Chapter 198 The Wolves at the Door
“Eddieeeee!”
A voice called out from a few feet away, near the velvet rope of the VIP lounge. Inside, Eddie Turner was seated with a girl draped over each arm, his smirk wide, his drink in hand.
He looked up, grin stretching when he spotted a familiar face pushing through the crowd. His longtime friend.
“Paloooo,” Eddie drawled, getting up from his seat. He staggered slightly, and the girl on his left caught his arm. Eddie rewarded her with a lazy smile before fishing into his pocket, pulling out crisp dollar bills, and dropping them on her thigh.
Then he turned to his friend.
For a moment, the two men stood across from each other, faces tight with mock frowns—before breaking into loud, obnoxious laughter and pulling each other into a bear hug.
When they pulled away, Palo clapped a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, giving him a once-over and shaking his head.
“The rumors didn’t lie.”
Eddie’s brows knitted, though he already knew what rumor circled the streets. “And what rumor is that?”
Palo chuckled. “Oh, come on, Eddie. You’ve heard it. Eddie Turner’s made bank.”
Eddie’s lips split into a wolfish grin, about to fire back when Palo leaned in.
“And that’s not all.”
Eddie arched a brow. “So there’s more? What…”
“They said you made bank by doing something on the dark web.”
Eddie’s eyes widened. His hand shot out, yanking Palo closer by the collar.
“Where the fuck did you hear that?”
Palo only smirked.
Eddie’s left eye twitched, but before he could say more, two deep voices cut through the lounge.
“Eddie, Eddie!”
His head snapped up. Two huge men in casual clothes were trying to push past the guards at the entrance. His bodyguards stood firm, but the strangers, bigger, broader didn’t flinch.
The one with shaggy blonde hair leaned forward, grinning past Victor’s shoulder. “Eddie, Eddie. You’re not gonna let us in?”
Eddie frowned and glanced at Palo. “Who the hell are these clowns?”
Palo raised his brows. “How the fuck am I supposed to know?”
Eddie released him with a shove. Palo smoothed out his shirt, shot Eddie a toothy grin, then swaggered over to where the girls sat, making them giggle as he grabbed Eddie’s drink and downed it in one go.
Eddie looked at him and sighed. “Don’t go anywhere. We need to talk.”
“Eddieeee, my man! Let us in!” one of the men called again from outside. Eddie glanced back over his shoulder, jaw tightening with irritation.
Palo leaned back with a smirk. “Don’t worry, man. I ain’t going anywhere.” He draped an arm around the girls beside him, pulling them closer like he owned the room.
Eddie sighed, jaw clenching, and turned back to the two men. “Victor. Let them in.”
Victor hesitated until Eddie gave a firm nod. The guards moved aside.
The blonde brushed Victor’s shoulder with a cocky tap before stepping in, his sly smile never wavering. His partner followed, taller, darker-haired, with a smirk ghosting his lips.
They stopped a few feet from Eddie. Something in his gut twisted—like he’d seen them before, somewhere he couldn’t place.
“How may I help you, gentlemen?” Eddie asked flatly.
The blonde glanced at his friend. “Hmm. Damon, he says ‘how may I help you.’” His grin widened as he folded his arms across his chest.
Damon nodded. “Yeah. I heard.”
Eddie’s jaw ticked. “I don’t have time for games. If you’ve got nothing to say, you can find your way out.”
Leonardo tilted his head, studying Eddie like a bug under glass. “See, Damon? Told you he’d be shorter in person.”
Damon snorted. “Yeah. But I didn’t think he’d reek of cheap liquor and desperation.”
Eddie slammed his palm against the wall at his side. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Damon and Leonardo exchanged a look, like Eddie wasn’t even in the room.
Leonardo shrugged. “He’s louder than I expected too. Kind of yappy.”
“Like a Chihuahua,” Damon agreed. “All bark, no bite. You know, the kind that pisses on the carpet when you actually look at it.”
The girls on Palo’s arm giggled nervously, while Palo just sipped Eddie’s drink and grinned, enjoying the show.
Eddie’s face went red. “I said..”
Leonardo raised a finger, cutting him off. “Relax, Eddie. We didn’t come here to hurt your fragile ego. We came for a chat.”
Damon leaned down slightly, his shadow swallowing Eddie. His voice was calm, cold. “See, there’s this little problem. A video. A very specific video. Your fingerprints are all over it.”
Eddie blinked, then barked a laugh that sounded more like a cough. “You’re out of your damn mind. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Leonardo smirked, pulling a phone from his pocket. With a few taps, he angled the screen toward Eddie. The frozen thumbnail stared back, Genesis tied to that chair, drenched and crying, the upload tag sitting beneath: Missio_93_AM.
Eddie’s mask slipped. Just a fraction. But enough.
Damon’s eyes narrowed. “See that? That’s your handiwork. Missio.”
Leonardo leaned back, arms crossed. “And Amanda’s the other half. Funny how both your little aliases decided to share the spotlight, huh?”
Eddie’s throat worked, his smile cracking. “You don’t have proof.”
Damon straightened, towering. “We don’t need proof.” He tapped his temple. “We’ve got memory. And mine’s crystal clear. You were there. You filmed. You posted. You thought no one would trace it back to you.”
Leonardo leaned in this time, voice dropping to a whisper sharp enough to cut. “You were wrong.”
Eddie looked between them, his bravado bleeding out, the club’s music suddenly too loud, too hollow. For the first time in years, Eddie Turner felt hunted.