Guardia Negra 소설 & 이야기

some female asks. They knew my name but I didn’t know theirs. I drew a deep breath and immediately caught the scent of a tiger shifter. Which likely meant a Black Widow was here. Not uncommon, there were four packs total that ran the whorehouse. It was a neutral zone, supposed to be safe for the females. “Looking for uhm…” I started to say, as I saw none other than Gabriel Casillas, Alpha of the Viuda Negra.

Ang mga robotic guards, na tinatawag na Peacekeepers, ay dahan-dahang lumalapit, ang kanilang mga optical sensor ay nagliliyab sa kulay asul. ​"Huwag kayong manlaban," ang boses ni Gaia ay umalingawngaw mula sa bawat speaker sa plaza. "Xander Black, ang iyong karahasan ay bahagi na ng madilim na kasaysayan. Sa panahong ito, ang 'Conflict' ay isang sakit na nagamot na namin."

Code. Only someone from the southern mafia would know this sequence. It wasn’t something thrown around loosely either—it was old. Buried. Buried because the people who used it died off, or vanished. I hadn’t heard or seen that code in years. I stared at the note for a second longer. There was no signature. No contact. Nothing else. The message was enough. The White Hounds were Rhett’s elite guards stationed around the northern border of his territory. The Black Sun was the signal used during blood deals—sacrificial exchanges. If someone used this code, they weren’t here to negotiate.

He gets out of the car, slamming the door behind him as he does. "This better be serious," Dad grumbles to his phone. Shaking my head, I start to wonder who the real alpha is between the two of them. "Nightcrawlers. Kevin reported some of these motherfuckers were roaming near the border last night," Alpha says. Goosebumps traveled across my skin as I try not to shoot a horrified look at my Dad. His eyes were still on me. I kept my eyes straight though, knowing if I stay like this he wouldn't notice I could hear them clearly.

"God... What's that?!" The bad feeling only got stronger. The cars stopped by the building entrance. The guards got out of the cars. The majority of them were huge, with tattoos and sunglasses. They looked horrifying, true mafia men! Then one of them opened the door of the fanciest black car, and he got out: Black Jack, the mafia big boss.

“What does that mean?” Ethan’s voice dropped. “It means Marcus, the government…” “…all of them.” “They’re too late.” Noah blinked. “What are you planning?” Ethan looked toward the city streets above. And said quietly— “I’m going to crash the Guardian.” At that exact moment— Marcus Blackwell stepped into the subway entrance. And for the first time that night— The two most dangerous men in Manhattan were only one floor apart. The final battle for the Guardian system— Was about to begin.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫 The heavy rumble of the diesel engines echoing off the limestone cliffs wasn't just a threat to the local grid; it was a ghost from the life Maya had systematically dismantled. Standing at the edge of the stone pier, Maya watched the two armored black SUVs navigate the sharp, crumbling turns of the coastal highway. The vehicles were sleek, reinforced with high-grade carbon plating, and bore no corporate logos but they didn't need to. Maya recognized the specific, customized rumble of those modified engines instantly. They belonged to the Blackwood security detail.

Heavy boots were hitting the roof. "Marcus!" Lucian barked into his localized radio. "Report! I thought the island was a Dead Zone!" "It is, sir!" Marcus’s voice was strained over the static. "But they aren't using GPS. They’re using thermal imaging and old-school paratrooper drops. They’re not D’Amici, Lucian. The insignias... they’re Black-Shield." Lucian’s face went pale. Black-Shield wasn't a family; it was a private military corporation funded by a conglomerate of the Five Families' "Shadow Shareholders."

I threw on my leather jacket and a pair of boots. "Who's first?" Natalia stepped forward. "Alright." I took her hand. She nodded and we disappeared. The cold nothingness surrounded me. We popped back into existence. Hell was hot and humid. I could feel the damp air pressing against my skin. We stood before a black spire of dark obsidian. Veins of glowing gold fire laced the surface of the polished black stone. Natalia dropped my hand and led the way. The sharp spike drew tall into the dusky sky. As we drew deeper into the city, the spires grew taller.

The black horizon of the Pacific didn’t just rumble; it bled. Through the dense, wet curtains of the harbor fog, the silhouette of *The Leviathan* materialized like a prehistoric leviathan cut from matte-black steel. The naval destroyer sat three miles out, a ghost ship commissioned by the absolute peak of corporate desperation, its heavy forward cannons slowly rotating toward the coordinates of the free port of Blackridge. They weren't here to negotiate an asset recovery. They were here to execute a scorched-earth liquidation.