Page 104 of Chained By Fate (Dark Billionaires: Vegas #1)

Forty-Two

MATT

T he drugs took hours to fully clear Matt’s system.

He spent that time studying his prison, cataloging every detail while pretending to still be affected.

The concrete walls were damp with underground moisture, tapestries depicting medieval scenes doing little to hide their industrial brutality.

A single fluorescent light buzzed overhead, its harsh glare creating strange shadows in the corners.

The manacles bit into his wrists as he tested them for the hundredth time.

Professional grade, but Porter’s theatrical touches had led to a critical weakness—the mounting points were drilled directly into concrete rather than using proper anchors.

Matt’s lips curved slightly. His father’s voice echoed in his memory: “Always check the foundations, son. The strongest building is only as good as what it’s anchored to. ”

By dawn, his head had finally cleared enough to work the chains methodically against the concrete. The ventilation system’s steady hum masked his movements. Each scrape of metal against stone was calculated, precise. His wrists were bleeding, but the bolt housing was beginning to crack.

He heard the morning guard change above—heavy boots on metal stairs, voices muffled by distance. Four-hour shifts, three men per rotation. Twelve guards total. Porter’s obsession with symbolism would be his downfall.

The sound of the door’s heavy lock engaging made Matt go still. Footsteps approached—lighter than the guards’, almost reverent. Porter.

Matt kept his expression neutral as his captor stepped into the harsh fluorescent light. Porter’s face was flushed with excitement, his pupils dilated. The sight made Matt’s stomach turn.

“Did you miss me, my king?” Porter’s voice was breathy, intimate. He approached slowly, like a worshipper approaching an altar. “I brought you breakfast. You need to keep up your strength.”

Matt said nothing, watching Porter set down a tray with careful precision. Everything about Porter’s movements was deliberate, choreographed, as if he’d rehearsed this moment countless times in his mind.

“Still so proud,” Porter murmured, stepping closer. His fingers trembled as he reached for Matt’s face. “So magnificent, even in chains.”

Porter’s touch was fever-hot against Matt’s jaw, his fingers tracing patterns on Matt’s skin like he was mapping territory. “I’ve dreamed of this for so long,” he whispered. “Having you here. All mine.”

Matt jerked his face away, but Porter’s grip tightened painfully. “Don’t,” Porter breathed. “Don’t deny me. Not now. Not when we’re so close.”

His other hand slid down Matt’s chest, unbuttoning his shirt with desperate intensity. “Do you know how many nights I’ve watched you?” Porter’s voice took on a dreamy quality. “At the Maxwell, at board meetings, at every charity gala. The way you command a room. The way lesser men bow before you.”

Matt’s muscles coiled with revulsion as Porter pressed against him, mouth hot and demanding against his neck. The chains rattled as Matt pulled back, but Porter followed, hands roaming possessively over exposed skin.

“Your dragon,” Porter gasped, fingers tracing the tattoo with religious fervor. “I used to imagine touching it. Tasting it.” His tongue followed the pattern, making Matt’s stomach heave. “It’s even more beautiful up close. Like you. My king. My everything.”

Porter’s hands slid lower, and Matt had to fight back the urge to snap the man’s neck right there. Not yet. Wait for the right moment.

“That night at the Maxwell,” Porter continued, his voice taking on a manic edge.

“When you looked at me at the bar. When you took me upstairs…” His fingers dug into Matt’s hips.

“It was perfect. Our beginning. Until that worthless little—” He caught himself, inhaling sharply.

When he spoke again, his voice was honey-sweet.

“But it doesn’t matter now. We have all the time in the world. ”

Porter’s mouth crashed against Matt’s, desperate and demanding. His hands tangled in Matt’s hair, pulling painfully as he tried to deepen the kiss. Matt kept his lips sealed, his body rigid, which only seemed to excite Porter more.

“Still fighting,” Porter panted against Matt’s mouth. “Still so magnificently defiant.” His hands slid down Matt’s chest again, fingernails leaving red trails on skin. “But you’ll understand soon. I’ll make you see how perfect we could be together.”

Matt waited until Porter was pressed fully against him, lost in his delusional fantasy. The chain had weakened enough. It was time.

Porter leaned in for another forceful kiss—and Matt’s head snapped forward with brutal precision. The crack of Porter’s nose breaking was deeply satisfying. As Porter staggered back, Matt yanked hard at the chains. The concrete crumbled, and the bolt tore free with a sound like thunder.

The look of worship in Porter’s eyes turned to shock, then to something darker as blood streamed down his face. “You?—”

Matt didn’t let him finish. The manacle-weighted chain whipped out, catching Porter’s temple. Before he could recover, Matt had the length wrapped around his throat, pulling tight.

“The keys,” Matt growled, his voice rough with disgust and rage. Blood from his raw wrists dripped down the chain.

Porter’s eyes blazed with a terrible mixture of fear and arousal. “Magnificent,” he choked out. “Everything I knew you’d be—” The chain tightened, cutting off his words.

“Keys. Now.”

Porter fumbled at his pocket with trembling fingers, his face flushed purple. The keys clattered to the floor. Matt kicked Porter’s legs out from under him, sending him face-first into the concrete. In seconds, he had Porter secured with his own zip ties, pulling them extra tight.

A quick search yielded Porter’s phone, key card, and a tablet showing security feeds. Three guards in the hall, two at the stairs, the rest scattered throughout what looked like a warehouse complex. Matt’s lips curved into a predatory smile. Time to go hunting.

The first guard never saw him coming. Matt emerged from the shadows like a nightmare, chain whipping out to wrap around the man’s throat.

He went down silently. The second guard managed a surprised grunt before Matt’s fist connected with his solar plexus, doubling him over.

The third drew his weapon, but Matt was already moving.

The gun went flying as Matt swept the man’s legs, following through with a precise strike to the temple.

The stairwell guards were more prepared. Matt heard them coming—boots on metal steps, the click of weapons being readied. He pressed against the wall, waiting. The first guard rounded the corner, gun leading.

Matt moved like liquid shadow. He grabbed the gun hand, twisting sharply.

Bones snapped. The guard’s scream was cut short by Matt’s elbow connecting with his throat.

The second guard opened fire, bullets sparking off concrete.

Matt used the first guard as a shield, then launched him into his partner. Both went tumbling down the stairs.

His ribs protested as he bounded up the steps, taking them two at a time. A bullet grazed his shoulder, tearing fabric and flesh. Matt spun, chain lashing out. The weighted end caught the shooter in the face. Blood sprayed.

The electrical room door was marked with faded yellow paint. Inside, the hum of machinery filled the air. Matt smiled grimly, remembering Porter’s proud rambling about the building’s “redundant systems.” The backup generator was wired directly into the sprinkler controls—another amateur mistake.

It took less than a minute to overload the circuits. The explosion plunged the building into darkness. Emergency lights kicked in, casting everything in a hellish red glow. Sprinklers hissed to life, water raining down.

Two more guards came running. Matt met them with cold efficiency. Block, strike, snap. The first one went down clutching a shattered knee. The second managed to land a solid hit to Matt’s jaw before Matt caught his arm, using the man’s momentum to slam him face-first into the wall.

Blood mixed with water on the floor, turning it pink. Matt wiped his split lip, checking the tablet. Six down. Six to go.

The next two he found in a storage area. They were better trained, moving in tandem. Matt took a hard kick to the ribs but managed to get between them. Let them trip over each other trying to reach him. A quick series of strikes—throat, kidney, temple—and they joined their colleagues on the ground.

Matt methodically worked his way through the building, leaving a trail of broken bodies. His shirt was more red than white now, a mix of his blood and theirs. The sprinklers had finally stopped, but water still dripped from pipes overhead, making the concrete floors treacherous.

Two more guards appeared at the end of the hallway, more cautious than their predecessors. They spread out, trying to flank him. Smart. But not smart enough.

Matt grabbed a broken pipe from the wall, spinning it like a staff.

The first guard’s baton strike was deflected, the pipe catching him under the chin.

The second rushed in with a knife. Matt caught the blade arm, twisted, and drove his knee into the man’s solar plexus.

The knife clattered to the floor. Matt’s follow-up strike put him down permanently.

The main floor was ahead. Sunlight streamed through high windows, momentarily blinding after the dim corridors. Matt blinked, adjusting?—

“You’re ruining everything!”

Porter’s voice echoed through the building, high and unhinged. He’d broken free. Matt cursed under his breath, scanning for movement.