Clinton
Anger.
How long had I suffered with its effects, the damning emotion biting into me every chance it had. I’d remained enraged my entire life, forfeiting so much of what others would call happiness because of my hatred. Sadly, I’d used the energy on the wrong people.
The thought of betrayal entered my mind once again. I’d killed men for less without blinking. I’d stood over them as the last seconds of their lives had played out, limbs torn apart, some gutted by my knife.
Yet not one of the kills had provided me with satisfaction or peace.
The sky looked like it was going to open up at any moment, bolts of lightning crisscrossing the sky. The ugly weather was fitting.
Especially for my sour mood.
“I love her.” My sudden exclamation brought pointed eyes. “We can’t lose her.”
“I don’t plan on it,” Weston said. “I never did.”
“I thought that was apparent.” Christian shifted in his seat.
“It had to be said. She belongs to us. Period.”
“The big he-man makes a proclamation.” There was anger in Weston’s voice.
Sighing as my father’s estate came into view, for the first time in my life, I felt remorse. “We will do everything in our power to make her happy.”
“Yes, we will.” Weston’s words were said in reverence.
As Brock pulled in through the gates, a feeling of recoil settled in my stomach. I’d spent the last day preparing myself mentally. I wasn’t entirely certain that was possible.
“Are you certain about this?” Christian asked.
“Yes. It needs to be done.”
“He has loyal soldiers.”
I stared out the window, wondering where they all were. “Then we kill every one of them.”
“Whew,” Weston said from the passenger seat.
“If you don’t want to be a part of this, then stay in the fucking vehicle.”
Weston tipped his head over his shoulder. “Fuck no, asshole. Your father put us through shit as well. Hiring another hitman to track us down. Hell, what did that bastard do, hold the guy’s hand down and stick a hot poker against the top of his hand?”
Christian snorted. “Your father is a sick man.”
“Yeah, well now you see where I get it from,” I threw out.
“Then that wasn’t good enough,” Weston continued. “Then the bastard had to hire a woman to keep tabs on Ava . What the hell did he think he was going to do?”
“Keep her as his own,” I told them. “What better way than to have his cake and eat it to.”
“I’ll repeat it. Your father is a freaking psychopath,” Christian huffed.
Brock pulled the vehicle to the front of house, killing the engine. This wasn’t a planned visit, although I’d had Marty check to ensure that my father was at home. With the man’s car in the driveway, it appeared the information was correct.
“Did you put a hold on the man responsible for working with my father?” I asked him before I climbed out.
“Fuck yeah, boss. He keeps insisting he has no clue what we’re talking about,” Brock said.
“They all say that shit,” Weston reminded him.
“Yeah, I know, but Harry is a good guy. I know him pretty well. Just shocks the fuck out of me. Sorry, boss. I meant no disrespect.”
“Don’t worry, Brock. My father won’t mind sharing the details, including who worked with him.” I moved onto the aggregate driveway, taking a glaring look at the home I’d grown up in. I hadn’t returned since college. Any time that I’d met with my father had been in a separate location. Maybe the fucker continued to hold resentment that I’d forced him to retire at gunpoint. What did it matter? He had my brother murdered in front of me on purpose.
Because my brother had dared try and stop the horror that I’d grown up in.
I yanked my Glock into my hand, glaring at the windows on the third floor. My father had often remained staring out, knowing the second when I came home. That’s when the beatings began.
Why he hated me so much I wasn’t certain, but that also no longer mattered. I was my father’s son. Blood for blood. It was his time to die.
The other soldiers we’d brought with us remained closer. I wasn’t intending on making much of a surprise entrance. That was impossible given his tight security. However, I doubted he’d be expecting that I’d put a bullet between his eyes so soon.
He’d played the game well, a master manipulator. With the clues he’d left, it appeared that one of the Elite members that I’d gone to school with had been behind the charade. Jonas. I hadn’t talked with the guy since he’d been kicked out of school.
Finding out he’d landed in prison after his father had squandered the family’s wealth was unexpected. Sadly, additional fodder for my father’s vicious intentions.
The front door was unlocked, and I stormed inside, instantly noticing the quiet inside the house. As the soldiers piled in, I took a deep breath. What I found was nothing but bad memories.
And silence.
Then I knew something was terribly wrong.
“Brock. Go check the grounds. I need to know how many soldiers are on the premises. And make contact with Marty. Make certain the house is locked down tight.”
“Of course, boss.”
We moved through the lower level. There was no sign of my father. I took the stairs two at a time, bounding into one room after the other.
Then the third floor, heading into the master suite that I swore I’d never enter again.
What the fuck?
“What the hell is going on?” Christian barked as he found me coming down the stairs.
“He’s not here.”
Weston rushed toward us, holding out his phone. “The fucker knew we were coming.”
The single word would forever remain etched in my mind.
Help