Hudson didn’t just hit the man; he dismantled him. The titanium head of the driver whistled through the air, connecting with a sickening thud against the stranger's ribs.

"You think you can put your filthy paws on what belongs to the Montgomery line?" Hudson’s voice was a low, guttural vibration that seemed to shake the very grass beneath them.

The man was past begging. He curled into a ball, a pathetic heap of bruised flesh and shattered pride. Hudson’s eyes weren't amber anymore—they were a predatory, blinding gold. He raised the club one last time, the metal gleaming with a lethal promise, until the shaft snapped under the sheer force...