The Lies He Told Me

The streets were dark and wet, normal for this time of year in the city of Kingstown. In fact, it rained most days of the year here. The people were used to it, with heavy coats and umbrellas a staple in every resident's closet. Kingstown is literally a city of immorality, Gotham in real life. It wasn't just the normal casinos taking money from people who couldn't help but gamble their life's fortune away. Or the strip clubs that offered special perks in the back rooms for those willing to pay. Or even the men who prowled the parks late at night.

†††

"Sick of this goddamn rain." Cameron Mendez muttered to himself as he made the turn onto the street where his pub stood.

It had been an abnormally long rainy season this time. Two straight months of it. While it rained a lot in Kingstown, there were usually at least small breaks in between storms. Little pockets of relief, but it wasn't the same this year.

It wasn't the weather that put Mendez in a pissy mood, but one of his bars—not a big one or even a profitable one—had been robbed. They didn't steal cash or liquor. Instead, they focused on the cache of guns that was in the basement. A hidden basement. One that only a handful of people knew about. The entrance was a loose floorboard that blended in so well that even if you knew it was there, it took a second look to find it.

That meant only one thing.

They had a rat.

People parted in the street to let him through, the hat and pin on his jet-black overcoat signaling to everyone just what and who he was. It had been a long time since that affected him. Mendez used to relish it, staring down those who took too long to move or gazed too long at the gold pin on his breast pocket. Then the paranoia set in after a few years of his ascension, eyeing every single warm body that passed him in the streets, hating how recognizable he had become.

Now, it was as normal as the rain that fell on his shoulders.

He had reached a point in his life where he was finally comfortable. He was at the top of the food chain in Kingstown, his reputation allowing for a certain level of protection. There were those who tried, of course, but there was nothing more that Mendez valued than his trusted inner circle.

That trust was now frayed, Mendez unable to figure out who it was who had given up valuable information. Not one of his people had ever given him a hint that they would turn on him. And that was a problem. This information had cost him thousands upon thousands of dollars. Since learning of the heist, that paranoia that had almost cost him everything back in his early days had started to edge its way back into the folds of his mind. Every waking thought was dedicated to finding this turncoat.

And he would.

The bells at the door jingled as Mendez entered his pub. A mixture of cedar and whisky filled his senses, the familiarity calming the unease sifting through his stomach. He knew the man sitting in the corner seat at the bar, what section of the newspaper he was reading, and how many drinks he had. The screens were all set to sports, most playing baseball as it was heading into the World Series. The bartenders shaking drinks and pouring beer were making jokes with the others at the bartop.

Home. That's what this felt like. Safe. Something his family rarely felt.

But that was where this story started, right? With the mistake of getting too comfortable, too trusting, too safe. With age and success, Mendez had failed at the most important rule of this job.

Never trust a human being.

It looked like he had broken that cardinal rule.

Mendez moved past the crowd without a glance, heading straight for a door tucked near the kitchen. A bulky guard answered his knock, stared for a beat, then stepped aside.

Inside, the air was thick with smoke. Card tables filled the room, with men gambling and puffing cigars. Heads turned as Mendez walked by—no one dared speak. Even the city's most powerful men went quiet around him. He liked it. It meant his reputation still held weight, despite recent setbacks.

A girl offered cigars to a group of potbellied men admiring them in gold-lined boxes. An argument sparked in the corner, but security shut it down fast. Power didn’t matter here. Mendez’s rules did.

He didn’t stop or acknowledge anyone. His destination lay beyond a narrow hallway and past a locked steel door. A second guard stood there, tense as Mendez approached. Behind him: a thick vault door with a giant wheel handle. Old-school. His father’s idea of style.

"Key, boss?"

Mendez reached into his coat, pulling out a ring of keys. The guard added his, and together they turned. A loud click echoed, then the door groaned open.

Behind it, a narrow staircase spiraled upward. Four floors of brick walls, cracked steps, and dim bulbs led to a plain wooden door. No windows. No exits. Just the climb.

At the top, Mendez paused. Fixed his watch. Took a breath. Then knocked three times, sharp and precise.

The door opened. Inside: five men. His guards. His brother Tully. A stranger. And Cedric Glover.

“Cameron,” Cedric said, voice low, face hidden in shadow.

Mendez sat across from him. “Cedric. Thanks for coming.”

“You don't really say no to a Mendez.”

Fair enough.

“You've heard what’s happening in Kingstown?”

Cedric nodded. “Word gets around.”

“It's not just my problem, though, is it?”

Cedric’s eyes narrowed. He was known for being cold. He ran the uptown business district and owned one of the biggest tech companies in the world. Old money. "Royal blood," some whispered. His family had property across continents—castles even, hidden in swamps and forests.

Mendez leaned in.

“We have a new enemy. And I think it's time we stop pretending it's just my war.”