Chapter Twenty
~ Unexpected Visitors ~
Soren
I’m exhausted. It’s been the longest four, almost five, days of my goddamn life, and every single hour has felt like it’s carved another piece out of me.
This has hit me harder than I ever thought anything could.
Harder than losing men in turf wars. Harder than watching buildings burn.
Harder than anything I’ve built this empire on.
I keep trying to drown myself in whiskey, but then I get pissed at myself when the haze makes me too slow, too foggy to focus.
So, for the past two days it’s been nothing but black coffee and the scraps of food Lorraine forces in front of me.
I don’t give a shit about myself right now.
I haven’t changed clothes properly in days.
Usually, it’s a fresh suit every morning…
crisp shirt, perfect tie, the whole armour.
But since Kit disappeared, I’ve only changed once, and that was because Ray and Armen stood outside my bedroom door like sentries, refusing to let me leave until I showered and put on something clean.
Right now, I’m pacing my study like a caged animal, the same path I’ve worn into the carpet for days.
I haven’t left this room except to collapse into bed for a couple of hours at a time…
not to sleep, really, but to press my face into the pillow that still faintly smells like him.
Kit didn’t stay in my room often. Mostly it was just for sex, before he slipped back to his tiny shoebox down in the staff wing.
Selina had shown me the new bed Ralph installed in Kit’s room…
the one he picked out during that first shopping trip with her and Lorraine, the one that triggered a panic attack because he was so overwhelmed.
The room does look better now, less like a shoebox and more like an actual bedroom.
But I hated being in there. I hate that Kit had chosen that tiny staff room two years ago to be close to Lorraine, because he was too scared to be anywhere near me.
I couldn’t stand the sight of it anymore.
It made me feel guilty and angry at the same time.
Kit deserves more than that… more than being locked away in fear, in a cramped little room at the back of the estate.
No more. But if, when, I get him back, he’s never going into that room again.
He’s never leaving my side. He’ll be wrapped in my sheets every single night, small body tucked against mine where I can feel him breathing.
That thought is the only thing keeping me going… I pray he’s still alive.
We haven’t heard a peep from Finn since that taunting video call.
The silence is worse than the threats. Every time I close my eyes I see the same images: Kit soaked and drugged in that chair, vomiting into a bucket, eyes glassy and terrified.
The sight still makes me shake with rage and nausea at the same time.
I failed him. I let that psychotic little shit take him right from under my nose.
I drag both hands through my hair, tugging hard at the strands until it hurts. My chest feels tight, like someone’s got a vice around my ribs and keeps tightening the screw. I’m running on caffeine and fury, and even that’s starting to fray at the edges.
◆◆◆
The door to my study flies open without a knock.
Ray bursts in first, breathing hard, Armen and three of my senior guys right behind him.
Their faces are tight, eyes sharp with that particular mix of urgency and barely-contained rage I know too well.
The air in the room shifts instantly. I’m already standing before Ray even speaks, every muscle coiled.
“Boss,” Ray says, voice clipped and low, “Finn just hit one of the warehouses. The small one by the east docks. It went up about an hour ago. Fire crew’s still on scene, but it’s bad. Structure’s fucked, but the surrounding buildings held.”
I feel the words like a physical blow to the sternum. One of my warehouses, gone, just like that. I don’t speak at first. I just breathe through my nose, slow and controlled, while the rage builds like gasoline on a fire.
Armen steps forward, jaw tight. “The timing, the method, the way the blast was set… it’s gotta be Finn. No doubt in our minds, even without hard proof yet.”
I nod once, the motion sharp. Of course it was him. That psychotic little shit.
My voice comes out low, edged with the exhaustion and fury I’ve been carrying for almost five days straight. “Was there any product in it?”
Ray shakes his head immediately, stepping closer so the reassurance lands heavy and certain. “No, boss. The goods were cleared out at dawn, same as usual. Everything that mattered was already moved to the secondary site before the explosion. Finn hit an empty shell.”
I exhale through my teeth, the smallest sliver of relief cutting through the red haze. At least he didn’t cost me product. But the message is clear: Finn isn’t just trying to hurt my business. He’s trying to hurt me.
I drag a hand down my face, the stubble rough against my palm. My chest feels too tight again, that familiar vice squeezing harder.
“Double the teams on every location,” I order, voice flat but lethal. “No one works alone. I want eyes on every warehouse, every dealership, every dock we own. And I want Finn’s face on every screen in this city.”
The men nod and start moving, already pulling out phones and issuing orders as they file out of the room.
Finn thinks he can keep playing this game… but when I do find him… there won’t be enough pieces left of Finn Vanderburn to bury.
◆◆◆
A couple of hours later I’m still in the same spot, the study thick with the smell of cold coffee and burnt adrenaline. My body feels heavy, leaden, like it’s moving through water.
My phone buzzes on the desk. I sigh, the sound raw and tired, and pick it up with a heavy hand, answering through a yawn, voice rough. “Yeah?”
Ralph’s voice comes through the line, calm but edged with something I can’t quite place. He’s working the front gate booth, deciding who comes and goes. “Boss… you’ll never guess who’s here.”
I frown, rubbing my eyes with my free hand. “Who? If it’s the cops, Ralph, tell them I’m not in…”
Ralph cuts me off. “Not the cops… Mitch and James Vanderburn are here. They’re claiming they’ve got something for you.”
My blood boils instantly. I shoot to my feet so fast the chair rolls backward and hits the wall. “Oh, please do let them in,” I snarl, voice dripping with venom. “I’ve got bullets with their names on.”
Ralph lets out a little laugh, the sound dry. “Sure thing, boss.”
I hang up, heart hammering with a toxic mix of rage and desperate hope. If they’re here, I’ll be able to painfully, joyfully, extract information from them… I might finally have a lead on Kit.
I hang up and storm out of the study, jogging down the stairs as I shout, “ARMEN! RAY! GET DOWN HERE NOW!”
It doesn’t take long. Ray comes running from upstairs, Armen from down the hall. Both already have their guns drawn, eyes wide and scanning for threats.
Ray reaches me first. “What’s going on?”
“The brothers are here,” I growl, practically snarling at the front door now, every muscle coiled and ready to rip their heads off.
Armen’s eyes widen. “What?”
Ray lets out a sharp whistle, two fingers in his mouth. Like dogs responding to a command, a whole bunch of my men come running from different directions, guns already in hand, looking to me for orders.
I don’t waste words. “The Vanderburn’s are here.
Keep your guns in your hands. Don’t shoot unless I say so or unless there’s a clear threat, we don’t know what they want.
I want four of you to pat them down thoroughly…
those fuckers ain’t bringing anything into our home, you understand? Strip them if you have to.”
They all nod sharply. “Yes, boss.”
Four of them immediately move to flank the front door. I point at the rest. “The rest of you cover the other exits. I don’t trust these people.”
They scatter without hesitation. Armen and Ray fall in on either side of me as the doorbell chimes.
I inhale once, slow and controlled, then nod at one of the men by the door. “Open it.”
The door swings open. Mitch and James step inside.
Their eyes go wide the second they see me standing here.
They’ve never met me in person before, why would they?
I don’t waste my time on small-time rats like them; they were behaving.
They probably didn’t realise how tall I am, how strong, how intimidatingly covered in ink I look when I’m this pissed off.
Mitch murmurs, “Shit,” under his breath.
My four guys move in immediately, patting them down vigorously. One of them, Mave, takes a folder from James’ hand and continues the search.
James starts, “Mr. Sinc…”
“No,” I cut him off, the single word firm and ice-cold, the kind of tone that says shut the fuck up.
I snatch the folder from Mave and flip it open. The first page is a list of properties, all in Finn’s name. I flick through quickly: bank statements, more properties, and vehicles. At the back there’s more. I snap it shut and look back up at them, eyes narrowed.
Mave nods at me. “They’re clear, boss.”
I nod back, then hold the folder up. “Explain.”
I’m purposely not wasting words on them. I’m still waiting to see what they want before I decide whether to kill them on the spot.
James stammers, “Uh… i-it’s… everything we have on Finn.”
I frown and glance at Ray. Ray shrugs, equally confused.
I look back at them and spit, “What?”
Mitch steps forward slightly, palms up in a placating gesture. “We want to make a deal.”
My blood boils. I storm forward and shove Mitch hard against the wall. Guns instantly click off safety; all pointed at James so I can do what I need to do.
I press my forearm against Mitch’s throat, pinning him there. “You come into my home and ask me for a fucking deal?! Your ratty little brother stole what’s mine. Do you have any fucking idea who Christopher is?!”
Mitch weakly shakes his head under my grip.