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Chapter 259 c
🕑 Added 2025-05-31 15:01:03 +0000 UTCChapter 259 c
A single bullet tore through the air and kissed his neck.
A spray of hot blood splattered across the floor.
Nash’s head snapped violently to the side, nearly torn clean off. Only a thin strip of sinew and flesh kept it tethered to his neck, swinging grotesquely as his body crumpled.
Even in death, he couldn’t understand how the enemy had known his location.
“There’s no such thing as a fair fight when the technological disparity is this wide.”
In fact, Leo had already noticed the sneaky Nash. The moment he realized Nash was monitoring them through surveillance cameras, he had redirected his focus onto Nash. And when he figured out what Nash intended to do, Leo acted without hesitation, pulling the trigger and ending it in one shot.
The battle didn’t last long.
Some members of the Raffen Shiv tried to surrender, but they were mercilessly executed.
The Raffen Shiv were no different from Scaves in the City—human in form, but completely devoid of human decency.
Letting them live would only bring future trouble.
Especially considering they’d stolen Panam’s vehicle and cargo—not her life, sure, but taking her truck and goods was effectively robbing her of her livelihood. There was no difference between that and killing her.
So, no sympathy was owed to these Raffen Shiv.
Panam grabbed Mitch’s kinetic sniper rifle and unloaded shot after shot into Nash’s head, not stopping until his skull was completely unrecognizable. Only then did she sling the rifle back onto her back with satisfaction.
She pulled out her old, brick-thick phone from her pocket and dialed Rogue.
Once the call connected, she cleared her throat, a smug grin plastered across her face.
“Hey, Rogue.”
Rogue’s calm voice came through the speaker. “Panam.”
“What was it you said before? ‘Kid, learn to wipe your own ass’? Well, Nash is dead. My ass is clean. You happy now?”
The tunnel was pitch black, and Panam was standing in the darkest corner.
But from her tone alone, Leo could tell her smile must have been stretching ear to ear.
Rogue, however, remained flat.
“What about the 6th Street’s goods?”
“Well, Nash won’t be delivering them. But if you ask nicely, maybe I will.”
“Help me?” Rogue finally let out a cold chuckle. Her voice was laced with sarcasm. “I already got paid, kid. Still, I’m touched. Thought you were too busy with revenge to finish the actual job.”
Then she hung up, leaving Panam standing in the wind, expression frozen.
It took her a long moment to realize she’d been played by Rogue again.
She was fuming.
Leo walked over.
“How’s it feel? Feeling any better?”
“Fuck Rogue.”
Leo understood her perfectly.
If Rogue hadn’t been so biting or had offered even a word of praise, then maybe this whole thing could’ve ended perfectly.
But Rogue was Rogue. She didn’t hand out comfort easily—especially not when she knew exactly who had helped Panam get her revenge.
Compared to Rogue, Panam was still too green.
“You got your revenge. Let’s go.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let’s get out of here.”
Panam decided to shove Rogue out of her mind completely and never think about that old woman again. Otherwise, she’d just keep getting more pissed off.
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Sunset Motel
The client—members of the 6th Street Gang—were already waiting out in the open lot in front of the motel.
“Look, they’re here. I’ll go talk to them,” Panam said over comms.
Leo asked, “You feel anything off?”
“No. Nothing like that. Not yet.”
Panam parked the truck and stepped out.
Leo, after a brief moment, also stepped out from the Delamain cab that had been tailing her.
Even though Panam had done runs for them many times, it was better to stay cautious.
Panam didn’t carry a weapon; she had a case tucked under her arm as she walked toward the three members of 6th Street.
These three weren’t part of the Clemente family—they were from another branch.
“Hey, Boz.”
“Hey, Panam. Where’s Nash? Why hasn’t he picked up my calls?”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t waste time calling a dead man.”
6th Street might not know the difference between Raffen Shiv and Nomads, but they could definitely tell that things had gone south between Panam and Nash.
Especially with this particular deal.
Up until now, Panam had always been their point of contact. This time, out of nowhere, Nash took over.
When Boz questioned her absence, Nash claimed they had parted ways and that all future deliveries would go through him.
But then Panam called back, telling Boz to ditch Nash.
Just now, Boz had tried calling Nash—but the line had suddenly gone dead.
Now, Panam was here alone, saying Nash was already dead.
You didn’t need to be a genius to figure out what she meant.
Still, Boz was curious.
He knew Panam had left her clan and operated solo. Nash, on the other hand, had plenty of guys backing him.
So how the hell had Panam flipped the script?
Boz smiled thinly. “Heh, you’ve got guts, kid. Got the goods?”
“Here. Wanna count it?” Panam casually passed the box she’d been carrying.
Boz didn’t take it.
One of his guys stepped forward, took the box, and carried it over to their car’s hood to start the count.
While his man verified the cargo, Boz’s eyes lazily scanned the area behind Panam.
It was supposed to be a casual glance.
But when his gaze landed on Leo standing behind her, his expression changed instantly.
“You?!”
Ever since Padre had left the hospital, the rest of 6th Street had been keeping close tabs on his successor—Jackie.
Naturally, Leo, never far from Jackie and practically family, was also on their radar.
After the assassination attempt on Padre, the Clemente family had tried bribing the NCPD into sparking a conflict with Padre’s people.
But the NCPD had suddenly come under pressure from higher up and backed off.
The other families in 6th Street knew—Jackie didn’t have that kind of pull.
The only one around Jackie who might’ve pulled it off… was Leo, the guy who came out from God knows where.
Even though Leo stayed under the radar with every move, none of them were fools.
Some quietly began suspecting that the one who had dragged the Clemente family into a double-front war—and ultimately crushed them—was Leo himself.
So the rest of 6th Street had marked Leo as high-priority.
From the big bosses down to the low-level grunts, everyone had seen Leo’s face and had been instructed to avoid provoking him.
Panam looked from Boz to Leo, surprised. “You two know each other?”
Leo’s expression was calm. “I don’t believe so. Unless you’re here to avenge the Clemente family.”
“Of course not.”
Boz took several deep breaths, forcing himself to stay calm.
Even though Clemente was part of 6th Street, no one had any plans to avenge them.
What did blood ties mean, anyway? In the American Civil War, more Americans died than in both World Wars combined.
The M4 Sherman tank from WWII was named after William Tecumseh Sherman, a Union general who ravaged the South—burning plantations, towns, villages, and everything in between.
From Atlanta onward, Sherman’s troops leveled everything like a steamroller—houses, livestock, civilians, farms. Burned homes, salted wells, blew up railroads, drove out entire towns. (see note)
Before his army even arrived, you could see columns of smoke from miles away. After they left, nothing remained but scorched earth and a few smoldering stumps.
That wasn’t a foreign enemy. That was Americans slaughtering Americans.
If people were willing to turn on their own in a war over ideals and territory, there’s no reason to expect loyalty to survive in a gang alliance. The other 6th Street crews knew better—Clemente wasn’t worth the risk, not against the Valentinos and the Kiryu-gumi.
Boz was surprised to see Leo here—but it was just a surprise, nothing more.
His eyes moved between Panam and Leo, and realization finally dawned.
With Leo backing Panam, no wonder Nash was dead.
What he didn’t know was what kind of relationship Leo and Panam had.
On the other side, Boz’s guy finally finished counting.
“All good, Boz. Cargo checks out, count matches.”
The deal done, Panam’s expression visibly relaxed. “So we’re good now, right?”
“Check your account in a bit. We’ve already wired a big sum your way.”
“Pleasure doing business. Though, I could’ve sworn Rogue was supposed to be the one paying.”
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Note: I want to clarify this part since people—understandably—don’t appreciate it when history about their country is misrepresented or distorted. While Sherman’s March to the Sea was undeniably brutal, it wasn’t a campaign of mass civilian slaughter. The “scorched earth” strategy focused on crippling the Confederacy’s infrastructure, supply chains, and economic backbone—not on targeting civilians directly. That said, the civilian suffering was real: homes were burned, towns emptied, and livelihoods wiped out. The destruction was strategic, not genocidal, but its impact was devastating.
This story also takes creative license with certain historical elements for narrative effect. Think of it as an alternate America—where emotional truths carry more weight than strict historical accuracy.
That said, one fact remains unchanged: more Americans died in the Civil War than in both World Wars combined.
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