Rehab for SuperVillains (18+)-Chapter 15: Dreck

The kitchen doorframe pressed cold against Kael's shoulder as he lingered on the edge, breath shallow, hazel eyes carving through the murk. A faint whiff of grease lingered from lunch, now curdled with something fouler—sweat, rust, a stranger's stink.

The bulb in the hall flickered, throwing jagged light across the tiles, and muddy bootprints smeared a crooked path from the busted entrance. His pulse ticked steady, a drumbeat under his skin, but his mind sharpened to a blade's edge. The takeout bag slipped from his grip, thudding soft, grease blooming dark through the paper as it hit the floor.

A shadow twitched deeper in—bulky, careless—followed by a scrape, metal kissing tile. Kael tensed, boots silent as he slid forward, power simmering in his palms, a low hum waiting to ignite. The figure turned, broad and slouched, a rusted crowbar dangling loose in one meaty hand.

B-Rank goon—Dreck, a name whispered in alleys, a thug who'd gut a beggar for a bottle. Aggressive. His leather jacket hung frayed, patched with grime, a cheap chain glinting dull around his thick neck. Scruffy hair framed a face pocked with scars, and his muddy eyes gleamed as they landed on Kael, lips peeling back into a yellowed grin.

"Well, shit," Dreck drawled, voice gravel scraped over glass. "Fancy digs, fancy prick. Thought this place was a ghost—guess I hit the jackpot." He whistled low, gaze raking the half-patched walls, the sturdy counter, the gleam of new fixtures among the shabby district's rot. "What's a pretty boy like you hiding worth taking?"

Kael rolled his neck, joints popping, voice steady as steel. "Wrong house, wrong night. Walk out, or I'll make you." His hands stayed loose, deceptively calm, but his stance shifted—wiry frame coiled, ready. Physically, he wasn't a tank—lean, built for speed, not slugfests—but he'd danced this dance before.

Dreck's grin widened, crowbar tapping his palm. "Cute. But this?" He nodded at the room, the reinforced door down the hall. "Screams loot. I'll take it all—starting with you." He stepped closer, boots scuffing, and Kael exhaled slow, hazel eyes glinting cold.

"Last chance," he muttered, but Dreck was already swinging—crowbar cutting air, a brutal arc aimed to crack ribs. Kael twisted low, the rusted edge grazing his jacket, and snapped a fist into Dreck's side—flesh soft, unguarded. Empathic Resonance flared, a silent jolt, turning the jab into a howl that ripped from Dreck's throat, pain spiking far beyond the bruise. The thug staggered, crowbar clattering wild, and Kael pressed in—knee slamming Dreck's thigh, boots skidding as they grappled, crashing into the counter. Pots rattled, a mug shattered, shards glinting like teeth on the tiles.

Dreck roared, shoving back hard—elbow smashing Kael's cheek, bone singing with pain. Kael reeled, vision flashing white, and hit the stove—metal groaning, a burner knob snapping loose.

Blood tricked warm down his lip, copper sharp on his tongue, but he ducked as Dreck swung again, crowbar smashing the stovetop, sparks spitting. Kael lunged, tackling Dreck's waist—both slamming the floor, tiles cracking under their weight, breath hissing out in grunts.

A scream tore through—wild, pissed, muffled by wood. "Kael, you fuck, what's happening? Get me out!" Rhea's voice punched from her room, followed by a thud—fist or foot rattling the door. Dreck's head snapped toward it, eyes narrowing, grin twisting darker.

"Well, damn," he rasped, shoving Kael off, crowbar scraping as he stood. "Got a dame locked up? Sick bastard." His laugh barked, wet and cruel, as he cracked his knuckles. "Thought you were just rich—now I'll save the chick, take your stash, and bury you for fun."

Kael spat red, hauling upright, hazel eyes blazing. "She's not your prize, asshole." His voice cut low, lethal, but he didn't budge for her door. Rhea's yells could be a trap—her fire itching to bolt, this chaos her key. Doubt gnawed, a splinter he couldn't pull, and Dreck charged—crowbar high, a feral swing. Kael dodged, snagging a fallen skillet—swinging it hard, metal cracking Dreck's forearm with a dull clang. The thug bellowed, stumbling, and Kael hammered again—skillet to ribs, Resonance spiking the ache, Dreck's gasp choking out.

The hall thundered—Rhea's kicks splintering wood. "Kael, I'm on your side, damn it! Let me loose!" Her voice shredded the air, raw and fierce, a promise not a plea. "I'll gut him—trust me!" Kael's chest tightened—her fury sounded real, no lie in its bite—but he couldn't gamble yet.

Dreck swung wild, crowbar clipping Kael's shoulder—pain flaring hot, bone grinding—and Kael tackled back, slamming him into the wall. Plaster crunched, dust puffing, and they wrestled—Kael's grip slipping on the thug's sweaty arm, crowbar scraping tiles as it fell.

Dreck's laugh rumbled, a guttural taunt, and he heaved Kael off—fist crashing into his chest, air whooshing out. Kael hit the ground, tiles icy against his spine, and Dreck loomed—crowbar snatched up, swinging down fast. Kael rolled, metal smashing beside his head—cracking tile, shards biting his arm—and scrambled up, lunging again.

His fist caught Dreck's jaw, Resonance flaring, pain blooming sharp, but Dreck's elbow snapped back—crashing Kael's temple, world tilting, stars bursting. He slumped against the counter, breath ragged, blood dripping, and Dreck grinned, stepping closer.

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A crack split the air—wood, not bone—Rhea's door buckling. Hinges screeched, frame splintering, and she erupted—a streak of crimson hair and fury, Kael's t-shirt flapping loose, black panties stark against her scarred thighs. Barefoot, wild, she didn't pause—launched at Dreck with a snarl, tackling him full-force. They crashed hard, her weight driving him down, tiles groaning as she straddled his chest—fists raining, knuckles splitting his lip, blood flecking her t-shirt. "You drunk fuck, I will end you right here?," she growled, amber eyes ablaze, nails clawing his cheek, red lines welling fast.

Dreck thrashed, bucking her off—boot catching her ribs, sending her tumbling with a grunt. He surged up, crowbar swinging, and she rolled—metal sparking tile where her head had been. Kael staggered upright, shoulder screaming, and grabbed Dreck's arm—wrenching it back, crowbar clattering free. Dreck spun, fist smashing Kael's nose—blood gushing, hot and wet—and Kael crumpled, gasping, vision swimming. The thug turned, grinning, and loomed over Rhea—sprawled, panting, amber eyes defiant.

"Nice try, bitch," Dreck sneered, crowbar rising, but Rhea twisted—grabbing a shard of broken mug, slashing his shin. Blood sprayed, a thin arc, and he howled, stumbling. She sprang, ramming her shoulder into his gut—driving him back, crashing into the stove again.

Metal buckled, a burner popping loose, and Dreck shoved her off—fist cracking her jaw, snapping her head back. She hit the floor, rolling, and he advanced—crowbar high, ready to cave her skull.