Lord-Campione
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Chapter 021: FURY
🕑 Added 2025-01-23 00:50:24 +0000 UTCAdrian looked up, his eyes narrowing. “You done?”
“Hell no,” Tommy said, leaning forward with a grin. “You think you’re funny now, but give it a few weeks. Scrawny little niggas like you get passed around in here. You wanna avoid that? Start makin’ friends.”
Adrian’s hands curled into fists. “Shut up.”
Tommy smirked. “Hit a nerve, huh? You ain’t got the balls for this life, do you? What you wanna do, boy? Beat up the biggest guy in here? That’s a death sentence, kid.”
Adrian’s head throbbed harder. “I said shut up!”
“Oh, I see now,” Tommy continued. “You one of those soft niggas. Probably think you better than us, don’t you? Don’t even say ‘nigga,’ huh? Lemme guess—your loser parents told you not to. What, they couldn’t even own the word? Too scared to teach you how to be Black and proud?”
The moment the words left Tommy’s mouth, Adrian snapped.
His body moved before his mind could catch up. The exhaustion, the pain—it all burned away in a surge of adrenaline. His foot struck the underside of the bedframe with such force that it flipped the old man off the top bunk. Tommy hit the ground with a grunt, scrambling to sit up, but Adrian was already on him.
He grabbed the old man by the collar and slammed him into the steel bars of the cell. The metallic clang echoed loudly, sending a shiver through the block.
“Don’t,” Adrian growled, “ever talk about my parents.”
“You—crazy—nig—“
Adrian didn’t let him finish. He slammed Tommy’s head into the bars again. And again.
The sound of metal meeting flesh was wet and sickening. Inmates up and down the cellblock began shouting—some cheering, others calling for the guards. Adrian didn’t care. His mind was locked on Tommy’s words, replaying them over and over.
Loser parents. Too scared. Couldn’t own the word.
No one disrespected his parents. Not after what they’d sacrificed for him. Not after everything they’d done to keep him alive, when the world around them had been falling apart.
He slammed Tommy into the bars one last time, the old man’s body going limp in his grip. His breathing was ragged, his muscles taut, his fists trembling as he stared into Tommy’s bloodied face.
The truth was, Adrian didn’t have a problem with the word itself. He’d heard it his entire life, from friends, from enemies, from music that blared out of cars in the streets of Gotham. But his mom—his beautiful, brilliant mom—had told him something when he was just a kid, after a fight at school.
He’d gotten into an argument with a classmate who’d called him the word. Adrian had screamed it back at her, his tiny fists clenched in rage. That night, his mom had pulled him aside, her voice soft but firm.
“That word, baby, it’s heavy,” she’d said. “It’s got centuries behind it. Blood. Pain. Power. And it’s yours if you want it. But you don’t gotta use it just because someone throws it at you. You’re more than a word. Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise. And don’t let a word like that control you—whether you’re throwing it or catching it.”
Those words had stuck with him.
Adrian didn’t avoid saying it because he was ashamed, or because he thought he was better than anyone. He avoided it because it was his way of honoring her—her lessons, her love, her loss. It was one of the only things he had left of her.
So when Tommy spat his nonsense about Adrian trying to “be white” or his parents not owning the word, it hit deeper than it should’ve. It wasn’t about pride, or race, or the word itself. It was about respect. And no one disrespected his parents.
Adrian released Tommy, letting the old man collapse to the ground in a heap. Blood dripped from his forehead, pooling beneath his head as he groaned weakly.
From the corner of his eye, Adrian saw a guard running toward the cell, shotgun raised. The man’s face was pale, his hands trembling as he aimed the barrel at Adrian.
“Step back!”
Adrian turned slowly, his face streaked with sweat and blood, and smiled—a wide, unsettling grin. “Sure thing, boss,” he said, raising his hands and taking a step back. His tone was light, almost playful, but his eyes burned with something darker. “But hey, since you’re here, think I could get my one free phone call? You know, lawyer stuff. I promise I won’t call your mom.”
“Shut up and sit down!”
Adrian shrugged, lowering himself onto the bunk with exaggerated care. “Whatever you say, officer,” he said with mock politeness, leaning back as though he were settling into a recliner. “But, uh, you might wanna check on Tommy over there. Guy’s had a rough night. Might need a Band-Aid… or a body bag.”
The guard swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the shotgun before he glanced nervously at Tommy and called for backup.
Adrian sighed, the adrenaline fading as a deep ache settled into his muscles. His leg throbbed, his back stung, and his head felt like it was still splitting open. He leaned against the cold wall, closing his eyes.
The clatter of boots snapped him out of it. Adrian looked up to see a group of guards parting for someone new. A man in a gray suit strode in—tall, broad-shouldered, and carrying himself with the kind of authority that made everyone around him fall in line.
But it wasn’t the warden that caught Adrian’s attention.
It was who stood beside him.
Guardian.
Adrian raised an eyebrow, sitting up straighter on the bunk. “Aww, man,” he drawled. “I didn’t even get to enjoy my complimentary prison meal before the cavalry showed up. Y’all couldn’t wait five minutes?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll have time to eat.”
“Oh, yeah?” Adrian asked. “How? You bringing me a pizza? Pepperoni, maybe?”
“Because Cadmus has an offer for you,” Guardian said bluntly.
“Excuse me? Come again?”
“The boss wants to see you,” Guardian continued. “There’s a car waiting outside. You’ve got a meeting with Lex Luthor.”
Adrian opened his mouth, then shut it. He repeated the motion a few times, his mind racing. A meeting with Lex Luthor. What the hell does that mean for me?
