Page 67 of Once A Villain

“Arsen, you South Section bastard.” I give him a nod, gripping his hand tight. “Still fucking breathing.” He’s a fellow General, East Coast, but currently stationed with the South. We’ve known each other for years, seen hell together.

“Yeah. Same old shit,” he grunts, taking the seat next to me, his bulk barely fitting in the chair. “Recruits I’m stuck with? Bunch of soft fuckin’ pussies. They’re not making ’em like they used to.” His Russian accent grinds out each word like steel—rough, cutting.

He motions for drinks, sliding a beer my way. I snatch it, twist the cap off with a flick, and take a long pull.

“Heard you stirred up some real shit with your latest Bond,” he quips.

“Something like that.”

“Always leave it to a Hawthorne to start something.” He laughs, looking between Griff and I.

“It’s a talent.” Griff grins, clinking his bottle with mine.

Arsen’s eyes shift to me. “I saw you’re listed as the General for the Red Arena.”

“Yeah, Isaac told me earlier,” I reply, letting the annoyance bleed through. No point in hiding it.

The Red Arena is more than an event. It’s a blood-soaked spectacle dressed up as tradition, where Sovereigns claw their way up the ranks.

Back in the day, you had to challenge someone to a fight to the death to rise—no mercy, just raw brutality. Now, they’ve made it all about assessments and evaluations, but the spirit of those savage duels still hangs in the air, lingering in the bloodstained sands.

In that pit, Sovereigns who crave power don’t just fight—they wage war. It’s ceremonial now, but still a brutal, bone-breaking battle where you either tap out or get scraped off the floor when you can’t stand anymore.

As General, I’m expected to endure as many rounds as possible against the Sovereigns who earned their new rank.

I’ve been a General for years, but this is the first time Isaac’s put me in the Red Arena. I know he’s punishing me— trying to remind me who’s in charge after that whole Bond payment with Rory.

But I don’t give a fuck. If they want blood, I’ll give them blood. Every drop.

Griff’s drunken laughter cuts through the tension. “The Reaper is gonna fucking slaughter everyone. This’ll be hilarious.” He staggers back to the bar, ordering another round.

“Looks like we’ve got company,” Arsen mutters.

Two Sovereign bastards close in, eyes locked on us. My muscles tense as they strut over to our table.

“Hawthorne, didn’t think you were the partying type,” one of them comments, sliding into the seat beside Arsen. His hair is perfectly styled—slick and polished like he’s afraid to ruffle a strand. The stench of old money and entitlement rolls off him like rot.

“Fuck off, Harrison,” Arsen growls, but Harrison just smirks—arrogant little shit. North Section High Chancellor’s son. Walks around like Daddy’s title makes him untouchable.

“You should be careful who you associate with, Arseny.” Harrison smirks, eyes flicking between us like he’s got something on us. I take a slow swig of my beer, my gaze drilling into him. “Axe has a target on his back. Wouldn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire.”

“What are you doing here, Harrison?” Arsen asks. “Thought your old man kept you locked up in his mansion. Outside world’s too dangerous for a pretty boy like you.”

Harrison’s smirk falters, his jaw tightening.

He turns his attention to me. “The North’s heard the rumors. The Dolore Brotherhood’s got a special interest in you. Conrad issued the Bond, but you delivered the kill.”

“Don’t talk about shit you don’t understand,” I growl, my patience snapping.

“I’m just saying, Hawthorne, your days might be numbered.” He shrugs. “They put a bounty on your head. Maybe The Reaper will finally meet his match.”

Before he can blink, I lunge, slamming his face into the table with a bone-crunching thud. Blood splatters across the wood as his minion scrambles to his feet. I’m faster. My blade’s out, pressed against his throat before he can even think of running.

“Don’t speak to me. Or you’ll be next.” His eyes go wide, the color draining from his face. Slowly, I drag the knife across his throat, just enough to draw blood, enough to make him tremble. “Don’t fucking move.”

I turn back to Harrison, who’s slumped in his chair, bloodied and dazed.

I shove him down with a hard thud. “Disrespect me again, and I’ll fucking gut you in front of your father. Remember who I am.”

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