Broken Interest The Iron renT an action thriller by Thanos Kalamidas Broken InTeresT Liam Brigs, the Shadow Guardian Thanos Kalamidas Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Broken Interest Broken Interest Thanos Kalamidas Thanos Kalamidas An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Broken Interest V äxjö, sweden. 2:14 a.m. A narrow alley off Linnégatan. Empty, except for the rats, the rain, and the dying man. The neon sign above flickered in half-life, buzzing with electrical fatigue: “Snabb Kredit – Låna Nu.” Fast Credit – Borrow Now. Blood ran down the man’s temple, carving a red tributary into his beard. His right eye was already swelling shut. Ribs shattered, at least two. Knees buckled from repeated kicks. One shoe missing. A cough gurgled from his chest like water sucked through a rusted pipe. Thanos Kalamidas He wasn’t going to make it home tonight. He was just trying to make it to his wallet. “Still think you can pay us next week, Patrik?” one of the two men said, squatting beside the broken man. No masks. No fear. This wasn’t a mugging. This was business. Their jackets were slick, dark polyester with a small stitched logo, VitaFinans AB. Their smiles were white, perfect, and plastic. One wore gloves. The oth- er didn’t. Didn’t matter. Both were the kind of men who put on cologne before cracking a man’s teeth in. “He’s got a watch,” said the gloveless one. “Take the watch. They always have a watch.” A third man stayed in the shadows near a white BMW. Younger. Nervous. Holding a clipboard and tapping his pen like a metronome of cowardice. They didn’t notice the motorcycle yet. * * * * * Liam Brigs sat astride his Triumph Tiger, engine off, his silhouette stitched into the darkness like a Broken Interest ghost drawn in hard pencil. He hadn’t moved in five minutes. Not when the first punch landed. Not when the first rib cracked. Not when the man cried out for someone named Sofie. His jaw was tight now. Breath steady. Arms relaxed. The stillness before a storm. He lit a cigarette. One drag. Slow. From the inside pocket of his leather jack- et, he pulled a worn, folded photo. His sister. Seventeen years old. Bright smile. A gap between her front teeth she used to hate. Killed by a stray bullet from a gang shootout while walking home from the grocery store. Wrong place, wrong time. Police never found the shooter. Never really tried. “Justice isn’t something you buy. It’s something you take back.” Liam tucked the photo away. Thanos Kalamidas Then he stepped off the bike. * * * * * He walked across the alley without a word. Just the steady rhythm of boots on wet pavement. Step. Step. Step. The first thug looked up and blinked. “Oi... this ain’t a show, man. Move it.” Liam didn’t stop walking. The gloveless one turned fully, reaching into his coat. Probably expecting to scare him off with a blade or a compact pistol. Liam’s left hand moved like smoke, quick, fluid, and fatal. A karambit blade curved from his palm like the fang of some silent god. Before the man could even clear his coat, Liam jammed the hooked blade un- der his armpit and ripped sideways, severing muscle, nerves, and a chunk of lung. The man dropped without a sound. Just a shocked exhale and piss running down his leg. Broken Interest * * * * * The gloved thug lunged. Mistake. Liam side-stepped and caught the man’s wrist mid- punch. A twist. A snap. Pop Then a reverse elbow to the throat, crunch An- other to the nose, crack He crumpled like a folding chair. The clipboard guy squealed and fumbled for his phone. He didn’t even run. Liam crossed the alley in five strides, snatched the phone mid-dial, and drove his fist into the man’s so- lar plexus. The clipboard clattered to the pavement. Liam grabbed his collar and slammed him against the BMW hood. Calm. Deliberate. “You a banker?” “I... I’m just admin...” “You sign the contracts?” “I... I don’t know what they do, I just...” Thanos Kalamidas “Wrong answer.” Liam shoved him into the windshield, glass spider- webbed under the impact, then threw him onto the ground like garbage. He turned back to the victim. The man was still trying to crawl. Liam knelt beside him and pulled a clean cloth from his pocket. “You got a family?” “...my daughter...” the man choked. “Good. You’re gonna see her tomorrow.” He tied the cloth tight around the man’s arm to slow the bleeding. Then he pulled out his phone and called emergency services. “One male. Internal bleeding. Head trauma. Alley off Linnégatan. You’ve got five minutes or he dies.” He didn’t wait for a response. He tossed the phone on the BMW’s hood and turned back toward his bike. * * * * * Broken Interest The gloveless thug was still moaning, clutching his side. The gloved one was trying to crawl away with one working arm. The clipboard guy was sobbing. Liam paused, cracked his neck, and said just loud enough: “Tell your boss: the interest’s due. I’ll be collecting.” Then he rode away into the drizzle, taillight flicker- ing like the end of a lit fuse. * * * * * Växjö City Center – 10:23 a.m. Liam sipped black coffee from a chipped ceram- ic mug outside a gas station café. His knuckles were bruised. His eyes hidden behind dark aviators. His Triumph parked at the curb like a black dog on a leash. On the opposite sidewalk, Jonas Stenmark exited a glass building with the word VitaFinans printed in blue Helvetica above the doors. Tailored suit. Taper fade. Wristwatch worth more than Liam’s bike. Behind him followed two assis- tants, both carrying tablets like nervous ducks trail- ing a predator. Thanos Kalamidas Liam smiled slightly. That was the man. The night before, he’d taken a USB from the admin kid’s coat pocket. Unencrypted. Amateur hour. Names. Payment plans. Threat records. Legal pa- perwork dressed in predatory jargon. Photos of bro- ken kneecaps and unpaid invoices stacked side by side. Stenmark wasn’t just running a loan business, he was laundering extortion through shell companies, skimming digital interest payments, and using street enforcers to “encourage” compliance. Liam stood, tossed a few coins on the table, and moved. * * * * * VitaFinans AB – 10:27 a.m. Reception was white tile and brushed steel. A dig- ital aquarium on the wall played calming footage of jellyfish in slow motion. The receptionist, young and robotic, barely looked up. “Do you have an appointment...” Liam walked past her. Right into the elevator. Broken Interest “S-sir! You can’t...” The doors closed with a quiet ding. He pressed Floor 8. Stenmark’s office. He adjusted his leather jacket, feeling the twin weights beneath, a tactical karam- bit on the left, Glock 19 holstered at the back. He wouldn’t start with the gun. Not yet. The building was quiet. Too clean. Too clinical. Like a hospital that knew it only served the wealthy. Ding. Doors opened. A man in a grey suit stood in the hallway. Sunglass- es indoors. Earpiece. One hand inside his coat. Liam didn’t break stride. “Sir, this is a private fl...” Three moves. Elbow. Knee. Palm. The guard dropped. No sound. Only the clatter of his radio on the carpet. * * * * * Thanos Kalamidas Stenmark’s Office – 10:30 a.m. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A desk of polished oak. A skyline view. And behind it, the man himself. Jonas Stenmark stood and spread his arms. “Well. You’re not police.” He smiled. Liam didn’t. “You’re Liam Brigs. Ex-SEAL. Discharged with honors. Sister shot in Malmö. Never solved. That’s the kind of man who starts thinking justice is some- thing you deliver with a blade.” He gestured subtly toward the camera in the cor- ner. “You’re being recorded. If you’re here to threaten me...” Bang. Liam shot the camera. Silencer on. “Try again.” Stenmark’s smile thinned. “You think I’m scared of you?” Broken Interest Liam walked forward, slow and steady, like death wasn’t in a rush. He placed the USB drive on the desk. “No. I think you should be.” Stenmark glanced at it. “Evidence? What will you do? Send it to the police? They’re on my payroll.” “Not here to make calls,” Liam said. “I’m here to collect.” “Collect what?” “Interest.” Suddenly, the door burst open behind him. Two enforcers. Big, Baltic-looking types. Tattoos. Vests. Guns. Liam moved without thought. A blur. He drew the karambit and spun low, slashing the first man’s thigh open, then twisting the blade into his abdomen. Gunfire. Second man fired twice. One hit Liam’s shoulder, Thanos Kalamidas flesh wound. Liam ducked, closed the gap, and drove the knife up under the man’s chin. Blood sprayed across the desk like red mist. Stenmark was already fumbling for a pistol in his drawer. Liam didn’t bother with the knife now. He pulled the Glock. Two shots. One into Stenmark’s shoulder. One into his thigh. The man dropped like a sandbag, screaming. Liam walked around the desk, grabbed him by the tie, and yanked him to eye level. “You want to ruin lives? Break bones for interest? Beat fathers in front of their daughters?” He drove the butt of the Glock into Stenmark’s nose. Crunch “This is your payback plan.” He pulled out a flash drive and jammed it into the laptop. It auto-ran a purge script. Emails. Contracts. Blackmail. Gone Broken Interest “You’ll confess. Or disappear. Your choice. I’m giv- ing you one shot. Use it.” Stenmark groaned. “Or what...?” he gasped, blood bubbling in his mouth. Liam leaned closer, voice like winter wind. “Or I burn down every building you’ve ever been inside. Every house. Every car. I will turn your em- pire into ash, one broken man at a time. And when I’m done—people will forget you existed.” * * * * * Växjö Emergency Department – 11:22 a.m. Jonas Stenmark was dropped off at the emergency entrance by a mysterious caller. Shot. Bleeding. Rambling about confessions and ghosts. Three hours later, a full data dump was leaked to Swedish financial crimes authorities. Every account. Every victim. Every threat. One hour after that, the victims started getting calls. Thanos Kalamidas Debts erased. * * * * * Somewhere outside Växjö – 6:45 p.m. Liam rode out on his Triumph, leaving the city be- hind, taillight glowing like a promise. He didn’t look back. There would be another town. Another person. Another crime. Another debt waiting to be collected. * * * * * Växjö – Abandoned Meat Packing Plant – 2:18 a.m. The message was simple. A burner phone buzzed in Liam’s pocket while he checked the Triumph’s oil line at a roadside stop. “WE KNOW WHAT YOU DID. COME TALK. ALONE. ADDRESS BELOW. CLOCK’S TICKING.” Attached was a photo. An elderly woman tied to a chair. Black eye. Duct tape over her mouth. Un- derneath, written in red: “Clara Nordlund. Age 67. Defaulted on 18,000 kr. Lives alone. Knits.” Broken Interest Liam stared at it. He knew that name. She’d made him rhubarb pie just three nights ago when he fixed the mailbox she’d said the wind took, though it was more likely a loan enforcer’s boot. He didn’t reply. He got on the bike. * * * * * 2:41 a.m. The plant sat on the outskirts of Väx- jö, rusting in the silence of a moonless night. Snow fell in waves, the kind that swallowed sounds and soaked clothes without mercy. Liam parked in the shadows and walked in through the side gate. No weapon in hand. That would be too easy for them. He passed an old conveyor belt still stained with time. The hum of a generator in the distance. Some- one had turned the lights back on. That wasn’t a meeting. That was a setup. Thanos Kalamidas He entered the wide freezer room, now warm and repurposed. Ten men. All armed. Clara sat in the center, tied to a metal chair. Duct tape over her mouth, shivering. And in the far corner stood Karl Enarsson, a name that hadn’t shown up on any of the USB files. Liam had missed him. Or he’d kept himself hidden. Bigger than Stenmark. Sharper too. The man had military bearing beneath his tailored coat. Scar over one eye. Tattoos creeping down his neck. He smiled as if they were old friends. “Liam Brigs. The ghost from Malmö. You left a mess.” “You kidnapped a grandmother.” “No, no. I borrowed her. Collateral.” Liam’s fists tightened. “You dismantled my front business. Cost me a few million. That gets noticed.”