C4 Lust Is a Poison

Ethan leaned against the bar of a dimly lit speakeasy in the Lower East Side, sipping a cold beer. He’d been working nonstop for weeks—signing deals, meeting with investors, rebuilding his empire—and he was exhausted. The $50 million deal with the American retail giant had just been finalized, and he needed to relax. He needed to forget about the gangs, the NYPD, the debts. He needed to feel human again.

The speakeasy was dark, smoky, and loud—jazz music playing in the background, people laughing and talking, the smell of whiskey and cigar smoke hanging in the air. Ethan loved it here. It was the only place in New York where he could be anonymous, where no one knew who he was, where no one expected anything from him.

A man sat down beside him, his bare chest covered in a tattoo of a tiger. He had a thick New Jersey accent, and his eyes were cold and calculating. "Hey man, you want a girl? Real pretty. All types—Asian, European, Russian. Whatever you want."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. A pimp with a tiger tattoo. Cliché, but effective. He hadn’t been with a woman in months, and the beer had loosened his inhibitions. "Russian. And make sure she’s good."

The pimp grinned, nodding. "You got it. Best in the city. Follow me."

He led Ethan down a narrow hallway to a private booth in the back. A woman was sitting there—tall, blonde, with bright blue eyes and a curvy figure. She was beautiful, exactly what Ethan had wanted.

The pimp left, closing the door behind him. Ethan sat down beside her, smiling. "You’re Russian?"

She smiled back, her voice thick with a Russian accent mixed with a Brooklyn twang. "Half Russian, half American. They call me Katya."

Ethan laughed. A fake Russian. Typical. But she was still beautiful, and he didn’t care. He’d come here to relax, to forget, and she was exactly what he needed.

"Let’s go back to my hotel," he said, standing up. "Waldorf Astoria. Better room, better drinks."

Katya grinned, standing up and linking her arm through his. "Lead the way, handsome."

Ethan led her out of the speakeasy, hailing a yellow cab. The ride to the Waldorf was quiet, Katya leaning against him, her hand on his thigh. Ethan didn’t mind. He was tired, drunk, and happy. For a moment, he forgot about everything—the gangs, the NYPD, the danger. For a moment, he was just a man, with a beautiful woman, going back to his hotel.

They got to his suite on the 50th floor, Ethan locking the door behind them. "I’ll get the drinks. You go shower."

Katya nodded, walking into the bathroom. Ethan poured two glasses of whiskey, turning on some soft jazz music. He leaned against the bar, sipping his whiskey, listening to the sound of the shower running. He was tired, so tired, and the whiskey was warm and smooth. Before he knew it, he’d fallen asleep on the couch.

He woke up to a searing pain in his arm.

His eyes flew open, and he found himself tied to the bed, naked, his arms and legs bound with thick rope. Katya was standing beside the bed, a leather whip in her hand, a cold smile on her face. The pimp with the tiger tattoo was standing beside her, his hands in his pockets, his eyes cold and angry.

"Who the hell are you?" Ethan shouted, struggling against the ropes.

The pimp laughed, stepping forward. "The name’s Tiger. Leader of the Black Tiger Hall. Chen Wei was my boss. My brother. You killed him when you jumped off the World Trade Center. You thought you could get away with it? You thought you could just rebuild your little empire and forget?"

Ethan’s blood ran cold. Dragon Tiger Gang. They’d found him. They’d come for their revenge.

"Lust is a poison, Ethan," Tiger said, shaking his head. "You should have known better. A man like you, with a price on his head, shouldn’t be picking up random girls in speakeasies."

Katya raised the whip, striking Ethan across the chest. A searing pain shot through him, and he gritted his teeth, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

"Chen Wei was a legend," Tiger said, his voice low and menacing. "He robbed banks, killed cops, smuggling drugs and guns. He could fight 10 men at once. A martial arts master. And you? A rich kid who can’t even fight his way out of a paper bag. You killed him by accident. A fucking accident. That’s an insult. A slap in the face to the entire Dragon Tiger Gang."

Ethan laughed, a bitter, painful laugh. "You want to kill me? Do it. I don’t care. I’ve tried to kill myself twice already. You’re doing me a favor."

Tiger stared at him, stunned. He’d killed dozens of men in his life—bankers, cops, rival gangsters—but he’d never met anyone like Ethan. A man who wanted to die. A man who didn’t fear death.

"You’re a freak," Tiger said, shaking his head. "But you’re going to die. Slowly. Painfully. You have two choices: die here, on this bed, with Katya’s whip in your back. Or we’ll throw you off the roof of this hotel—just like you threw yourself off the World Trade Center. Make your choice."

Ethan thought for a moment, the pain in his chest throbbing. Jumping off the roof would be too easy. Too familiar. He wanted something different. Something new.

"Electric chair," he said, his voice calm. "I’ve always wondered what it feels like. Never felt electricity like that before. Do it. Electrocute me."

Tiger stared at him, then laughed—a loud, incredulous laugh. "You’re a fucking nutjob. Fine. Electric chair it is. I’ll make you into a roast pig."

His men brought in a metal bathtub, filling it with water. They cut the ropes binding Ethan, dragging him to the tub and throwing him in. They wrapped thick copper wires around his body, connecting them to a car battery on the floor. Ethan sat in the cold water, the wires digging into his skin, a strange sense of peace washing over him.

He thought about his life—his childhood in a foster home, his struggle to build Ethan Enterprises, his rise to the top, his fall from grace. He thought about his foster father, an old Chinese man who’d taught him Qigong, who’d told him that life was a gift, that death was not the end. He thought about all the mistakes he’d made, all the people he’d hurt, all the things he’d never gotten to do.

He thought about living.

Katya leaned down, kissing him on the forehead. "Goodbye, Ethan. You’re a strange man. I’ll remember you."

Tiger flipped the switch.

Electricity surged through Ethan’s body, a searing, burning pain that spread from his toes to his head. His muscles tensed, his body convulsing, his mouth open in a silent scream. He could feel his skin burning, his heart racing, his brain shutting down. He thought he was going to die—finally, truly die.

Then everything went black.

Tiger stared at the body in the tub, shaking his head. "Let’s go. This freak is dead."

Katya nodded, following him out of the suite. They left the battery, the wires, the bathtub—all the evidence of their crime. They left Ethan for dead.

But Ethan wasn’t dead.

Thirty minutes later, a maid found him, calling 911 immediately. He was rushed to the hospital, his body covered in burns, his heart stopped three times on the way. The doctors thought he was going to die—they said there was no way anyone could survive that much electricity.

But Ethan was a walking miracle.

He woke up three days later, lying in a hospital bed, his entire body covered in bandages. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, he could barely breathe. But he was alive. He could feel his heart beating, his lungs working, his brain thinking.

He was alive.

And something was different. Something in his body had changed. The electricity had burned him, broken him—but it had also awakened something. Something deep inside him. Something powerful.

Icy walked into his room, checking his vitals with a shocked expression. "You’re awake. How is that possible? The doctors said you’d never wake up. You’re a miracle, Ethan. A true miracle."

Ethan stared at her, his eyes wide. He tried to speak, but no words came out. He could only stare, his mind racing.

He was alive.

And the real adventure was just beginning.