Chapter 2 - The Name of the Beast
The man who entered didn't look like the politicians or the corporate executives sitting at the tables. He wore a heavy, dark overcoat, his boots carrying the dampness of the rain outside. His face looked as though it had been carved out of granite, and his eyes—dark, calculating, and predatory—swept over the room.
It was Alexander Vance. The true shadow ruler of the state's underworld, a man so powerful that even Dylan Burroughs stood up immediately, his face losing all its color.
"Mr. Vance," Dylan said, his voice straining for politeness. "We didn't expect you tonight. Please, join us."
Alexander didn't look at Dylan. His eyes had found the floor. More specifically, they had found the bloody fawn-colored mastiff, and the small waitress who was still holding on for dear life.
"Goliath," Alexander spoke. The voice was low, like thunder rolling over distant hills.
At the sound of that name, the dying dog did something incredible. He let out a weak, raspy whine and tried to lift his massive head from Molly’s lap, his tail giving two feeble thumps against the floor.
The silence in the room became absolute. The temperature seemed to drop twenty degrees.
Libby, completely oblivious to the shifting tide, took a step toward Alexander, putting on her most charming smile. "Mr. Vance, I am so sorry for this chaotic scene. This incompetent waitress brought a rabid stray into our party. I was just having security dispose of it."
Alexander finally looked at Libby. The gaze was so terrifyingly vacant of any warmth that Libby’s smile froze on her face.
"A stray?" Alexander murmured, walking forward. The guests scrambled backward, pulling their chairs away as if a predator had just entered their cage. He stopped directly in front of Molly. He didn't look at the blood on the floor; he looked at the dark bruise already forming on Molly’s arm where Libby's shoe had struck.
"You held him," Alexander said down to Molly.
Molly, trembling but refusing to let go of the dog, looked up into the eyes of the most feared man in the city. "He was hurting," she whispered simply. "I couldn't leave him."
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Alexander knelt down on the dirty floor, completely unbothered by the grease and blood ruining his expensive trousers. He placed a large, scarred hand onto the mastiff’s head. Goliath closed his eyes, finally letting go of the tension in his muscles.
"Four days," Alexander said softly, his voice vibrating with a dangerous, quiet rage. "Four days my dog was missing after my estate was targeted. And I find him here. Bleeding. Being kicked by a woman who isn't worth the dirt on his paws."
