Gun stepped into his home, his movements slow. Troy followed cautiously, his eyes immediately catching the dark red stains on the floor. His expression twisted in confusion and unease as he stared at the marks.

  Gun moved toward the couch and sank into it, rubbing his temple as he watched Troy’s gaze linger on the blood.

  “Gun,” Troy began, his voice low and uncertain, “whose blood is this? What the hell happened here?”

  Gun didn’t flinch, didn’t even look at the stains. He shrugged casually, his tone ft. “It’s Chips.”

  Troy’s jaw tensed, his fists clenching at his sides as he tried to piece it together. He wanted to press further, demand answers, but something in Gun’s expression stopped him. Instead, he bit his tongue, remembering Gun’s earlier request to investigate Chips.

  He exhaled slowly, then turned back to Gun. “What is this all about? Why did you ask me to look into him?”

  Gun’s gaze, sharp and heavy with suppressed emotion, met Troy’s. His voice was quiet, but carried a weight that made Troy’s stomach drop.

  “Because I just found out...” Gun hesitated, the words stuck in his throat. He pushed them out, each sylble ced with bitterness. “King is alive.”

  Troy froze, his breath catching in his chest. His eyes widened, his lips parting as though to speak, but no words came. The room seemed to shrink, the weight of Gun’s revetion suffocating.

  “No,” he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s not... That’s not possible.”

  But the look in Gun’s eyes confirmed it. Troy’s legs gave out, and he dropped onto a nearby chair, his hands trembling. The memories came rushing back—the ughter, the loyalty, the years they spent building their empire together. Troy had given everything to make sure King’s life was perfect, and had stood by him through every storm. And when King’s lifeless body was id before him, his world had shattered.

  Tears welled in his eyes and spilled over. “I... I stood over his body,” Troy choked out, his voice breaking. “I buried him, Gun. I mourned him. How... how could he do this?”

  Gun watched, his own emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Seeing Troy like this, broken and vulnerable, cracked the walls he’d been trying to hold up. A single tear slipped down his cheek, and he quickly wiped it away, his hands clenching into fists.

  The two men sat in silence, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning. Troy’s sobs were soft, but the pain in them cut deep, filling the room with unspoken grief and betrayal. Gun leaned back, his mind spinning as he tried to make sense of what King’s return meant—for Troy, for him, and for the future they thought they were building.

  Gun wiped his tears away roughly, masking the raw emotions that surfaced. He straightened up, forcing himself to focus on the next step. “Get hold of the call boy,” he ordered, his voice steady but carrying an edge of irritation.

  Troy hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. “To do that... I’ll have to contact Chips,” he admitted, his eyes flicking to the bloodstains still fresh on the floor.

  Gun’s brow furrowed deeply, his irritation turning to frustration. “Why the hell do you need Chips for that?”

  Troy sighed, shifting on his feet. “Because Chips is the one who arranged everything. He set up all your... encounters.”

  Gun stared at him, his expression darkening. “And you didn’t think I needed to know about this?”

  Troy looked away, guilt shadowing his features. “I didn’t think it was necessary. You were happy, Gun. When you’re happy, things are easier. Better for everyone.”

  Gun let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Happy?” He gestured toward the bloodstains, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah, things are going great.”

  Troy didn’t respond, his silence only fueling Gun’s simmering anger. Finally, Gun exhaled sharply and waved a dismissive hand. “Just handle it, Troy. I don’t care how you do it—I need to see the call boy.”

  Troy frowned, his confusion clear as he asked, “Why? You were just with Remmington. What could you possibly want from the call boy now?”

  Gun closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn’t want to expin, didn’t want to y bare the tangled mess of emotions and doubts weighing on him. Finally, he opened his eyes, his expression unreadable. “I just need to see him. One final time.”

  Troy studied him for a moment, his instincts telling him there was more to this than Gun was letting on. But he knew better than to push. With a reluctant nod, he turned toward the door. “Fine. I’ll take care of it.”

  Gun leaned back into the couch, his mind racing as he watched Troy leave. The uncertainty gnawed at him, the need for answers pulling at every corner of his mind. One final meeting, he told himself. Just to clear the air. Just to be sure.