Page 9

Zyon

J ab, cross, knee—my favorite combination. My opponent fell to the ground, blood oozing from his nose. He was new and stupid enough to accept the challenge. None of my bodyguards would willingly stand against me in the ring.

I was a former kickbox champion, and even though I hadn’t competed for more than ten years, I still kept myself in great shape. It wasn't always easy because of a few injuries, and I wasn't the youngest either, but it was a form of relaxation. It always directed my mind elsewhere.

"Not bad for a forty-year-old, boss," Jamal teased, grinning at me from the sideline.

"Thirty-nine," I corrected him with a wink, and he chuckled.

I wasn't sensitive about my age, but I still held onto that last month till our birthday.

Dorian was already working on a pompous party, and I was rolling my eyes with Malin every time he brought up the topic.

I didn't need a reminder I was getting old, and Malin would rather eat live rats than speak on stage.

"Okay, okay." He raised his hands in a surrendering gesture, grinning like an idiot. He always found it funny to watch as I beat the crap out of someone. "You have a meeting in an hour. Are you finished with him? "

I looked down at the big man spitting blood on the floor. I would gladly have another round with him, but he had to work tomorrow, so I nodded and let him be. We were short of staff.

I took a quick cold shower, enjoying the chills that it gave me. My mind instantly drifted to the particular woman constantly smiling seductively at me from the edge of my subconscious, and my dick reacted immediately.

I groaned in frustration, slamming the wall hard with my open palm, but it was useless. If I went out like this, my hard cock would make a tent from my pants, and I would look like a horny teenager while meeting a contractor. That woman vexed me!

Wrapping my palm around my thick length, I closed my eyes and released a deep breath.

Not even the ice-cold water chased away the fantasy repeating in my head.

I couldn't shake it off. I believed not seeing her for two weeks would help me, but it was worse than ever.

I drove past her apartment a few times, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, yet I had no luck.

And then, I decided to ignore that needy feeling pushing me toward her and drown myself in work.

But it was pointless. No matter what I did, my thoughts were always about her.

At night, I dreamed about her. During the day, I fantasized about her full lips and big eyes.

I was obsessed and didn't know how to deal with it; however, the soft voice in my head spoke to me in a devilish whisper more often every day that I had to have her.

And I really wasn't sure for how long I would be able to resist the temptation of kidnapping her and making her mine.

A deep moan of pure pleasure left my mouth, and I quickened my movements.

It was such a vivid fantasy. She was tied to the chair with a blindfold covering her eyes, not knowing who she was with or where she was.

She was trembling in fear or maybe excitement, and I started to tease her with gentle touches.

In the beginning, I only traveled with my fingers down her naked arm, or I softly brushed my lips against her cheeks, preparing us both for the wilder part of this adventure.

However, my over-sensitive body didn't need more stimulation, and I climaxed after only two minutes of picturing the woman of my dreams. I was breathing hard, groaning silently into my fist, and trying to find a way to ease the ache in my chest. I craved her with my entire being, and it was just a matter of time until I would lose my mind and do something stupid .

It would be tough to explain why I abducted her and kept her in my Manhattan loft against her will.

I smiled at myself at my foolishness and walked out of the bathroom, ready for the more tedious part of my day.

I listened to the proposals, opinions, statements, and arguments between my lawyers and the company managers I picked for the project, but my head often zoned out.

My people were capable of taking care of it without my presence.

I was there only to sign the final contract.

But as I watched men before me who were barking at each other like rabid dogs, I realized it wouldn't happen today.

"Mr. Zhumagulov," one of my lawyers addressed me, and I lifted an eyebrow at him. "They're asking for too much money. Another company is offering us a twenty percent lower price for the same job."

"Interesting," I mumbled, more to myself than for the others to hear, and I looked at the CEO, Donald Stern, sitting at the other end of the long table.

My old friend recommended his company to me, and we had already worked together many times.

Yet, this time, I didn't like their approach.

I expected people to take the blueprints and build a fucking place, but they tried to change it, improve it, and modernize it.

I wouldn't say the idea was terrible, but it was my project, and it would be built how I wanted it.

"Look, Zyon," Donald said, and I narrowed my eyes at him.

The decision was already made. He just didn't have a clue it couldn't be changed.

"My company is the best in the field. My employees are great.

Engineers, designers, architects, and construction workers are at your disposal.

You know the drill. Just sign the paper and let us do our job. "

"That’s the thing, Donald," I said, slowly shaking my head. "I really hate when someone tries to screw me."

I stood up; everyone in the room watched me as I leisurely walked toward him with my hands hidden in my black pants pocket.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied quickly, nervously adjusting his brown tie.

His blue eyes were glued to me, and I noticed a drop of sweat on his temple.

Usually, his longer grey hair was everywhere around his face, covering it, but today, it was combed back, and this image change gave me a slight advantage.

He was blinking rapidly, and his jaw was working rhythmically.

He knew I knew, and he walked right into my trap. Idiot .

"Leave us!" I commanded in a firm voice that left no room for objections, and all men immediately obeyed. It wasn't any different if they worked for me or someone else. No one dared to oppose me.

I waited until the last person left the room, watching the shaking guy before me. He was just a pile of old flesh that had no value for me. He had fucked up, and he had to bear the consequences. Or maybe…

"Zyon, I don't know what is going on," Donald stated resolutely, trying to mask his edginess, but I saw right through his act.

Mainly because Dorian checked everything about the company Donald worked for and our contracts and discovered that we were invoiced for forty percent more than the market price.

It would've been okay if we agreed to it.

Still, we shook hands at different deals, and then he cheated on me.

I let it be only to give him a chance to correct his mistake, but instead, Dorian uncovered another attempt at a scam. It was intolerable.

"There are some accounting irregularities," I replied, walking around Donald. He abruptly turned in my direction as if he expected me to pull out a gun and shoot him.

"What irregularities?" he asked, acting stupid, and I rolled my eyes in annoyance. It would be much easier if he just admitted it.

"Don't push my buttons, Donald," I growled, feeling anger bubbling in the pit of my stomach. "You know I'm not a patient man."

He gulped, and his gaze drifted to the door where two of my bodyguards stood. He couldn't run away. He was trapped.

"I'm just a puppet, Zyon," he whispered, sweating profusely. He knew firsthand what I was capable of when someone tried to make a fool of me. "Shareholders agreed to this. I didn't have a choice."

"Are you saying another twelve people voted for this?" I inquired, wrinkling my forehead. It was more severe than I expected. I had to stop it before it got out of hand. Dorian told me I let it go too far, and maybe he was right. I’d have to take drastic measures to restore my reputation.

" He persuaded them." Donald shrugged, squeezing the armrest hard. He was shrinking under my scrutinizing gaze .

I wasn't angry, which was odd. I was curious why his bosses would play such a dangerous game.

Even together, they held no power over me or my business.

They just stole about two and a half million dollars from me.

If I counted this with money that Adam Rivers transferred, those ridiculous, useless connections already cost me too much. It had to stop. Immediately.

"Who persuaded them?" I questioned, trying not to lose my cool and slam his head against the table's glass surface.

I was surprised, too, that I was acting like a polite, well-behaved man who cared about an explanation.

Usually, I would just get what I wanted by force, but here, I had to be gentler.

Donald's fear was an advantage that had great potential in solving this matter.

"Chester Kellerman," he replied quickly, and the entire world around me stopped existing. "He took half a million for creating the false documentation and invoices."

"What?" I hissed, my head spinning. "He has about fifty grand in his bank account."

I knew this from my PI. I needed to know if Valeria was okay after losing her job, and while one day the account was empty, the next day, money appeared. But I never told anyone to trace them.

Fuck!

"He's a sick gambler," Donald stated matter-of-factly, giving me a pointed look like I should've already known that. Well, I’d heard some stuff, but half a million was too much—even for me. What the hell did that dumbass do?

"He has a wife and daughter," I declared, shocked by this revelation.

"And?" Donald shrugged, watching me curiously. "Poor woman is fifteen years younger than him and totally blind to everything he's doing. She works, pays the mortgage, and takes care of the girl. He does nothing to support his family."

My stomach twisted with disgust, and I almost threw up right there. My mind couldn't understand why would someone like Valeria stay with such an asshole.

" Women stay with men for less than a child ," Malin conveyed two weeks ago, and he was obviously right. However, only the mere thought of my redhead goddess loving that prick almost knocked me off my feet. I had to get to the bottom of this .

"That's sad," I choked out. Donald frowned, but I ignored him, returning to the matter in hand. "Leave and tell no one about this conversation. I'll take care of it."

"Please, Zyon," he begged, grabbing my right arm. He fell to his knees in front of me. This turnaround took me aback, but it was understandable, knowing how much shit he was drowning in. "Don't hurt my family, please. Punish me, but leave them alone."

"Do as I say, Donald," I said in a deadly serious voice, staring into his eyes. "And when someone from my people calls, follow the orders. That way, you and your family will have a chance to escape my wrath."

He nodded, and when I motioned for him to get out, he disappeared like a fart in the wind.

I fisted my palm, thinking about Valeria, but I couldn't let her consume my thoughts.

I needed to issue orders. So, with a heavy sigh, I called Malin to my office and texted Dorian to start the negotiations with another company.

The project had to start on time. This little discrepancy couldn't get in the way of my new casino.

"What's going on, brother?"

Malin's voice stirred me, and I turned to him.

We were in my massive office on the top floor of the Starlight building, and I was mindlessly staring at the city before he walked in.

He plopped down on the black couch and placed his feet on the glass coffee table, watching me through narrowed eyes.

He was dressed in a black leather motorbike suit and fitted perfectly with the surroundings.

I liked dark colors, mostly black. It provided comfort and calmness.

In my office, the walls were covered with dark wood, and the table, couch, armchairs, and even the floor and ceiling were black, complemented with many lights and lamps.

A few glassy accessories and white cushions were the only colorful things around. It was my cave, and I loved it.

"This is the list of twelve people behind the fraud." I handed Malin a piece of paper, and he took it, scanning the names. I intentionally left out Chester's name because if what Donald said was right, I would deal with him myself.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, his eyes glowing with excitement. It was his area of expertise, his playground.

"Come up with some ideas," I suggested, pouring us a drink. This was the kind of conversation when my brother would say more than three words in less than five minutes. I always enjoyed it .

"I would start with the most powerful ones," he began as he took the glass. "I would keep the decorum and leave wives and daughters out of it. But sons are great targets."

"Okay." I nodded, sipping my drink, thinking about it. It could work, but I didn't want dead bodies. "Just don't kill anyone yet."

"Oh, no." He chuckled darkly, and I smirked. He was fucking insane, and he was proud of it like no one I’d ever met. "I would beat the crap out of Artemis Queid, and then I leave him in front of the hospital with a paper attached to his chest saying, ‘ Pay your debt, Lazarus .’"

"Seriously?" I laughed, and he grinned, swallowing the liquor.

"Yes, and then I would catch," he looked at the paper, and his sinister grin widened, "Eden Altmeier. What about forcing him to dig his own grave and bury him only with his head above the ground? I can send his father to save him, right?"

"You're sick," I groaned, almost choking on overpriced whiskey. "Do it."

"Yes, boss." He winked at me and took his helmet from my desk.

"And one more thing, brother. Valeria Kellerman will work for us tonight.

" My eyes widened in surprise, and my heart skipped a few beats.

What excellent news! "You have a reservation at the VIP poker table.

" He flashed me a wicked grin and left me alone, stunned and confused.

This day was only half gone, and I’d already been shocked more than I had in a long time. But I would be lying to myself if I claimed Malin's words didn't excite me.

I would see her tonight, and I couldn't wait.