Chapter 33 #2
The basement door looms ahead of us, standing open from earlier. The harsh fluorescent lights are still on in the center of the space, unaffected by the power cut. The air is still thick.
“Down,” Alfred orders.
I descend the narrow staircase with my hands raised. Each step has my mind racing through possibilities. Maybe I can keep him talking, distract him long enough to make a move. Maybe the others are still alive and will find me. Fuck. I can’t get locked in down here.
We reach the bottom and Alfred gestures toward the cells. “You locked me in there like an animal,” he says. “Now you get to see what happens to animals that bite the hand that feeds them.”
But when we approach the cell where I left him unconscious, Alfred stops dead.
Through the small window, I can see Ms. Harrington sitting on the cot, staring at the wall with a blank expression.
Her usual tight bun has pieces sticking out in all directions, and there are tear tracks down her cheeks.
“What the bloody hell?” Alfred mutters, leaning closer to the window. “Greta? How did you—”
That’s when I hear footsteps behind us, barely audible but definitely there.
Alfred’s too focused on the cell to notice, and I don’t dare turn around or give any sign that I’ve heard anything. Instead, I keep my eyes fixed on Ms. Harrington, who finally looks up and meets our gazes through the glass.
“Sir?” she calls out. “Sir, is that you? They locked me in here. I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“Who locked you in?” Alfred demands, confusion replacing some of the rage in his voice. “Where are my men? Where is your key?”
The footsteps are closer now. Two sets, moving along the shadows.
“I don’t know, Sir. These men, they locked me in. Said you were dead.”
Alfred’s grip on the gun loosens as he clearly tries to process this information. I should take the opportunity given. Should disarm him.
“That’s impossible. My security team would never—”
As I’m about to make my move a familiar voice sounds behind me. “Drop the weapon.”
Damon steps into the light, gun trained on Alfred’s head, with Jasper right behind him, both of them bloodied but very much alive.
“Now,” Damon adds, his voice deadly calm.
Alfred’s gun wavers between my head and the new threat. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“Disappointed?” Jasper asks, moving to get a better angle. “Your security team wasn’t as good as advertised.”
I can see Alfred calculating, weighing his options. He’s outnumbered, but he still has me as a shield.
“Let him go, Alfred,” Damon says. “It’s over.”
“Is it?” Alfred’s voice returns to that cold, controlled tone. “Because from where I’m standing, I still hold all the cards. One wrong move and your friend here gets a bullet in the brain.”
“And then you get two bullets,” Jasper points out. “Simple math.”
Alfred laughs, but there’s hysteria creeping into the sound. “You think I care about dying? You’ve already destroyed everything I worked for. Everything I built. I’m a dead man anyway.”
“Good,” I say, finding my voice again. “That was the point.”
The gun presses harder against my temple. “Ungrateful. Ungrateful to the end.”
“Alfred.” Damon’s voice cuts through the tension. “Look around. You’re in a basement. You’re outnumbered. Your empire is gone. It’s over. The question is: do you want to die here, or do you want to spend the rest of your life behind bars thinking about what you’ve lost?”
I can feel Alfred’s hand shaking slightly where it grips the gun. He’s breaking down, coming apart at the seams.
“Your choice,” Jasper adds. “But you’ve got five seconds to decide.”
The silence stretches between us, heavy and thick. Then Alfred speaks, his voice barely above a whisper.
“You were supposed to be mine. My legacy. My heir.”
“I was never yours,” I tell him. “I never will be.”
Then faster than I can register, he swings his weapon toward Damon and fires.
I move fast, elbowing him in the ribs. He stumbles backward, and I catch his wrist, slamming it against the concrete wall until he drops the weapon. “D? You okay?” I yell.
“He missed,” Damon replies, breathing heavy.
“Fucking barely,” Jasper adds.
Alfred staggers, dazed, as I kick the gun away from him. Damon and Jasper move in, weapons still trained on him, but he’s not fighting anymore. He’s just standing there, swaying, looking lost.
“Well?” Damon asks, glancing at me. “What do you want to do with him?”
I look at Alfred—really look at him. This man who terrorized me, who hurt Bailey, who destroyed countless lives. The rage I’ve been holding back finally breaks free.
“You know what?” I say, my voice low and dangerous. “Before we lock him up, I think he needs to understand what he put people through.”
Damon’s eyes light up with dark understanding. “I like where this is going.”
Alfred tries to back away but there’s nowhere to go. “Leon, please. I’m your father—”
“No.” I cut him off. “A father protects his child. You’re nothing but a predator who shares my DNA.”
I grab him by the collar and slam him against the concrete wall. His head cracks against the stone and blood trickles from his scalp.
“This is for Bailey,” I snarl, driving my fist into his stomach. He doubles over, gasping.
“And this is for every girl you destroyed.” Jasper steps in, landing a vicious punch to Alfred’s jaw that snaps his head to the side.
“And this,” Damon adds, grabbing Alfred’s wrist and twisting it until something pops, “is for thinking you could ever break us.”
Alfred crumples to his knees, whimpering. Gone is the composed manipulator. In his place is a broken, bleeding man who finally understands what powerlessness feels like.
“Please,” he gasps. “I’m sorry. I can change—”
“Now you’re sorry?” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Where was that remorse when you were training girls to be compliant? When you were selling human beings like cattle?”
I grab his hair and force him to look up at me. “You don’t get to beg now. You don’t get to ask for mercy you never showed anyone else.”
Blood runs from his nose, mixing with tears of pain and fear. For the first time in his life, Alfred Colter looks small.
“Open the cell,” I say finally, releasing his hair. He slumps forward, barely conscious.
Jasper swipes Ms. Harrington’s keycard and the electronic lock disengages.
She steps back as the door swings open. “Sir? Are you alright?”
“Stay back,” I tell her before turning to Alfred. “And you, get in.”
Alfred’s eyes widen through the blood and swelling. “Leon, you can’t—”
“I can. And I am.” I grab him by the shoulder and shove him toward the cell. “You put people in cages. Stripped them of their dignity, their freedom. Now you get to experience exactly what they did.”
He stumbles into the cell, catching himself against the wall. “Please. We can work something out. I can give you names, locations—”
“You’re done talking,” I step back as Jasper swings the heavy door shut.
The lock engages with a soft beep.
Alfred pounds on the door, his voice rising to a shout. “You can’t leave me here! This is murder!”
“No,” I say through the intercom. “This is justice. You and Ms. Harrington can keep each other company. Maybe she can teach you some of those manners you were always going on about.”
I turn away from the cell, from Alfred’s shouting, from the basement of nightmares.
“So what now?” Damon asks, finally sliding his weapon back into his pants.
My gaze moves between my brother’s faces. We don’t share blood, but that never mattered to me. What matters is how we feel about each other. That we’d all be there at the drop of a hat if needed. Then I look back at Alfred, trapped in his own prison, finally powerless.
“Now,” I say. “We make sure justice gets served. Roll up your sleeves, brothers. We have a fuck ton of work to do.”