Drake woke with a start, feeling the cold steel on his throat. The teenager a few years older than him greeted his groggy prisoner with a toothy smile. "Did you really think the Lords would just let you walk away, Baxter?" He spat off the side of the building. "We don't work that way, Drake. Luther doesn't work that way. Now get up!"

Drake rose, becoming painfully aware of his situation. The tarp partially lifted, he could see the sun had not risen yet. The knife at his throat was not one of his, nor were any of his in view. Brian here had obviously been smart enough to pocket them first. His pocket watch was still here, lying next to his head just as the night before. Brian was wearing the customary Lords black leather jacket, with the gold patch on the right arm. Obviously since Drake's absence from the gang Brian had worked his way up in Luther's good graces.

Judging distance, he could see that the bended position Brian was in put Drake in an interesting position. He could afford to land a solid kick and fly down the fire escape, but if he did, he would lose his knives and possibly, if Brian was faster than he (though he doubted it, judging by his burly build), his life.

"Get up!" Brian had ordered. The thoughts flew in and out of Drake's head in three seconds, and he made his choice. A swift kick to the neck caused Brian to drop the knife as he groped for his Adam's apple. The gamble had paid off; Drake caught the knife as it fell.

He jumped up, holding the knife menacingly. He kicked Brian to the floor and rested his foot on the already throbbing neck of his attacker. Before anything else, he snatched his pocket watch off the ground and stuffed it in his pocket. He locked the knife back and stuck it in his pocket as well, to prevent another power swap. "All right, Brian, I want answers."

Brian nodded, desperately trying to swallow. Drake lightened his foot hold slightly to allow the Lord to breathe. Drake continued his interrogation. "What does Luther want with me? I thought we had an agreement. I left; he took control of the gang."

Brian spoke up, his voice scratchy but understandable. "The Lords' rep has been down since you left, man. Everybody stayed off our turf while you were boss, but when you walked out, we lost our control."

"It was my decision to walk, Brian. Luther said he understood that."

"Man, he just said that so he could be boss. Now, he's not even sure he wants to be."

Drake sighed. "I would have stuck around, you know. Fight nights on Fridays, controlling every dark alley in Downtown, being most feared teenager in Dallas. But Luther had to get involved with drugs."

"Man, you knew when you got into this there would be drugs. What've you got against them?"

Drake's eyes narrowed, the curiously red pupils flaming. "What if I told you my parents were gunned down by a drug dealer? What if I told you drugs left me an orphan? What if I told you drugs made me the only friggin' gang member in Dallas without a tattoo? What would you say to that?"

"I'd say you were weak, Drake. Just like I always said you were weak." A voice from behind, not from Brian. Drake reached for his knife as he turned, and clamped down his foothold on his attacker's neck. The man behind him, black, 20 years old, with a shaved head, stared back at him, noticeable unarmed.

"Well, Luther, long time-"

"No see. That's why I'm here, Baxter. I want you back as boss of the Lords. I want our turf back. The Drags have Deep Ellum, and if you don't come back, they'll get Fourth and Oak too."

Drake was growing impatient. "I left, Luther. I thought that was pretty clear. When I threw the leader's jacket in your god-forsaken face and turned the corner with half the gang on the ground, I thought we had an understanding. I named you successor, and you're not giving that title up till you're old or dead."

"You did."

Drake paused an raised an eyebrow. "You're not me, Luther. And all of Dallas knows it now. Now, take this helpless piece of crap here you call a second-in-command and get off my house."

Luther frowned. "I don't think so. It's time you knew how this feels." He took off his leather black jacket with Lord of Lords on the back and threw it in Drake's face. The teenager paused, shocked at the defiance.

He took his foot off of Brian and walked backwards to the ledge of the roof. "I don't think so, Luther. I already told you, you aren't me." And, with a sudden whirl, he threw the sacred Lord of Lords jacket off the ledge.

Brian gasped and Luther almost cried out. His lip curled into a snarl. Drake merely smiled sadly. "I really thought you might be a strong leader, but it's obvious to me that you're weak after all. I should've known the Lords were dead when I left them in your command that night in Deep Ellum."

Luther glared, speechless. Drake spoke for him. "Now, I'll repeat. Get—off—my—house. But first, I'll be taking my knives back, Brian." Brian paused, unsure of which leader to listen to. "Unless you want a broken nose to add to your list of injuries." Brian pulled out five knives, including Drake's personal one, and threw them at his feet.

Drake bent down to pick them up, and it was not until then that he realized his mistake. Brian bull-rushed and barreled into him, sending the card table and tarp sailing off the building. Caught by surprise, Drake had time only for a quick fulfillment of his promise to Brian, punching his nose only to hear the sickening crunch of the bones snapping.

But Luther was already behind him, his left arm locked with both of Drake's and his right choking him in a headlock. With Brian cradling his broken nose, Drake focused on his real opponent. Mustering all the upper-body strength he had, he flipped Luther forwards onto the concrete.

The freedom of his arms gave him time to grab a the switchblade he had taken from Brian and snap it open. He faced the Lord of Lords, one weak and cowering, one armed and angry. The true Lord walked to the false one with the knife raised high.

"You know what happened last time I held the knife like this, Luther? Ask your buddy Brian. Yeah, the one over there with the broken nose trying not to swallow his Adam's apple. If you make one more move, I swear to God I will slit your throat."

Luther, trembling with humiliation and hatred, looked up at his predecessor, the legend he could never and would never live up to. Gathering the only courage he had left, he charged one final time at Drake. The sun was rising.

The knife was raised high to avoid the pitiful Lord, but the leader's momentum carried him off the building three stories below. A sickening thud rang in Drake's ears, a sound he would never be able to forget.

Brian panted heavily. "I saw it, Drake! I saw you kill him, with my own two eyes! You try to play the good guy, the noble one, but you're just like us! A killer, cold as Luther was."

Drake spun and spat in his face, right on the broken nose. "I am nothing like that bastard."

And with that, he spun around and scurried down the fire escape, not knowing where he was going, but knowing he had to go.

It was not until the next morning that he realized Scout's dead carcass had been waiting for him at the bottom of the ladder.