Chapter 40
Finally, I get to be me. The real me who lives and breathes violence as a relaxation technique.
Some prefer meditating or golf, but me, I need this.
The brutality, the sweat and anger. It’s all part of me.
Since I was born, there’s been something wrong with me.
And now, instead of feeling guilt or shame, I can swim in it.
I can be who I need to be without the fear of judgement.
And now, Isla gets to see all of me.
The sweat beads fall from my face as my knee connects with Benedict’s chin, a spine-tingling shattering sound resounding off the bare walls of the basement.
I’ve waited long enough to get my hands on him and make him pay for the shit he put Isla through.
I just hope Ezra wants him dead because that’s the only way he will leave my hotel.
In fucking pieces.
His white beard is covered in blood, some fresh, some old and dried up. His tired eyes barely open, one purple and swollen shut.
“Take it easy, we still need him,” Ezra says, tapping his thumbs on his phone, ignoring the loud skin-on-skin contact from my fist on Benedict’s face.
Isla watches from the side of the room, her arms crossed over her chest in the jeans she changed into before we got down to the basement. Sheer mesh covers her arms, her black singlet smooth over her skin beneath.
“How long have you all been working on Purileen?” I ask as he sways on his knees, his hands cuffed in front of him.
Sputtering, he spits the blood in his mouth onto the bare concrete. “Twenty-eight years.”
Ezra stands, making his way over to us, his black suit sitting neatly on his tall frame. He pulls out his handgun from his holster, the gold glinting even beneath the low light of the basement.
“I’ll give you an out to save your name,” he says, lazily pointing the gun at his head.
“Retract all statements that have been made about me, my family, and anyone closely associated with me. Give London Harbinger over to your second in charge. I’ll give you two days to put your affairs in order before you make a public statement that you’ll be stepping down. ”
“Then what?” Benedict smirks, clearly oblivious to the way this is shaping up.
“Then you fucking die,” I spit, hooking a punch to his jaw. He wails before his body thumps onto the ground.
I glance back at Isla, her gaze firmly trained on her father.
His hands are tied, but his eyes don’t wander, and he doesn’t appear afraid like any normal human would in this situation.
I know she wants to hurt him, and his time will come, but with the government’s heavy focus on shutting down gang-related activities, we need to make smarter moves.
And this is our chance to.
Ezra turns to Isla. “Would you like a promotion, Miss Knight?”
Her brows come together, her eyes darting from Ezra to her father. “The courts would never allow it.”
Ezra smiles, pointing the gun in his hand at her father. “I think you’re forgetting who owns this city.”
“Over my dead body,” Gordon murmurs.
Seconds later, I’m beside him, my hand around his thick neck, squeezing the air out of his throat as he stares at me. His face burns crimson red, his ego and pride like a fucking cancer inside his body, readying him for death.
“That’ll come sooner if you don’t cooperate.” I point to Isla. “You see this woman? She’s about to give me specific instructions, and I’m going to carry them out for her. Word by fucking word, I’ll do whatever she wants.”
“Enough,” Ezra says as I snap my elbow, and Gordon’s head hits the wall behind him.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. Tonight, you will probably come close to meeting the reaper, but each time you do, he’ll deny you because you haven’t paid the price of admission,” Ezra says with a bored expression.
“Malik, Emmett, and a few of my team will be here all night with you until you’ve come to terms with how the rest of your lives will look.
Then, in the morning, papers will be signed, contracts will be in place, and your usefulness will end. ”
“Fuck you, Casella,” a voice says from a distance. I almost don’t recognise Adrian in the corner, his dark hair dishevelled, the neat and crisp appearance washed away, replaced by his true self.
Putrid.
“Oh, you’ll have your turn too, don’t you worry,” I say, removing my hoodie. “How’s those fingers?” I huff a laugh when he gives me a menacing look. I’m surprised he’s still breathing, considering the multiple wounds I’ve gifted him.
“Okay, I have a date with my wife, and she doesn’t like it when I’m late,” Ezra interjects, stuffing his hands into his pockets and looking around the room. “I’m afraid I’m going to miss out on all the fun here, gentlemen.”
He turns to me and raises his brows in warning. “Remember, hearts need to be beating and fingers need to remain functional.”
“So everything else is fair game?”
He shrugs. “If you can show me something creative, I’ll hand over one of my distilleries.”
I smile, knowing he means every word. Extending my hand, I offer it to him. “No take backs.”
He laughs, clasping his hand in mine, and we shake on it. “Deal.”
The space is silent when Ezra leaves, everyone reserved in their thoughts, but Isla’s thoughts are loud and clear to me.
Make them hurt.
I stand in front of her now, lifting her hand to my lips and placing a soft kiss on her knuckles. “Where should we begin?”
She swallows, a hesitant look clouding her features.
“Tell me what you’d like done to them, and I’ll do it.”
“There’s only one thing I want to watch, then I don’t want to be here for the rest of it,” she says, cupping my face and leaning into me to whisper in my ear.
Every word she speaks brings a smile to my face. The fury in her tone, the ache in her words, are all emotions that I will bring to life.
“Emmett.”
He looks in my direction, eyes landing on mine, ready for whatever I need from him.
“Get me three large glass beakers. My woman wants to run some experiments.”