Chapter 61: Who sent you

The shower should have helped.

It doesn’t.

I stand in front of the bathroom mirror afterward, towel hanging low around my waist, staring at my reflection like I’m waiting for the man looking back at me to explain what the fuck is wrong with him.

Nothing.

I’m fine, completely fine.

Except for the fact that I feel restless. I can feel it crawling beneath my skin.

The kind of restlessness that makes sitting still impossible. I change into a black shirt and dark trousers, grab my jacket, and leave my room.

I already know what is bothering me. I just don’t want to admit it.

That man at the club, the way he’d been touching Nerissa, the way his body had been pressed against hers.

Something inside me had snapped before I’d even thought about what I was doing.

I shouldn’t have cared.

That’s the truth, I shouldn’t care.

Nerissa and I didn’t make those kinds of promises to each other. ℴℴ𝘮

Our marriage isn’t real.

There are no vows between us beyond the ones necessary to keep our families from tearing each other apart.

She can do whatever she wants and I can do whatever I want.

I can sleep with whoever I choose, she can do the same.

She can dance with men, she can flirt with them. Hell, she can rub herself against whoever she wants if that’s what she likes.

It has nothing to do with me.

Nothing.

I don’t care.

I repeat the words until they almost sound convincing.

By the time I arrive at my club, I’m angry all over again.

The place is even more crowded than when I’d left. Cars are packed along the street outside, security is stationed at every entrance, and the bass from inside vibrates through the walls.

When I step out of my car, one of my guards immediately approaches.

"Don."

I barely acknowledge him as I walk straight through the entrance.

The club is chaos, filled with music, lights and bodies moving to the music.

Normally, I like the noise but tonight, it irritates me.

Every person I pass seems to be taking up too much space, every sound is too loud, every fucking light is too bright.

I head for the private elevator and take it to the top floor.

My office.

The only place in this building where I can shut a door and know nobody will bother me unless I allow them to.

I unlock it and walk inside, the door closing behind me.

Finally some silence.

I cross the room and open the cabinet behind my desk. My favorite bottle of whisky sits exactly where I left it, I take it and pour myself a generous amount.

I take a long drink before sitting behind my desk.

The burn settles in my throat and I feel slightly better.

I open the files I’d been working on earlier and start looking at the numbers, one of my shipments fell through last week and I have an idea on who is responsible for that....

The Hamilton brothers.

It’s one of the reasons I’ve been wound tight. That shipment cost me a lot of money.

When I have enough evidence to prove they are behind it, I’ll have to make them pay.

I force myself to focus and for several minutes, it works.

Then there’s a knock on the door.

I don’t look up.

"Come in."

The door opens.

I know who it is before I hear his voice.

"You’re back."

Jeremiah.

I glance up at the documents.

"Yeah, I..."

I stop.

He’s standing in the doorway, his shirt is stained with blood and his hands have blood on them.

There are dark smears across the front of his clothes, and his grin is entirely too relaxed for someone who looks like he just walked out of a war zone.

I stare at him.

"What the hell happened to you?"

His smile widens.

"Someone got curious."

I put my glass down.

"Explain."

"One of the guards caught a man snooping around the club."

My chair scrapes against the floor as I stand.

"Who?"

"Don’t know yet."

"And you decided not to tell me?"

Jeremiah shrugs.

"I figured I’d save you the trouble."

I look at the blood on his shirt again.

"Where is he?"

His grin tells me everything.

"Basement."

I don’t ask anything else.

I take off my jacket, roll up my sleeves then walk past him.

Jeremiah follows.

"You know," he says, "I was going to wait for you. He’s still refusing to talk."

"Even better."

The elevator takes us down and when it stops at the basement, the doors open into the basement.

The air is colder here.

This part of the club isn’t meant for customers, It’s where we keep things people aren’t supposed to know exist.

A storage room sits at the far end of the corridor.

Jeremiah unlocks the door. Inside, a single overhead bulb illuminates the room where a man sits tied to a chair in the middle of it.

He’s already taken a beating. His face is swollen, his breathing is uneven but he’s conscious.

Jeremiah closes the door behind us.

I walk closer.

I glance at Jeremiah.

"How long?"

"About twenty minutes."

"And he hasn’t said anything?"

"Nope."

I smile faintly.

"Stubborn I see."

"I thought you’d appreciate that."

"I do."

I walk toward the metal table, there’s several objects sit on it

I pick the drill on the table and examine it.

The prisoner watches me, his confidence slipping for half a second.

There.

That’s the reaction I wanted.

Fear.

I loved and reveled in it. All the swirling thoughts from earlier settled, and I was filled with a peaceful calm. The certainty of purpose and the joy of revenge.

It’s a good thing people don’t ever listen, cause I needed this today. I needed where to pour all this raging feelings inside me. And he has offered me the perfect opportunity.

I move closer.

"Let’s make this easy."

I crouch in front of him.

"Who sent you?"

He spits at the floor beside my shoe.

I sigh.

"Wrong answer."

He smiles.

"Fuck you."

Jeremiah chuckles behind me.

I stand.

"You know what I find interesting?"

The man looks at me.

"People always think they can survive anything."

I take a step closer.

"They convince themselves they’re tougher than everyone else."

Another step.

"Until they realize they are not."

His eyes narrow.

"I’m asking you a simple question."

I switch the cordless drill in my hands, enjoying the feel of its weight. When I turned toward our prisoner, his eyes briefly flash with terror.

This was was my favorite part watching just how quickly they broke.

"We don’t have to do this, my friend. Just tell me who sent you." Please, please don’t.

I rev the drill and bury the tip into his arm, pushing the drill down into bone and cartilage.