CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MADDOX
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Running through Central Park is not something I do often because I need to take personal security with me. Usually, I just work out at my gym.
The loss of freedom is one downside to being a billionaire. Ironic, given I’m now a kidnapper. My size, youth, and power protect me for the most part, but not from a shooter.
Apparently, having the skills and ability to make a ton of money is evil. Only after a certain amount, though. I could earn a million and they’d clap. Possibly ten million. After that? No, evil.
How fucking stupid.
The thing is most people want an endless supply of money but can’t admit it to themselves or to anyone else. Or have bought into some insane belief that money is evil.
No, people are evil.
Money is just paper, plastic, or digital. An inanimate object. It doesn’t have a point of view or agenda.
We do.
Humans.
Anyway, I’m in a fucking bad mood after the way I ran out on Kyra. So I hit the pavement without any security so I can think. I need to be alone.
If someone tries to jump me, I’d likely beat them to a fucking pulp. God knows my fight club days taught me exactly what to do.
So, with my ear buds in, I set a steady pace and turn up the music. This is my version of meditation. Hard rock cranked up with the base throbbing through my head. Drowning out all the sounds of my inner voice and any others trying to break through.
After twenty minutes, I’m sweating and focused on the beating of my heart and the pounding of my feet.
My phone beeps and an alert comes through.
I stop dead.
I consume all news via podcasts, social media, and email. Except for one alert which pings me when there’s something new.
My father.
I swipe my phone, and it sends me straight to a live feed of Pierce being interviewed.
“Fuck.” I step off the path, letting other joggers past and push my buds in harder, turning up the volume.
“Thank you for joining us in the studio this morning, Mr. Sterling.”
“You’re welcome.” His voice grates at my nerves.
It’s not like I haven’t seen photos of him in recent years but watching him live has a different effect on me. My teeth grind and I want to jog over to the studio and run a knife across his neck.
Then watch him bleed out.
He deserves a much slower and more painful death, though. One day...
“Tell us how you are feeling. Your fiancé is missing, and it’s been a number of days now.”
Are you in love with my father?
Yes.
Calling Kyra, who I was balls deep in last night for hours, his fiancé cuts at me in a way I don’t expect. Perhaps it’s me who is lying. The way her body fits with mine, how I tucked her under my arm and caressed her to sleep.
I don’t do that shit.
I fuck. I leave. I never think about them again.
But with Kyra...shit...I could have kissed her for a hundred hours, just gazing into those pretty eyes. Melting when her little mewls escaped.
The way her toes pressed against my legs, and she nuzzled into me.
Me. The man who had her drugged and taken.
I’m a fucking idiot for turning the tables on myself. If I was a child, Pierce would tell me how useless I am and that I couldn’t do anything right. Then force his cock down my throat. Or press his thumb inside my rectum.
I can’t explain why, but that act was far worse than having my father perform fellatio on me.
I told Parker once—the need to tell someone overwhelming me one night—and he said he felt the same. It was the unwelcome invasion, he thought.
None of it should’ve fucking happened.
It’s the stark reminder that these evil men deserve the suffering that’s coming to them.
“It’s been a hard week. We want Kyra to come home.” Pierce says as I swallow back the bile in my throat.
“Where do you think she is?” the interviewer asks.
“We don’t know yet, but we do know she left without her meds. It appears she may’ve stopped taking them for at least a week,” Pierce says as I frown.
Meds?
Does he mean her asthma puffer? Because I gave it to her. I had no information that she was on medication. What the fuck is he up to?
I should be enjoying his humiliation, but I should have known he would only face the media if he had a card to play.
“What type of medication are you referring to?”
“Well,” Pierce starts, and a chill goes down my spine. “Kyra needed support, like many do, so I don’t think there’s any shame in sharing that she has mental health issues.”
That cunt.
“Not at all.” She nods and gives a pitiful glance at the cameras.
“With the excitement of our upcoming nuptials we think she stopped taking them.” Pierce leans one arm on the table, smiling. “I know she’s spent a lot of time planning and getting a special dress. It’s a lot.”
“Yes.” The interviewer nods but this time I see the doubt in her eyes. Not about the medication, but the excitement in marrying my father.
Surely no one in America thinks Kyra is in love with him, do they?
“Do we think she is in any danger?” she asks my father.
“No. I’m confident Kyra will be home in another day or two.” Pierce says and then he turns his face slowly to look into the camera.
At me.
Decades old fear that has no place in my life slices through every cell in my body. I shake with fury, leaning my palm on the trunk of the tree I’m standing beside and stare back at him.
I want to kill him.
“Kyra, baby, if you’re listening—or the person you’re staying with hears this—it’s time to come home. You belong with me.”
Fucking hell.
He knows.
He knows I took her. I know it with every part of my being. But that’s not the only realization that hits me like a ten-ton truck.
I’m not giving her back.
Kyra belongs to me.