The aroma of grilled at filled the air as Clara eagerly bit into her kebab. I watched her childish enthusiasm with mild amusent, a stark contrast to the sophisticated dinners I usually shared with Isabelle.
"This is the best part," Clara declared, mouth half-full. "The sauce they use is totally secret. Mom tried to get the recipe for years."
I nodded politely, picking at my own food. The kebab stand was busier than I'd expected for this remote location. Most patrons kept to themselves, focusing on their als or conversations.
"You're not eating," Clara pointed out, already halfway through her second skewer. "Don't you like it?"
"It's fine," I replied, taking a bite to appease her. The at was tender and flavorful, I had to admit.
Clara bead. "See? I told you!" She reached for the small bowl of soup that accompanied our al. "And this broth is amazing too."
Our peaceful al was interrupted by raucous laughter from a nearby table. Four young n with visible tattoos were pointing in our direction, making crude gestures. One of them, sporting a distinctive red star tattoo on his neck, stood up and sauntered toward us.
"Well, look what we have here," he sneered, looking Clara up and down. "Aren't you a little young to be out with your sugar daddy?"
His friends erupted in laughter. Clara's face flushed bright red.
"Mind your own business," I said calmly, placing my food down.
The tattooed youth leaned closer, his breath reeking of alcohol. "This is our territory, old man. Everything here is our business."
Clara suddenly stood up, trembling with indignation. Before I could stop her, she grabbed her bowl of soup and flung its contents directly into the man's face.
"Leave us alone, jerk!" she shouted.
The hot liquid splashed across his face and chest. He stumbled backward, cursing loudly as his friends jumped to their feet.
"You little bitch!" he snarled, wiping his face. "You have any idea who we are?"
I rose slowly, positioning myself between Clara and the angry young n. "That's enough. Walk away now."
The tattooed youth's face contorted with rage. "Nobody talks to the Red Star Society like that. Nobody!"
He lunged forward with a wild punch. I sidestepped effortlessly, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back in one fluid motion. With minimal pressure, I forced him to his knees.
"I said, that's enough," I repeated, my voice deadly quiet.
His friends hesitated, clearly surprised by how quickly their companion had been neutralized. I released the young man, shoving him forward. He scrambled to his feet, face burning with humiliation.
"You're dead," he spat, backing away. "Both of you. The Red Star Society doesn't forget. We run this neighborhood."
The four retreated, throwing venomous glares over their shoulders. I turned to Clara, who was now looking considerably less confident.
"We should go," I said firmly.
The restaurant owner approached us, wringing his hands nervously. "Sir, miss, I'm sorry about that. Those boys... they cause trouble for everyone around here." This chapter is from the collection at *.
"Who are they?" I asked.
"Red Star Society," the man whispered, glancing around as if afraid of being overheard. "Local gang. They demand protection money from all businesses in this area. Police won't help—so say they're paid off."
Clara's eyes widened. "That's terrible! Can't anyone stop them?"
The owner shook his head sadly. "Many have tried. They always co back stronger. They've hurt people who stand against them."
I frowned, feeling the dark energy inside stir restlessly. Another group of bullies preying on the weak—it seed I encountered them everywhere I went.
"Thank you for the warning," I told the owner, leaving paynt on the table. "Clara, we're leaving."
She followed silently toward the car, but halfway there, she suddenly stopped. Her face had transford from fear to determination.
"No," she declared. "I'm tired of bullies getting away with everything."
Before I could stop her, she pulled out her phone and dialed a number.
"Clara, what are you doing?" I asked.
She held up her hand, waiting for soone to answer. When they did, her voice took on a dramatic, tearful quality that caught completely off guard.
"Uncle Keller?" she sobbed into the phone. "It's Clara Vance. I'm in terrible danger! There's a criminal gang threatening to kill ! They said they're going to—" She paused, listening. "At the River Road kebab stand. They call themselves the Red Star Society and they're terrorizing everyone here!"
I stared at her in disbelief as she continued her performance.
"Yes, dozens of them! With guns and knives! They're extorting money and threatening won! Please hurry, Uncle, I'm so scared!"
She hung up, looking imnsely satisfied with herself.
"What did you just do?" I asked, stunned by her exaggeration.
"Called in reinforcents," she replied smugly. "Commander Keller is my godfather. He's the head of the city's Special Tactics Unit."
My jaw tightened. "You just lied to a military commander."
She shrugged. "I embellished. Those guys are bullies, and Uncle Keller hates bullies."
"Clara, you can't just—"
A screech of tires interrupted . Three cars pulled up, blocking the parking lot exit. The tattooed youths from earlier stepped out, now accompanied by at least twenty others. All of them wore red bandanas or clothing items marked with the sa red star symbol.
A man in his thirties erged from the lead car. Unlike the others, he carried himself with calculated nace rather than brute aggression. A jagged scar ran from his left eye to his jawline, and an elaborate red star was tattooed on his exposed forearm.
"That's him," one of the youths pointed at . "That's the one who disrespected us, Boss."
The scarred man approached slowly, his gang mbers spreading out to surround us. Clara edged closer to , her earlier bravado vanishing.
"You put hands on my boys?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft.
I assessed our situation quickly. Twenty-plus opponents, likely ard. They'd positioned themselves strategically to cut off all escape routes. Under normal circumstances, handling them would be simple enough—but with Clara here, complications multiplied.
"Your boys were harassing a young girl," I replied evenly. "I suggested they stop."
The leader's eyes flicked to Clara, then back to . "Nobody suggests anything to the Red Star Society. We own this area." He glanced around at the frightened onlookers who had gathered. "Everyone here knows the rules."
"I'm not from around here," I said. "And I don't recognize your authority."
A dangerous smile spread across his scarred face. "Then you need a lesson in respect."
He nodded to his n. They began to close in, so pulling out knives, others brass knuckles.
I gently pushed Clara behind . "When I move, run to the car and lock yourself in."
"I can't leave you," she whispered, panic evident in her voice.
"Trust ," I murmured back. "I can handle this."
The gang leader raised his hand, preparing to give the signal to attack. I tensed, ready to move—when suddenly, Clara let out a triumphant laugh.
"Too late," she said loudly, pointing down the road.
In the distance, the unmistakable sound of multiple engines roared. Not just any engines—military-grade vehicles moving at high speed.
The gang leader frowned. "What the hell?"
"I called Uncle Keller," Clara announced, her confidence returning. "He's the commander of the Special Tactics Unit. And he's bringing everyone."
For a mont, doubt flickered across the leader's face. Then his expression hardened.
"She's bluffing," he snarled. "Take them both. Now!"
His n surged forward just as the first military vehicle rounded the corner, followed by several more. Red and blue lights flashed as they sped toward us, the sound of sirens filling the air.
The gang mbers froze, caught between their leader's orders and the overwhelming show of force bearing down on them.
I couldn't help a small smile as I t the gang leader's shocked gaze. "It seems the rules just changed."
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