Rise of The Abandoned Husband (Liam Knight) novel Chapter 122

122 Chapter 122 – South City’s Game: An Offer of

Discipleship

The three guards converged on me in perfect synchronization, a well–rehearsed attack pattern that might have troubled an ordinary opponent. Unfortunately for them, I was anything but ordinary.

I pivoted slightly, my movements economical as I caught the first attacker’s wrist. A simple twist–just enough pressure applied to the right point–and I felt bones grind beneath my grip. He screamed, dropping to his knees.

The second guard swung a heavy fist toward my temple. I ducked under it effortlessly, my free hand driving into his solar plexus. The impact lifted him off his feet before he crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come.

The third man hesitated, eyes widening as he processed how quickly his companions had fallen. His moment of indecision cost him. I stepped forward and swept his legs from under him, sending him crashing onto the marble floor with enough force to knock him unconscious.

Three trained fighters dispatched in less than ten seconds. I straightened my jacket and turned back to Blaze Lane, whose face had drained of all color.

“Is that all?” I asked calmly, the wooden box still tucked securely under my arm.

Asher Lane’s jaw literally dropped. “Father,” he stammered, “he’s-”

“Silence!” Blaze snapped, though his voice lacked its previous confidence. His gaze shifted to Ortega, who hadn’t moved yet. “What are you waiting for?”

Ortega assessed me with newly cautious eyes. Unlike the guards, he seemed to recognize the level of skill I’d just displayed wasn’t something to charge blindly against. Smart man.

“Mr. Lane,” he said carefully, “perhaps we should-”

“I don’t pay you to think,” Blaze hissed. “I pay you to handle problems. Handle this one!”

The enforcer’s face hardened. He rolled his shoulders back and began circling me slowly.

122 Chapter 122–South City’s Game An Offer of Discipleship

“Your employer seems determined to see you humiliated, I noted conversationally.

A muscle in Ortega’s jaw twitched. “Nothing personal,” he said, and lunged.

He was faster than the others–much faster. His first strike nearly grazed my chin as I leaned back. A second punch followed immediately, forcing me to sidestep. This was no amateur. Ortega moved with the practiced precision of someone who’d broken bones for a living for many years.

But I could see every move before he made it.

I parried his third strike, redirecting his momentum past me. As he tried to recover, I delivered a single palm strike to his sternum–not enough to cause permanent damage, but sufficient to make my point. He stumbled back, wheezing.

“Stay down,” 1 advised.

Pride got the better of him. Ortega charged again, this time pulling a blade from his sleeve. The steel flashed as he slashed at my midsection.

I caught his wrist mid–swing, applying just enough pressure to make his fingers spasm

The knife clattered to the floor. Before he could react, I twisted his arm behind his back and forced him face–first onto a nearby table.

open.

“I said,” I repeated softly, “stay down.”

This time, wisely, he didn’t get up when I released him.

The room had gone completely silent. Blaze Lane stared at me like he

ghost. Asher looked ready to faint.

was seeing a

“Now,” I said, turning my attention back to Blaze, “as I was saying, I’ll be taking these herbs as agreed. Unless you’d like to continue this… discussion?”

His lips pressed into a thin line. I could see calculation behind his eyes–weighing the cost of continuing this fight against the value of the herbs and his wounded pride.

“Wait!” he finally called out, raising a hand. “There’s one more option.”

I raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“Aidan!” Blaze shouted. “Aidan Ortega, get in here!”

A door at the far end of the room opened, and several staff members peered in

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122 Chapter 122 South City’s Game: An Offer of Discipleship

nervously.

“Sir?” one ventured. “Mr. Aldan is… he’s asleep.”

“Then wake him up, you fools!” Blaze roared.

“We’ve tried, sir. He won’t respond. He’s breathing, but we can’t rouse him.”

I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. My earlier preparation had worked perfectly. The sleeping powder I’d introduced into Aidan Ortega’s quarters last night–a special formula of my own design–had taken effect exactly as planned. The Lane family’s most feared fighter would be enjoying a peaceful, uninterruptible slumber for at least another twelve hours.

“Looking for your champion?” I asked innocently. “I’m afraid he’s indisposed.”

Blaze’s face contorted with rage and disbelief. “You… what did you do?”

“Me? Nothing at all. Perhaps he had a late night.” I shrugged. “Now, if our business is concluded…”

“This isn’t over,” Blaze growled, but the threat rang hollow. His most powerful assets had been neutralized, and he knew it. “You’ll regret this day, Knight.”

I adjusted my grip on the box of herbs. “I doubt that very much. Good day, gentlemen.”

No one moved to stop me as I walked toward the exit. I paused at the door. “Oh, and Asher? Next time you make a wager, be prepared to honor it. It saves everyone a lot of

trouble.”

The South City sunlight felt particularly warm as I stepped outside the Lane family compound. The confrontation had gone almost exactly as I’d anticipated–Blaze’s arrogance, the predictable attempt at intimidation, and the ultimate realization that he’d severely underestimated me.

All part of establishing myself in a new territory. The herbs were valuable, but the reputation I’d just cemented was worth far more.

I’d walked perhaps two blocks when I noticed the sleek black vehicle pacing me. It finally pulled alongside, and the back window rolled down to reveal a middle–aged man with sharp, intelligent eyes and an expensive suit.

“Mr. Knight,” he called out. “A moment of your time?”

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122 Chapter 122 South City’s Game: An Offer of Discipleship

I paused, studying him. Unlike Blaze Lane’s obvious aggression, this man exuded at more refined type of power. “Do I know you?”

“Caesar Nolan,” he replied with a slight incline of his head. “I believe we have mutual interests to discuss. Perhaps over dinner?”

The name registered immediately. Caesar Nolan–one of South City’s most influential figures and, if rumors were true, a major rival to the Lane family. This was an unexpected development, but potentially useful.

“And what interests might those be?” I asked.

His lips curved in a knowing smile. “The humbling of Blaze Lane, for one. Word travels fast in certain circles. I’d like to hear about your visit firsthand.”

I considered my options. Navigating South City’s power structure would be easier with allies, even temporary ones. And information was always valuable.

“I accept,” I decided. “When and where?”

“The Golden Phoenix, seven tonight. My driver can take you, if you wish.”

I shook my head. “I’ll find my way.”

“As you prefer.” He handed me a business card through the window. “Until tonight, Mr. Knight.”

The car pulled away smoothly, leaving me wondering what game Caesar Nolan was playing. Almost certainly he was trying to use me in his rivalry with the Lanes. That was fine–as long as I was using him too.

The Golden Phoenix lived up to its reputation. Crystal chandeliers illuminated private dining alcoves, each separated by ornate screens that created the illusion of seclusion while allowing soft conversation to flow through the space. The air was perfumed with exotic spices and the rich aroma of perfectly prepared dishes. and the rich aroma of perfectly pr

Caesar Nolan awaited me at a corner table, accompanied by three others–two men and a woman. All eyes in the restaurant tracked my progress as I was escorted through the dining room.

“Mr. Knight,” Caesar rose to greet me, extending his hand. “Welcome. Please, join us.”

I shook his hand firmly. “Thank you for the invitation.”

122 Chapter 122 South City’s Game. An Offer of Discipleship

“Allow me to introduce my associates,” he gestured around the table. “Ming Chen, South City’s foremost expert in business law. Jonathan Drake, who oversees

my shipping interests. And Ellis Mitchell, a dear friend and one of South City’s most respected martial artists.”

I exchanged pleasantries with each of them, noting how Ellis Mitchell’s eyes assessed me with particular intensity. His handshake was deliberately firm–a subtle test of strength that I returned with precisely the same pressure.

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