Page 95 of Scandalous Kingpin

“Oh, fuck off,” he snapped angrily. “And what are you busy doing? Drinking yourself to death and staring at security footage?”

For fuck’s sake, I just wanted to kill Jean-Baptiste and get Ivy back.

“I gotta go, jackass,” I said, then hung up sharply. He’d get over all this. Eventually.

Before he could call me again, I turned off my phone and tucked it away.

I checked my gun to ensure it was loaded, then started forward. Jean-Baptiste’s guard was waiting in a car with theengine on and window down. I stayed low, keeping out of sight of the rearview and side mirrors as I moved toward the open window, then in one swift move, I sliced his throat.

The guard tried to sit up, clutching at his ruined skin, but it was too late. He gurgled, the life slowly leaving his body. I stayed there, reciting his last rites with a whisper, until the light extinguished in his eyes.

The street was quiet as I crept toward the front door of the villa. There was a stone wall surrounding the front, which would provide decent cover for what was about to go down.

My heart beat in a steady rhythm as I reached for the knob, but it couldn’t be so easy.Locked. I dug for a tension tool in the pocket of my pants and worked it until I heard a soft click.

Lifting my pistol, I slowly pushed the door open, checking the area was clear. Then I crept into the house, my shoes soundless on the tile floor. It took less than two minutes to ensure every room on the ground floor was empty.

I paused at the landing of the second floor, the sound of grunting and cries reaching me. The bedroom door was ajar.

“Please, stop. Please, plea?—”

I peered inside the bedroom, my blood froze. A little boy, who couldn’t be older than nine, sat cornered in the room, his head buried in his hands as Jean-Baptiste approached him, unbuttoning his pants and dragging his zipper down.

Sick fuckingprick.

Images of my own childhood flashed through my mind like a broken Polaroid.

Fire licked my skin and blood roared in my ears. And then came the rage.

I had no idea how the door splintered, flying off the hinges. At the sudden explosive sound, the boy looked up and scrambled to his feet, bursting past me through the door. Jean-Baptistereached around his waistband for his gun, but I was quicker, pressing the barrel of mine against his temple.

“Move and I’ll blow your fucking brains out.” The defeated look in his eyes was one I hoped I wouldn’t soon forget. “Now, Jean-Baptiste, would you like your last rites read?”

His skin flushed and his chest heaved with the force of his breaths. “You won’t kill me. It’ll start a war.”

“Move,” I hissed, shoving him toward the chair.

He fastened his pants and walked to the chair.

When he didn’t move, I shoved him down the rest of the way. “I said sit the fuck down.”

His eyes kept darting behind me, and I smirked. The fool was waiting for his guard to show up.

I pulled out a bunch of zip ties and began strapping him to the wooden chair with efficiency. First his ankles, then his wrists.

“You’ve been stalking my wife,” I said casually as I retrieved a switchblade from my pocket and flicked it open.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he roared.

I held the knife up to his cheek. “By the time this session is over, you will.”

He tried to edge away, but it was all in vain. I swiped the blade across his cheek and a stream of red ran down the side of his face. He screamed.

“And how many boys have you hurt? How many girls?”

He didn’t answer and I cut his other cheek, deeper this time. The coppery scent of blood perfumed the air.

“How many?” I gritted.