Sinful Pleasure (Sinful #1)

CHAPTER 63

C HAPTER 63

MADDOX

The abandoned building lit up like a Christmas tree, explosions of gunfire illuminating the darkness.

Now that I knew Allyn was safe, there’s nothing holding me back. Nothing to stop me from turning these bastards into hollow corpses.

My men pushed me out of their way, shielding me with their bodies.

But I didn’t want their protection. I didn’t want to hide.

I wanted blood.

I crave revenge so deep it burns through me, scorching every rational thought.

Mikael’s soldiers were too busy exchanging fire with my men, a chaotic dance of death filling the space. And that’s when I spotted him.

My father. The fucking coward.

He was slinking away, unnoticed by most, as he always does. He climbed the stairs like a snake shedding its skin, leaving his men to die in his place.

Not this time.

I drew my pistol— the weight of it steady and familiar in my hand. Sliding it back into my jacket, I took off after him, my boots pounding against the floor.

Bullets whizz past, screams echoed, and the chaos around me fades.

My focus narrowed to one thing—getting to him.

It didn’t take much to catch him. His age and fear slowed him down, and I grabbed him just as he reached the top of the stairs, dragging him back down with a force that sent him sprawling to the floor.

He landed hard, a grunt of pain escaping as I tower over him.

Pathetic. That’s what he was. A man who let others die for him, who sacrificed loyalty and lived to save his own miserable skin.

This was the man who preached about family, who lied about unity, who taught me to despise betrayal.

The same man who had allied with his greatest enemy to orchestrate the death of his own son.

I might have considered being more gracious with him—might have— but that chance evaporated the moment Allyn blurted out the words that shattered and rebuilt me all at once.

She’s pregnant with my child.

The impact of her confession hit me like a thunderbolt, electrifying every fiber of my being.

Joy swelled in my chest, sharp and overwhelming, a sensation I hadn’t even realized I was missing until now.

Fuck. I didn’t even get the chance to kiss her, to hold her in my arms.

My woman, carrying our future.

But that joy was dulled, buried beneath a tidal wave of fury.

A blinding, all-consuming rage at the fact that my father—this spineless, worthless bastard—is the reason she and our child are in danger.

That realization unlocked something new inside me. Something darker. A version of myself that knows no mercy, no limits, and no restraint—not even for my own bloodline.

I pinned Martin to the ground with savage force, my hand clamping around his throat, savoring the feeling of his life slipping through my grip. His hands flailed in the air, clawing at my wrist, trying and failing to push me off. The futility of his struggle only made me tighten my hold.

He’s just now beginning to understand the depth of his actions, the weight of his sins, and the cost he’s going to pay for them.

The fear in his eyes was intoxicating.

“You fucking created me,” I snarled, leaning in close enough to see the panic dilating his pupils. “Now you’ll pay the price for it.”

I drove my fist into his face, hard and unrelenting.

Once. Twice. Three times.

The sound of bone cracking under my knuckles was a symphony to my rage.

I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Blow after blow, blood splattered across my hands and onto the floor, painting the scene of his destruction. His face—a twisted, swollen mockery of the man he once was—blurred under the relentless onslaught.

Thirty punches, maybe more.

Each strike landed with a reason.

For Allyn. For our child.

For every sin, this bastard committed. And yet, it wasn’t enough.

He was still breathing, defying logic and justice, holding onto life he didn’t deserve.

“Fucking piece of shit,” I snarled, slamming his head into the ground.

Blood gushed from his mouth, pooling beneath him as he coughed and sputtered, his left eye swollen shut, his body barely clinging to consciousness.

“All your life,” I growled, venom dripping from every word, “your men fought your battles. Others suffered. Others died. All for you!”

“M-Maddox…” he choked out, his voice weak, blood spilling from his lips. ‘

I silenced him with another punch, harder than the last.

None of this—none of these blows—could ever be enough to make him pay for the hell he put us through. Not even close.

When I finally stopped punching him, Martin was nothing more than a bloody wreck beneath me, barely breathing, struggling to force air into his lungs, just as he deserved.

All his life, this bastard had been hiding behind the sacrifices of others, his name a curse that led to death and destruction wherever it went. He had blood on his hands— but there wasn’t a fraction of the intelligence or honor required to wield the power he thought he deserved.

A coward. A weak leader. The fact that he was still breathing now was an insult to everyone who’d died because of him.

I stared down at him, my gaze cold and filled with disgust.

“I may carry your last name and have your blood in my veins, but I’m not your son, Martin.”

His eyes flickered with panic.

“Don’t,” he croaked, barely able to summon enough strength to beg. “Please.”

Hearing him beg? It was almost sweet.

He had never once begged for mercy in all his years of chaos. He never cared about the lives destroyed by his decisions. Never cared that people suffered at his hands.

And now, here he was— broken and pleading like the coward he always was. I stared at him, my fingers still tingling with the urge to end him right then and there.

I looked down at the gun in my hand and smirked, the idea of an easy death repulsing me. I threw it to the side, pulling out my knife.

“You think I’ll grant you a quick, painless death?” I shook my head slowly. His eyes widened, a fresh wave of fear washing over him.

“No, Martin. I want you to suffer. Just like I’ve suffered all these years because of you.”

I grabbed him by the collar, lifting his barely conscious body off the ground, his face contorted in agony as I slammed him against the nearby fence. The only thing stopping him from falling into the chaos of our men below, dying because of his pathetic decisions, was that fucking fence. My fingers tightened around his throat. I could feel his pulse racing beneath my grip, his life hanging by a thread. The hatred that flooded through me was overwhelming, burning through every part of my body.

“Don’t, Maddox,” he spat through the blood, his ugly face twisted with desperation. “Don’t put a woman before your family.”

I slammed my fist into his face again, knocking another tooth loose. The audacity of him, trying to use her to save his own skin. I wasn’t falling for it anymore.

“She’s not just some woman,” I said, my voice cutting through him like a knife, every word soaking into his thick skull. “She’s my family. And you? You’re nothing. You’ve always been nothing.”

I didn’t care to hear his last words if he had any. The damage he’d done to this world, to me, had already been more than enough.

With one swift motion, I slashed the knife across his throat, feeling the wet heat of blood as it splattered everywhere.

He choked, gagged, gasped—drowning in his own blood, the final echo of a life that should never have existed. And as I watched him die, something inside me—the little boy he had tainted for years—celebrated.

We are free, kid. We are finally fucking free.

I kicked his lifeless body off the fence, sending him plummeting to the ground below, where he would be swallowed by the same darkness he’d inflicted on so many.

As soon as his body hit the ground, everything stopped.

The gunfire. The chaos.

The room fell silent.

I stood there, my eyes scanning the blood-soaked floor, landing on my father’s lifeless form. I felt no grief, no guilt.

Only relief. Relief knowing that he could do no more damage.

To me. To anyone.

I placed my hands on the fence, my head tilting back as I inhaled deeply, the weight of it all settling on my shoulders.

When I spoke, my voice carried, cutting through the stunned silence.

“With the death of Martin King, I put an end to this war,” I declared, the words coming naturally now. “A war that has led only to bloodshed and death.”

They were all staring at me—uncertain, hesitant. Their eyes flicked between me and my father’s lifeless body, trying to grasp what had just happened, what would happen next.

“You can continue to support my father’s barbaric ways, but know this— if you do, you’ll end up just like him.” I raised the bloody knife, pointing it at his body to reinforce the message. “Dead.’’

They all looked down at his body.

‘’You can join me and live in peace, or you can die by my hands. The choice is yours.”

The room fell into silence, the tension thick. I could feel the weight of their eyes on me, men looking between each other, weighing their options. I didn’t blame them. They were victims of Martin too.

My father had used them as pawns— shields to protect his own miserable life.

But I’m not my father. Not anymore.

I want to be better. No more fear, no more bloodshed, no more pain.

It didn’t take long before the first gun hit the ground. One by one, the pistols dropped, echoing in the stillness.

A symbol of surrender. A symbol of victory. My victory.

I let out a breath, not realizing I’d been holding it all this time. The relief was almost overwhelming, but I couldn’t dwell on it.

Not yet.

I walked down the stairs, tossing the bloody knife aside, letting it clatter against the floor.

The men parted, making way for me like I was their King.

But as I looked around at the carnage—so many bodies lying in pools of blood—my jaw clenched.

All of this, all this suffering, it was because of him.

And then my gaze landed on her.

Lydia.

Her lifeless body lay among the fallen, a bullet lodged in her chest. Her eyes were wide open, staring into nothingness, her once-glorious white hair now tangled around her pale face.

I dropped to my knees beside her, my heart hammering in my chest as I reached for her cold, lifeless hand.

She was gone. She never fucking deserved this.

Lydia had been a part of this twisted world for so long, a victim of our father, just like me.

I hit the ground hard, the weight of my emotions crashing down on me. Anger and grief twisted together inside my chest.

Lydia’s body lay still, her death just another mark on the long list of sins my father had committed.

He’d brainwashed her. Turned her into another one of his puppets.

And in the end, she paid the price for his manipulation.

She deserved so much more than this.

I sighed, my breath shaky, as I gently closed her eyes, letting her rest in peace.

“I’m sorry, little sister,” I whispered, my voice cracking as I caressed her cold cheek. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Lydia wasn’t a bad person. She was broken—just like me. She had been twisted by my father’s lies and power until she had no choice but to follow his path.

I had found salvation in Allyn— she helped me see the light again.

But Lydia wasn’t so lucky. She was lost, and she paid the ultimate price.

I kissed her forehead one last time, feeling the weight of what we had both lost. And then, with one last glance at my sister’s body, I stood up.

Turning to my soldiers, I found the strength to speak.

“Take her and my father’s body,” I ordered, my voice barely above a whisper. “Bury them next to my mother.”

I had one last thing to do before this end.

Mikael Romano.

He had managed to escape. But not for long.

No one can hide from me.

No fucking one. And when I find him, I’ll make sure he understands the true cost of crossing me.

I’m coming for you, Mikael.