Blurred Lines

Part 14

In the aftermath of Gatswana blood, Chicago's underworld trembles in chaos.

The Devil's Sons, executioners turned victims, vanished in the night like smoke.

Police Chief Novack, a puppet tangled in criminal strings, grasps for control as Russian wolves, Cartel vipers, and Yakuza shadows prepare for war.

Detective Castillo carries secrets of Grayson Gats, perhaps the last Gatswana heartbeat and architect of vengeance.

While a lone witness clings to borrowed breaths in sterile hospital sheets, dark forces converge like vultures, determined to silence truth before it finds voice.

Detective Mercer ended the call with Chief Novack and surveyed the destroyed compound.

His jaw tightened as he pocketed his phone.

He crossed the crime scene tape toward Janna, who stood near a bullet-riddled pool table, her gaze fixed on the shattered bar.

"There's a survivor," he said.

Janna turned slightly. "What?"

"Devil's Sons HQ. Kid was buried under some bodies in the back. They're taking him to Chicago General."

Her eyes flickered with shock, but it vanished too quickly for him to read.

"Come on," he said, already moving. "We're heading there now."

In the car, the silence felt louder than the sirens had.

Janna sat motionless, lips slightly parted.

Mercer tilted his head, studying her.

"You alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she muttered unconvincingly.

But her mind was elsewhere.

Twelve years ago, in that school hallway, where a boy named Grayson Gats first caught her eye.

Sharp, quiet, polite in that awkward way grief shapes some kids.

Then to the fire.

The other massacre.

The Gatswana Estate reduced to ash.

"Hey."

She startled.

Mercer was watching her, his expression not angry but deeply suspicious.

"You've been actin' weird since Red Jacks. What the fuck's goin' on with you, Castillo?"

She blinked, trying to steady her breathing. "Nothing."

He leaned in closer. "Bullshit. If you know something, now's the time to speak up. This shit's a mess. City's crawling with syndicates. And now we're standing in the crater where the Devil's Sons just got erased."

Janna exhaled, voice cracking just slightly. “You think I’ve been normal since I pulled up to the Gatswana Estate? Since I saw my childhood friends lined up in body bags? That whole family was slaughtered like livestock. I grew up with those people.”

Mercer's face softened momentarily, but the tension between them remained.

He said nothing for a moment.

The tires hummed against the pavement.

Then, quietly, "Do you know who did this?"

Janna exhaled, long and slow.

"I knew the family."

"You're dodging again."

"I'm being careful."

"No, you're hiding something."

She finally looked at him, her eyes rimmed red from holding too much inside. "If I am… it's because I don't want to set the city on fire without proof. Start pointing fingers without solid evidence, and people end up dead."

Mercer leaned back, running a hand through his hair like a shampoo commercial. "You're not wrong. But if this connects to one of the gangs…"

"It's not," she cut in. "Or at least it doesn't look like it. The moves, the style... it's like the same person hit both places. But it's not cartel work. Not Russian. Hell, not even SD."

The car turned down a side street, police barricades visible ahead.

"Let's keep this quiet until we talk to the witness," she added. "No need to stir the pot until we know what we're dealing with."

Mercer studied her as they slowed near the barricade.

She didn't blink.

But her fingers twitched on the wheel telling him she was either nervous or frantically trying to think her way out of his suspicions.

After parking, they stepped into chaos.

The former biker fortress stood as a smoking ruin.