Transmigrated in Banshee Town

When he heard that the dead man was Alex, Chayton's expression shifted, though it still held some somberness:

—And who sent him to the ancestors?

Tommy looked around, and Chayton stepped closer to him to keep his voice low.

—They say it was Proctor's niece, —he murmured almost inaudibly before being interrupted by his older brother.

—Wait, come with me. I'll wash up so we can leave. —he said, moving toward a secluded area.

Tommy and several members of their gang followed Chayton as they walked toward a secluded corner, where some outdoor showers used by the fighters stood. Normally, the showers were taken in turns, but exceptions were made—especially for someone who had nearly beaten his last opponent to death.

Chayton took a quick shower to wash the blood off his body before leading Tommy and the others to his apartment. Knowing they were fond of drinking and having a good time, as soon as they crossed the door, Chayton went straight to the cabinet, opened it, and pulled out several bottles of whiskey and brandy.

—Alright, tell me what happened, from the beginning.

Tommy unscrewed the cap of a bottle of Jack Daniel's, took a swig straight from the bottle, and wiped the liquid from the corners of his mouth:

—A couple of weeks ago, the Banshee police arrested Proctor.

—I told you to talk about Alex. Why are you talking about Proctor?—Chayton frowned. He knew Proctor well. During his years as gang leader, he had many run-ins with him but could never touch him; the difference in resources was immense.

—I know, I know, hold on. —Tommy put the bottle down and said—. From what we could find out, the police went after Alex right after arresting Proctor. So we figured Alex was going to testify against him, and that's why that damned German had him liquidated.

—Alex was a fool, too arrogant for his own good. That's how Proctor works. —Chayton took a sip of wine and said in a deep voice.

A sneer of disdain appeared on Chayton's lips as he grabbed the bottle:

—Have they found the body?

Tommy asked, surprised:

—No, not yet. But everyone knows he's dead.

Chayton exhaled the breath of alcohol:

—But even so, he was the head of the Kinaho tribe. We must avenge this insult.

Chayton's eyes gleamed; now he had a motive to leave this underground life behind:

—When we eliminate Proctor, we'll deal with the corrupt tribal council. In the future, the Kinaho tribe must be under the control of our Redbone gang.

Chayton clenched his fist tightly and smashed the bottle against the wall, causing it to explode and the liquid to spill across the floor.

Tommy said excitedly:

—Then, when do we strike back?

—Don't get impatient. Tomorrow, I'll get some weapons, —Chayton rubbed Tommy's head and picked up his phone—. I'll take care of it. You guys can go have fun tonight; I'll get you some white women.

Including Tommy, the men who sought out his brother were all loyal to him. In recent weeks, while on the run, he had amassed a small fortune from underground fights and didn't hesitate to spend some money on his brothers from the tribe—it was his way of keeping them loyal.

The idea that Chayton couldn't retake leadership of the Redbone gang after being away from the tribe for so long never crossed their minds. For most of the members, as long as he was alive, he would remain their undisputed leader.

Banshee Town

A few days had passed since Ethan and Hood returned from New York after dealing with Rabbit. The bad news arrived quickly.

In the end, they had no choice but to accept the disappearance—or perhaps the death—of Alex Longshadow, along with the news that Proctor had been released on bail. It was a bitter truth to swallow, but inescapable: men like Proctor always found a way to come out unscathed. Money, power, connections... that was all they needed to bend the rules in their favor and walk free.

Some wanted to believe that justice had finally caught up with Proctor, that his actions would eventually condemn him. But deep down, everyone knew that with people like him, justice was rarely more than an illusion.

After a long day of work, Ethan planned to relax at Davis Bar, enjoying a cold beer. However, his plans changed in an instant when his phone vibrated on the passenger seat.

An alert lit up the screen, illuminating the dark cab of his truck: "Intrusion detected: perimeter compromised."

Ethan frowned. His cabin, isolated deep in the woods, was equipped with a security system so sophisticated that a false alarm was practically impossible. Without hesitation, he turned the wheel, steering away from the road to the bar, and pressed the accelerator toward home.

Ethan turned off the engine of his patrol truck and calmly stepped out, letting the silence of the woods envelop him. Instead of heading straight to the cabin, he walked toward the small dock extending into the tranquil lake waters.

On the wooden platform rested an almost-empty bottle of whiskey, a couple of crumpled pieces of clothing, and a double shoulder holster with two Glock 17Cs secured in place.

Ethan bent down, examining the weapons with a gesture that showed more curiosity than alarm. He knew exactly who had crossed the perimeter of his property.

A faint sigh escaped his lips as he straightened, holding the whiskey bottle up to the light. There was no worry on his face, only a spark of intrigue. This visit wasn't a threat, at least not in the conventional sense. If this person had returned, there had to be a good reason—and Ethan was almost certain what it was.

Ethan removed his boots and walked barefoot along the dock. With his right hand, he grabbed the whiskey bottle and took a long swig. In the distance, on the lake, a woman with long black hair swam through the water.

Noticing Ethan's presence, the swimmer inhaled deeply and submerged herself, leaving the surface calm.

The water's surface regained its stillness, but beneath it, the slender and sensual silhouette of a figure could faintly be seen swimming elegantly toward the dock.

—Wow! —The sound of water splashing announced Nola Longshadow as she jumped out of the water. She took a few deep breaths of fresh air, her long, wet black hair covering her chest.

The warm tones of her skin, characteristic of Native Americans, blended with the shimmer of water under the moonlight, enhancing her natural beauty and making her look particularly striking.

Nola grabbed onto the dock, firmly taking the whiskey bottle from Ethan's hand. She took a long, strong swig straight from the bottle without flinching, her expression remaining cold as she murmured:

—Are you just going to keep staring, or are you going to stand there like an idiot?

The choice wasn't hard to make. Ethan quickly removed his police uniform, leaving it scattered across the dock, and jumped into the water without hesitation. The impact broke the mirror-like surface, and he swam determinedly toward Nola. She floated a few meters away, her silhouette barely visible among the gentle ripples of the water.

When Ethan got closer, Nola turned to him with a mischievous smile, her wet hair clinging to her face. Without saying a word, she extended her hand toward him, and Ethan took it.

Half an hour later, they were floating gently on the water, face-up, gazing at the stars in the sky. Ethan slowly played with the water and asked:

—Where have you been all this time?

—Hawaii, Egypt, the Amazon. I needed to clear my head after what happened in New York. —Nola's cold voice continued— But you already know why I came back to Banshee, don't you?

—I can imagine.

—Then is there something I should know?

—Let's talk about it in the cabin.

After diving into the lake for a moment, Ethan turned in the water, swimming back toward the small dock. He gathered everything from the dock and returned to the house. Nola followed, and the two took a hot shower together.

When Ethan came out of the bathroom, the sound of his bare footsteps echoed on the wooden floor. He froze when he saw her there, sitting on the living room sofa. The soft lamp light cast gentle shadows on Nola's face but didn't soften the severe look she shot him as soon as their eyes met.

She said nothing. Not a word. She just watched him, waiting.

Ethan shrugged, letting the cigarette dangle between his fingers. He walked toward the window, cracked it open slightly, and allowed the fresh night air to mingle with the smoke.

—Ethan, —she said at last, her voice sharp.

—A few weeks ago, we arrested Proctor for illegal possession of firearms. During the search, we found some records from the Kinaho Tribe's casino, as well as some transactions between him and your brother.

—The Sheriff and I then approached Alex to warn him and see if he could serve as a witness to put Proctor behind bars.

As I expected, Alex was still involved with Proctor.

The very idea made her grit her teeth in frustration. But how could Alex resist? Her brother wasn't someone who knew how to stand up to anything, much less someone like Proctor. He had always been... weak. Cowardly, even. Nola hated thinking of him that way, but it was the truth.

Ethan shook his head and continued:

—Then I left for two days for something, and when I came back, I couldn't contact Alex. Someone of your brother's status wouldn't just vanish, and the council members aren't telling us anything.

—So...

—We fear the worst: that Proctor got to him, and now he's dead.

Nola stood up, grabbed the bottle of whiskey, and walked toward the window, silently gazing out at the lake.

—What are you going to do? —she asked.

After a while, Nola turned back with a firm expression:

—I want you to help me kill Proctor.

Ethan blinked, surprised by the coldness of her words, but he said nothing.

—Don't spout nonsense about being a cop and how you can't act outside the law, —she continued, taking a step toward him, her eyes locked on his—. Because I won't believe it.

Ethan opened his mouth to speak, but Nola raised a hand, silencing him before he could begin.

—You didn't show mercy when you massacred those men in New York, —she said, her voice sharp as a blade.

Ethan finally looked up, his eyes meeting Nola's. In her steady gaze, he didn't just see a woman desperate for revenge; he saw someone willing to do whatever it took.

Every step he had taken since setting foot in this place seemed to push him inexorably toward a confrontation with Proctor. Like a river flowing to the sea, no matter how hard he fought against the current, his fate was sealed.

The story of this place was moving forward relentlessly, dragging him along with it.

—I guess I can't avoid the inevitable, —Ethan murmured to himself, his voice barely a whisper.

Nola, who had been watching him silently, sat down beside him. After a moment, Ethan nodded with determination, turned to her, and said:

—I'll help you deal with Proctor, —he said, his voice firm, filling the room with a sense of finality—. But we'll do it my way.

Nola looked at him for a few seconds, as if searching his face for any hint of doubt or hesitation. She found none. Finally, she nodded resolutely.

—Fine, we'll do it your way, —she replied, her words laden with a mix of trust and pragmatism.

Ethan held her gaze for another moment before turning away, walking toward the table where the whiskey bottle still sat.

He poured himself a glass, the sound of the liquid breaking the silence. He took a sip as he pondered what lay ahead.

Ethan embraced her and continued:

—You need to be patient. Don't think about rushing in headfirst. If Proctor could be killed easily, he wouldn't still be alive today.

Nola averted her gaze toward the guns on the table, feeling somewhat embarrassed. Her initial plan had been to storm directly into Proctor's mansion if she couldn't find another way.

—So, what do you think I should do? —she asked, uneasy.

—First, take back what's yours, —Ethan said, raising an eyebrow as his tone took on a calculating edge—. You need to regain control of the Kinaho Tribe and the casino. You can't let what the Longshadow family built fall into the hands of others, can you?

Ethan's words echoed in the room. Nola immediately tensed, her shoulders stiff and her jaw clenched. She knew he was right, but that didn't mean she was ready to accept it without a fight. She was used to her freedom, to making her own choices.

—And what if I don't want to? —Nola retorted, crossing her arms defiantly—. I have no interest in being a figure of power or leading the tribe. That life isn't for me, Ethan.

Ethan took a step closer to her, his gaze locked onto hers, intense and full of purpose.

—This isn't about what you want, Nola, —he replied firmly—. It's about what you need to do. The casino, the tribe... they're yours by right. If you abandon them, you give Proctor more power. Every piece you let fall is one he'll use to strengthen his grip.

Nola glared at him but didn't respond immediately. Ethan's words hit a nerve she preferred to ignore.

—What does that have to do with Proctor? I can't stand the idea of being stuck in an office all day.

Ethan calmly extinguished his cigarette.

—Your father is dead, and now your brother is too. Who do you think will protect what's left? Alex has two kids, right? They're barely five or six years old. Don't you fear that the tribe will tear them apart?

Ethan's words struck Nola, making her realize she was the last Longshadow capable of bearing the weight of the family.

—Being in charge doesn't mean you have to do everything yourself, —Ethan said, his calm born from experience—. Just make sure the right people are in the right places.

The casino is simpler: control the staff and the finances. If someone isn't satisfied, remember that the gun in your hand isn't just for show.

Nola thought for a moment and responded:

—Alright, but what does that have to do with Proctor?

—A person isn't scary; what's scary is the power behind them, —Ethan replied gravely, his voice carrying a weight that made Nola pay close attention.

She thought of Proctor and the possibility that he was backed by very powerful people. Otherwise, he wouldn't keep walking free every time the police cornered him.

—If you control the Kinaho Tribe, you'll have power. If you take back the casino, you'll have money. With both, you can slowly erode Proctor's influence within the council until there's nothing left of him.

As much as she wanted to kill Proctor immediately, Nola admitted to herself that Ethan's words made sense. However, she knew it wouldn't be easy.

—I want you to help me, —she said finally—. Quit your job as a cop and come work with me. When I take control of the casino and we defeat Proctor, I'll give you six percent of the new casino's shares.

Ethan looked up, tempted by Nola's offer. Six percent of the casino was a substantial sum. After a few seconds, he smiled.

—I'll help you with everything you need, but I can't give up my badge just yet. It'll be more useful for us if I stay on the force.

—Alright, —Nola agreed with a smile, extending her hand—. Then we have a deal.

—But I have one more condition.

—I'm listening.

—I want you to stay tonight.

Ethan drank the contents of his glass in one go, tossed the towel aside, and lunged toward her.