to get accurate information about Marcus's death to the senior executives of the group in Seattle.

This kind of matter, involving a power shift within a major local gang, is not something that a mid-level manager responsible for contacting informants can decide on her own.

"What's wrong with that kid Trey? He's misspelled several punctuation marks."

Standing next to the desk was her subordinate, a young Mexican-American named Pablo, who was wiping the machine oil off his hands with a tattered rag.

"He was so scared he almost peed his pants."

Maria, with the unlit cigarette between her teeth, mumbled:

"He said that the cop named Leon Vance killed Marcus and his two heavily armed bodyguards in less than thirty seconds, cleanly and efficiently, like killing a chicken."

"That kid was acting like he'd seen a ghost in the text messages, even the punctuation sounds like he'd wet himself, and he kept yelling that he wanted to run away. I just yelled at him back and told him to play dead."

Pablo stopped wiping his hands, his eyes wide open:

"Thirty seconds? That cop who's been on the news every day lately? Is he really that powerful?"

"Didn't Carlos give us a heads-up a while ago?"

Maria rolled her eyes, put her legs off the table, and spun her chair halfway around.

"Carlos said that Lyon is a tough nut to crack, and he's highly favored by Sterling, the female chief of the West Precinct. He was directly parachuted into becoming the team leader of ACU, and he has a lot of privileges."

"Now this mad dog has taken down Marcus single-handedly, his fighting prowess is truly impressive."

"That kid Trey hasn't seen much of the world. He probably just watched people kill someone from the bushes and got scared out of his wits."

After listening, Pablo's eyes darted around, and he leaned closer, lowering his voice:

"Boss, since this kid's such a good fighter, how about we make a suggestion to the higher-ups? Maybe try and win him over?"

"Our group may not have much else, but we have plenty of US dollars. If we could bring such a big shot to our side..."

"Smack."

Before Pablo could finish speaking, Maria rolled up an outdated car magazine from the table and lightly tapped it on Pablo's head.

"Is your brain filled with nothing but waste engine oil?"

Maria tossed the magazine back onto the table, leaned back lazily in her chair, and spoke with a tone of utter helplessness, as if looking at an idiot.

"Win him over? What do you have to offer?"

"He's a big shot in front of the mayor and Sterling now, a real political star with a bright future. As long as he doesn't do anything reckless, like becoming a spy for another country, he could easily become a police inspector or even a deputy precinct chief before long."

"Are these people, who are at the forefront of public attention, really people like us, who are just scavenging gasoline in the repair shop, supposed to have any contact with?"

Stop dreaming and get back to work.

Pablo, after being tapped on the head, not only wasn't angry, but nodded repeatedly in agreement:

"Yes, yes, you're right, big sister. I didn't think it through and I made a stupid mistake."

He scratched the back of his head, stole a glance at Maria, and secretly rejoiced.

Fortunately, her boss was Maria, a woman with a laid-back personality who spoke her mind.

If this had been one of those mentally unstable underlings from other districts within the group, the thoughtless and dangerous suggestion he just made would likely have resulted in more than just a magazine sniff; he'd probably have had all his teeth smashed by a wrench.

In comparison, her older sister Maria was incredibly kind.

Despite his formidable strength, he is easy to talk to and doesn't take his anger out on his subordinates. The atmosphere here is quite relaxed, making it a model company within the group.

"Alright, stop standing there."

Maria stood up from her chair, stretched, and revealed her perfect figure under her work jacket.

"With Marcus dead, Bloods' territory is bound to fall into chaos. I need to see what the higher-ups think."

"Go and maintain those long guns in the garage. If the higher-ups are going to support Trey in his new position, we'll have to work overtime soon, so we need to start planning ahead."

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