Chapter 18: Play Hardball
As soon as Phoenix connected the call, a tirade of curses blasted from the other end.
"Are you out of your mind? Who gave you the guts to call out Alexander in the group?"
"Do you have a death wish, messing with me? I have a hundred ways to drive you out of this city, believe it or not!"
Alexander was a notorious figure in Solstice City, commanding a small army of henchmen. Rumors whispered of the heavy suits he'd settled with his fists and more. As such, every resident steered clear of crossing him.
His reputation was built on fear; a slight offense often led to disproportionate retaliation. That's how he maintained his status as the unchallenged kingpin.
So, even a mere mention in the residents' group chat was enough to provoke Alexander.
On the phone, his threats escalated. But Phoenix, unphased, met fury with fury.
"What are you but street trash?" Phoenix scoffed. "All bark and no bite. Call you a boss? I call your bluff!"
In his previous life, it was Alexander who had stormed into his home, leading the charge that ended his life. The fire of vengeance had been kindling in Phoenix's heart ever since.
Caught off guard, Alexander didn't expect Phoenix to bite back. Enraged beyond words, he roared louder.
Phoenix cut him short: "You're the trash here, just a loudmouth bully! Go choke on your threats!"
With that, Phoenix hung up, immediately blocking Alexander's number. Imagining the bully's livid face, Phoenix felt a bitter satisfaction.
He strolled over to his TV and switched on the surveillance cameras. The security system had eyes everywhere—every inch of the building was under Phoenix's watchful gaze.
On the monitor, Phoenix saw Alexander storming out of his apartment, clad in a down jacket, a baseball bat in hand, ready for war. But as soon as he stepped out, the extreme cold bit back. It was a bitter lesson on pride—Alexander had left his jacket unzipped to flaunt his tattoos, a macho display turned foolish against the sub-zero chill.
Noticing no one was watching, Alexander quickly retreated to the warmth of the indoors.
Meanwhile, Phoenix armed himself with a hunting crossbow from beneath the coffee table. He had become proficient with the weapon, able to hit a watermelon-sized target from 15 meters with ease.
The elevator chimed. Phoenix, crossbow loaded, approached his fortified door, fitted with a shooting hole for just such an occasion.
The shooting hole was designed to be opened only from the inside. Phoenix took his position, peering through, waiting.
The moment Alexander appeared, Phoenix's finger rested on the trigger. He aimed, but then hesitated. Killing Alexander now, in the midst of chaos, seemed too easy, too quick for a man like him.
A cruel smile crept across Phoenix's lips. He would not grant Alexander a swift exit.
With a soft twang, the crossbow bolt shot straight through Alexander's leg. The piercing scream that followed echoed through the halls, a sound of agony and shock.
Phoenix watched as Alexander collapsed, writhing in pain. In these temperatures, with no immediate medical aid, the wound was a death sentence.
Alexander, now gripped by fear, dragged himself back to the elevator, leaving a trail of blood that quickly froze.
Phoenix withdrew from the shooting hole, content with the evening's work. Alexander's downfall would be slow, painful, a fitting retribution.
He had spared Alexander's life—not out of mercy but for vengeance. As Alexander retreated, his blood freezing in the icy air, Phoenix knew the real torment had just begun for the man who once played god in their neighborhood.
Chilled not just by the cold but by the sudden, brutal attack, Alexander understood he had underestimated Phoenix. The streets taught him to recognize a true predator when he met one, and tonight, he had looked one in the eyes.
Clutching his wounded leg, now more ice than flesh, Alexander cursed his arrogance. If he didn't find warmth soon, he'd lose more than just his pride—he'd lose everything.