Chapter 2 - The Breach at the Neon Harbor Club
The bouncer’s hand hovered near his belt, his eyes darting between Dominic Vale’s freezing gray gaze and the towering bulk of Miles Carter standing right behind him.
The Neon Harbor Club was Silas Harrow’s crown jewel—a neon-lit labyrinth of thumping bass, damp concrete, and underground vices tucked beneath the Ravensport bridge. Every square inch of the venue belonged to Harrow, a man who measured his territory in blood and debt. Walking into it uninvited with only two men was practically an invitation to a firing squad.
“I’m going to ask you once,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into a register that made the bouncer’s fingers freeze on his belt. “Where are the restrooms?”
“Mister Vale, you can’t just—”
Miles didn’t wait for permission. His massive hand locked onto the bouncer’s collar, lifting the man off his feet and slamming him sideways against the reinforced brick exterior with a dull thud that rattled the glass of the front window.
“The boss asked a question,” Miles rumbled, his voice completely level.
“Down the hall, past the VIP lounge, left by the bar,” the bouncer choked out, his face turning pale as he recognized the sheer, unyielding lethality radiating from Dominic.
Dominic didn’t look back. He strode past the heavy velvet curtains and entered the club.
The air inside was thick with the scent of spilled alcohol, cheap perfume, and artificial smoke. Bass shook the floorboards, vibrating through Dominic’s shoes as he cut through the crowd. Drunk patrons swayed and bumped into him, only to recoil instantly when they caught a glimpse of his face. People didn't cross Dominic Vale in Ravensport; they parted for him like water before the bow of an icebreaker.
He kept his hand pressed against the inside pocket of his coat, feeling the faint, rhythmic sound of Claire’s breathing through the active phone call.
“Dominic...” her voice whispered in his ear, breathless and laced with mounting panic. “He’s... he’s prying the lock off the stall door. I can hear the metal bending.”
“Hold on,” Dominic said under his breath, quickening his pace.
He rounded the corner past the glowing neon sign pointing toward the restrooms. A second bouncer stepped out from the hallway, his hand sliding toward a concealed firearm.
Dominic didn't break stride. He closed the distance in a fraction of a second, his right hand shooting out to grab the bouncer’s wrist, pinning it against the wall with bone-crushing force while his left hand struck hard beneath the man’s jaw. The bouncer’s eyes rolled back before he hit the tile floor, unconscious before he even realized he was under attack.
Miles vaulted over the falling body, covering the rear as Dominic reached the heavy wooden door of the women’s restroom.
Inside, the sound was unmistakable: the metallic shriek of a latch tearing out of its socket, followed by a sharp, terrified cry from Claire.
Dominic raised his right boot and slammed it directly into the center of the door, right beside the brass knob.
Wood splintered. The frame groaned.
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He kicked it a second time with ferocious, unstoppable force.
The door blew inward, crashing against the tiled wall with a deafening roar.
