Page 31 of Contract of a Billionaire

I ignored him, gripping the handle of the blade as I leaned forward.

“You touched what’s mine,” I said coldly, then drove the blade through his hand and straight to his upper thigh. Flesh and bone yielded as an inhuman howl at the highest pitch ripped from his throat and vibrated against the cement walls of the room.

The blood pooled around him and I found sadistic pleasure in making him suffer. I pushed the knife deeper into his hand, the blade digging further into his thigh.

The smell of urine filled the air as he stared at me, his eyes glassy with pain.

My teeth clenched. Thank fuck this room was all concrete. I couldn’t fucking stand piss stains on hardwood or tile.

“Please, enough,” he yelped, tears wetting his face.

“Fucking coward,” I gritted.

Then because I knew this guy would fucking cry and probably shit himself next, I decided to end it. I pulled out my gun and the gunshots ripped through the air.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

I watched as the light extinguished from his eyes, then his body slumped over the chains, blood dripping from his skull.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Some of it splashed on my boots. Thank fuck I opted for jeans and a plain black t-shirt. I’d be pissed if blood got on my suit or loafers.

Tucking the gun in the back of my jeans, I walked over to the little sink and washed my hands.

There was not enough soap produced to wash all of my sins away.

Leaving the body for one of my men to clean up, I exited into the hall and ran into Byron, lounging against the wall.

“Stalking me?” I mused in a sarcastic tone.

I didn’t show my surprise. Truthfully, nothing surprised me about the persistent fucker anymore. Although reluctantly I had to admit that my younger half-brother was as stubborn as I was.

“You’re not hard to find,” Byron retorted dryly. “You finished him off?” he asked. The whole cellar was soundproof so there was no risk of him hearing anything that happened while inside.

“What do you want, Byron?” I answered with my own question instead. “Looking for something to hold over my head so we can play one big happy family?”

His jaw tightened.

“Not one big happy family,” he said dryly. “But I would like you on my side.”

“Why? So you can get extra funds for your father’s campaign?”

“He’s your father too,” he remarked dryly.

He barely finished the sentence and I got into his face.

“Not. My. Father.” I gritted, my jaw ticking. A fucking father didn’t leave his kid to be raised by a sadistic monster. A father didn’t let his son live in hell. He knew my mother was pregnant but he didn’t want his precious political career ruined by an illegitimate son so he swept me under the rug.

A part of me wanted to pounce, destroy my father and his shiny little life. But I knew it wasn’t time yet. I’d have to hold myself back with a fine thread of self-control and keep my cold logic. I’d destroy him when the presidency was within his grasp. He’d have it so fucking close, right at the tip of his fingertips, just to be yanked away. By me.

“Get lost, Byron,” I told him as I walked away from him. “Next time I see you, I’ll take it as you’re poaching my territory and you’ll have a war.”

“Bring it on, Brother.”

Like I said, a stubborn motherfucker.

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