Chapter Fifty-eight
Mikkel
“Love is the whole thing. We are only pieces.”
~ Rumi
H ours had passed since everything spiraled out of control, and my anger wasn’t fading—it was growing, boiling deeper with each breath I took. Fury coursed through my veins like molten lava, scalding me from the inside out. My fists were clenched so tight my nails were cutting into my skin, the pressure building with every passing second. Dillon had used a favor to put Joshua on the no-fly list before he could even leave the country, and from there, he was brought to Malen.
As we pulled up to the nondescript warehouse, Dillon stopped me with a hand on my arm, his face more serious than I’d ever seen it. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Of course, I’m sure.”
Arnoldo chimed in from the backseat, his voice cautious. “We have people who can take care of this—”
I cut him off, turning my gaze to Dillon. “Did you let people handle Matthew?”
Dillon’s expression darkened instantly. The mention of that name sent a flicker of something dangerous through his eyes. “You know damn well I didn’t.”
“Then let’s go.”
His jaw clenched, but he gave a single nod. He understood. Sometimes you had to take matters into your own hands and clearly, Joshua didn’t understand me verbally and I was sure after today, he’d get it.
The building was cold and unforgiving. Dim lighting barely cut through the thick shadows that clung to the walls like predators waiting to strike. The air was heavy with the metallic scent of old blood and sweat and the cracked concrete floors were stained with years of violence.
There was no pretense of sophistication here—just raw and brutal. A place where rules didn’t exist.
The faint clink of chains caught my attention. Joshua hung in his restraints, arms spread wide and limp. His wrists were bound in thick cuffs, chains leading to a hook above. His feet barely touched the floor, bruised and broken, his head hanging low in defeat. The dim light cast harsh shadows, making him look even more pitiful. He had no strength left, every bit of the pussy I knew he was.
I stopped in my tracks, a storm brewing inside me as I looked at him. This was the man who’d tried to humiliate el amor de mi vida 197 , who’d made a mockery of her, and reduced her to the point she hated herself. All the anger, the hatred that had been building up inside of me, now had a target.
Dillon stopped beside me, his expression unreadable. “Are you sure?”
I clenched my fists at my sides, jaw tight. “Yes.”
This wasn’t just about revenge. This was about making sure Joshua never crossed another line again. And he was about to learn there was no escape from the consequences of his actions.
Dillon glanced at me, then down at my shirt, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “You realize you’re wearing a full white shirt, right?”
Arnoldo gave a sharp, incredulous laugh. “That’s what you’re reminding him of right now?”
Dillon shrugged, his eyes still locked on my shirt, completely unfazed by Arnoldo’s reaction. “I doubt he wants to stain Hermès with this asshole’s blood.”
A dark chuckle escaped my lips. “You’re right,” I muttered, the adrenaline still coursing through me. I unbuttoned the shirt swiftly, peeling it off and handing it to Dillon, now shirtless. “Better?”
“Much better,” Dillon replied, his eyes flashing with something between amusement and satisfaction. He slung my white shirt over his shoulder, the casualness of it almost ridiculous given the situation. “Nice physique. My gym really is paying off.”
Arnoldo shook his head, exhaling sharply. “Only Dillon Xander would be worried about clothes in a place like this.”
I chuckled, then shifted my focus back to Joshua, his body still hanging limp, oblivious to the reckoning that awaited him. I didn’t realize I had this level of violence in me. I’d been angry before, lost my temper, and raged. But something about this, about him , had triggered something deep inside me, something I didn’t even know was there.
It wasn’t just that they dated or he was part of her past—I couldn’t care less about that. It was the way he talked about her, like she was nothing more than something to use and discard. And yes, the sex tape burned me. She trusted him with that, and what did he do? Used it to prove a point. Now, I’d use him to prove mine.
The room felt smaller as I crossed it, my gaze locked on Joshua. For a second, I hesitated. Not because I doubted what I was about to do, but because I knew that once I started, there would be no stopping.
And then it happened—my fist collided with his gut, the impact sending a dull thud through the room.
“That,” I shouted, “is for treating her less than she deserves. For making her feel insecure. For using and abusing her for years. ”
His body jerked in the chains, a groan escaping him, but before he could recover, I swung again, landing a punch square across his face. The force snapped his head to the side, blood spraying from his mouth. His eyes widened with panic, but it was too late.
“This,” I muttered, “is for thinking it was okay to share her sex tape.”
Another punch. Harder this time. I could feel the bones in my knuckles crunch against his face, the crack of cartilage as his nose gave way beneath my fist. I didn’t stop. Each hit was fueled by every insult he’d thrown at Abigail, every disgusting word he’d used to describe her.
“And this,” I finally stated, “is to make sure you never so much as breathe near her again.”
He tried to speak, maybe to beg, but I drowned him out. His groans faded, lost in the raw fury pumping through me.
His head lolled forward, blood dripping from his mouth and nose, but I wasn’t done. I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, forcing him to meet my eyes. “ Eres patético , 198 ” I spat, my voice low, almost unrecognizable to myself. “A sorry excuse of a human being.”
I slammed my fist into his gut again, his body jerking in the chains. The sound of the impact was visceral, a sickening thud that reverberated through the room.
My knuckles were raw, bloodied, and I could feel the sting setting in. Joshua’s head hung low, blood dripping from his face to the cold concrete floor. Each breath he took was labored, ragged, but I didn’t feel any satisfaction. Just rage, simmering hot and unrelenting.
I stayed there, chest heaving, glaring at the wreck of a man in front of me. He barely stirred, too weak to even respond. My whole body was coiled tight, ready to keep going, but before I could land another blow, I felt Arnoldo’s hand on my shoulder. “ Ya basta , Suarez! 199 ”
I exhaled sharply, stepping back. “ Tienes razón , 200 ” I muttered, flexing my sore fingers. The adrenaline was still pumping, but I knew I had to stop.
Dillon turned to Kamadge, the man who apparently cleaned up the aftermath. “Finish this.”
Kamadge, a hulking man with a calm, unsettling demeanor but with a face so innocent, you’d never expect this line of work from, stepped forward. “How do you want it done, Mr. Suarez?” he asked, his voice cold and professional.
“Ruin him. I don’t care how,” I said, my voice low but steady. I looked down at Joshua, his beaten, bloodied form. “Make sure he never recovers and he knows never to mess with her again.”
Kamadge nodded, his expression devoid of emotion, just the cold efficiency of a man who had done this a thousand times.
Before I stepped away, I turned back to Joshua. “Not so tough now, right?”
He didn’t answer, instead coughed, his head hanging low. “Eso pensaba yo. 201 ”
I turned to Dillon and Arnoldo, feeling the tension in my muscles begin to loosen. “Let me know how much money to transfer,” I said quietly. “Whatever it costs.”
Dillon nodded, his usual smirk absent, replaced by a hardened expression. Arnoldo exhaled, relieved it was over. We stepped out of Malen in silence, the cool night air cutting through the lingering tension. Without a word, Dillon handed me a fresh shirt. I slipped it on, discarding the bloodstained one, but my hands still trembled.
“Let’s get a drink,” Arnoldo said, breaking the silence as we started driving. “You can text the girlfriends later, but we all need something to calm down.”
“I don’t drink anymore, but sure.”
Arnoldo glanced between Dillon and me. “Since when?”
“Since she told me her ex was an alcoholic, Arnoldo.”
Arnoldo nodded, his expression softening, and we continued driving in silence until we reached Vero , one of his private bistros. At the bar, the bartender began pouring drinks, but I stuck with tonic water.
I raised my glass, my fingers still sore from the impact of each punch, and took a slow sip that offered some temporary relief.
Dillon’s phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing in concern as he typed a quick reply. He slid it back into his pocket then turned to face me.
“Suarez, you should either text Abigail or head home.”
I looked at him, confused. “What happened?”
He sighed, his tone serious. “Azzaria said her anxiety’s high.”
A pang of guilt hit me, cutting through the haze of anger I’d been living in. I finished the last of my drink, the glass hitting the counter harder than I meant. “I’m heading out now. Thank you guys.”
Dillon gave a small nod, his eyes understanding. “Arnoldo’s got a car coming for us. Take care.”
I stood up and, as I turned to leave, glanced back at them. “Thanks for everything,” I muttered, the words heavier than usual. It wasn’t just about what had happened tonight; it was for always standing by me, for having my back through it all.
Dillon smiled faintly, the edge of mischief still there, but his voice was sincere. “We’re brothers, Mikkel. Always.”
“Love you too, brother,” Arnoldo said. “Take care.”
With that, I walked out of the restaurant, my mind shifting away from everything and back to the person who mattered most—Abigail. Whatever was going on in her head, I needed to be there with her, and I wasn’t going to waste any more time.