39. Damon
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
DAMON
NOW
Pain blooms across my already sore cheek, but I welcome it.
Being stuck with the people in this room is my worst nightmare, and if the only thing that makes it tolerable is when one of them hits me, I’m okay with that.
Soon enough I’ll be back at the compound, and this will be a distant memory.
Even as I think it, my chest tightens.
Betraying my brother and Chloe doesn’t become an easier pill to swallow with time.
If anything, the longer I spend with them, the more my plan falls apart. Getting them away from Ryker and Kingston is going to be next to impossible, especially considering how they each track her every move like she’s their reason for breathing.
Another fist hits my jaw this time, and I grunt. The fresh bruising from the message my father sent makes this a whole new level of uncomfortable.
“Can’t handle the truth, Ryker?” I growl, blocking his next blow with my aching arm.
I have no excuses for why I threw myself in front of that bullet for Chloe.
I’d like to say it was instinctive, but I can’t think of a single other person I would do the same for. Including my brother.
“Can’t handle that your perfect siren has been handed between the three of you like a fucking joint at a high school party?”
I’m being an asshole. Even more so than usual.
But keeping Chloe at arm’s length has never been more important than it is right now.
I can’t let her get close, because it won’t be long before I hand her over to my father to kill. The more I push her away now, the easier that pill will be to swallow.
Or at least that’s the hope.
Ten years of distance wasn’t enough to permanently erase her from my heart. I can’t see a few days helping, but it’s worth a shot.
Ryker’s amber eyes turn wild with every shitty thing I say about Chloe, and before I get a chance to insult her again, he lands a punch to my gut, stealing the air straight from my lungs.
Thankfully he misses the bruised ribs I already have, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like a son of a bitch.
“Shut your filthy fucking mouth. Believe me when I say you don’t want to die at my hands,” he grinds out.
“You think I’m afraid of a little torture?” I spit.
He smirks. “What I do to my victims isn’t torture, Lombardi.
It’s fucking art. Do you know what a delicate balancing act it is to keep someone in excruciating pain for weeks without letting them bleed out or letting infection riddle their bodies?
It took years of practice, but I think for you I could drag it out for months as punishment for everything you’ve put Chloe through. ”
Every word out of his mouth is a promise, and I haven’t survived this long in a crime family without being able to identify when someone is a genuine threat to my life.
Who the fuck is this guy?
Kingston carefully hands a trembling Chloe off to Ronan and steps forward, keeping enough distance that he won’t get caught in the crossfire.
“Ry, you’re scaring Chloe,” he says carefully, like he’s speaking to a wild animal rather than an employee.
“Yeah, Ry,” I taunt. “You’re scaring the little traitor.”
His pupils dilate to the point his irises are nothing more than a golden ring as he produces a knife from his pocket.
I can usually pull my gun pretty quickly, but between the bruised ribs and a fresh gunshot wound, I don’t feel so confident.
“Damon, do you know what Ryker does for me?” Kingston asks but doesn’t bother waiting for a response.
“He kills people. Shitty people that deserve to die in the most horrendous ways. Serial killers. Rapists. The worst of the worst.” His words are calm, but he never tears his eyes off Ryker.
“None of his victims have ever been found, but you’ll have to take my word for how thoroughly he makes them pay for their sins.
And that’s for people he doesn’t care about.
I’m sure by now you’ve noticed that Ryker doesn’t feel like normal people, but Chloe is the exception to that rule.
What do you think he’ll do to you if you hurt the only person he actually cares about? ”
I glance over his shoulder at Chloe, whose eyes are wide, but she’s not afraid of the picture he’s painting.
I’ve heard rumblings of a company that does mostly not-for-profit private investigations that always lead to the disappearance of the suspects, but it’s never been on my radar to investigate.
My brother doesn’t seem any more surprised by the revelations than she is, which means they’ve likely had this conversation already.
Nice to be left out of the loop while in the presence of a serial killer.
The new information is going to make my plan harder to execute because it means killing them both to ensure they don’t spend the rest of their lives hunting me.
But it will be worth it once I take the reins of the family.
The position I was born for and have already waited too fucking long to take.
“Whatever,” I snap as I shove myself to my feet and storm toward the back door, ice-cold wind slamming into me the second I’m outside.
The sooner I’m back in Miami, the better.
I fucking hate the cold.