Page 59 of Precious Legacy

I smirk at Cillian as he pushes the door open. “I think we’re going to need more than that,” I comment.

We step into the cold room, a single light hanging from the ceiling and highlighting an angry Ashton Greedy. Cillian’salready tied him down to a chair, bound and gagged like the fucking piece of shit he is.

My uncle locks the door and leans against it, pulling out his blade and flipping it in the air with a deviant glint in his eye.

I turn back to Greedy, watching his eyes squint up at me as I reveal myself from the shadows, my figure towering over him.

Even tied up, it’s easy to see he boasts a height of six-foot-three, resembling a wall of muscle. I’m certain in a fight I’d be taken clean out. Nobody gets to where he is by being weak. Lucky for me, this won’t be a fair fight. It seems only fitting that I give him the same opportunity he gave my girl.

Usually, a man of his stature would have a presence that commands attention, but not here. With light brown hair and matching eyes, tattoos that look like a mismatch of bad decisions inked on his arms, I can see the appeal with the ladies, but that’s where I draw the line at compliments because I have no doubt he uses it to his advantage.

That one thought spurs on a whole torrent of images I have no business thinking. In a split second, I crack my fist against his cheek, the steel duster slicing straight through the flesh.

He groans through his gag, which surprises me. I’d have thought he’d be used to taking a few hits, but apparently not. He forces his head back up to meet my glare, his eyes round with fear.

“Do you know who I am?” I taunt, circling his chair.

He nods, slowly but confidently.

When I meet his gaze again, the fear is evident. He’s blinking rapidly, his chest heaving in a panic. If it weren’t for the gag in his mouth, I’m sure he’d be pleading for his life, but he never granted that small mercy for Alanis, either.

Every detail she divulged is seared into my mind. I’ll never get those images out of my head, like demons haunting every inch of it.

“Then you know what this spells for you,” I state, examining the blood spots on my knuckles. “I’ll be honest, it’s not looking good.”

The guy seems confused as hell, but I like that every second he spends at my mercy fills him with more terror and doubt than he’s probably ever felt. It says something about the man currently pissing himself when a guy like me—that he could easily take out—is the reason.

“Sorry, I should have said why you’re here. Where are my manners?” I laugh, glancing at my uncle, who has the same smile as me plastered across his face. “Oh, that’s right. They’re probably in that fucking alley where you left my girl to die!”

I slam my fist into his face again, slicing open the previous cut even further. Blood oozes down his cheek and stains his crisp white polo shirt.Fucking preppy shitstain in his stupid outfit.I don’t know why, but the sight of him makes me angrier and lunge at him once more, breaking his nose with a sickening crack.

Blood sprays everywhere; over his face, his neck and shirt. His whimpers fill the small space, muffled cries following as he pleads with me.

“Sorry,” I say, cupping my ear. “I can’t quite hear you.” I tear the gag from his mouth and his pained words come flooding out.

“You have the wrong person!” he cries out. “I swear, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Taking a step back, I tug the brass knuckles off and deposit them on the small table by the door. The clink of metal on metal echoes in the silence as Cillian hands me his blade. “Well, this is awkward,” I say, sarcasm dripping in my tone. “We’ve got the wrong guy, Kill.”

I turn to survey Ashton. He’s nowhere near as broken as I want him. I’m prepared to go to hell and back, taking this fucker with me just so I can make him feel real pain. “Guess we’dbetter let you go…” I move toward him, his shoulders relaxing, and that’s right where I want him. I throw the knife, perfectly piercing his left shoulder.

“Fuuuuck!” he screams out, face scrunching as he tries to coil forward. The pain and binds prevent him from getting anywhere, so his struggle only heightens the agony he’s undoubtedly feeling.

“Something you should know, Ashton. My uncle never gets the wrong person.” I reach for the second knife on the table. It’s rustier, but still sharp. I throw it forward, the weapon effortlessly landing on his right shoulder. His shirt is a pretty shade of red, the same shade I love to see on Alanis. My dick twitches at the memories of her in that sinful red dress on her birthday.

I make a mental reminder to get her to wear that again, preferably while I’m fucking her—because there’s just something about that color that makes her look dangerously sexy.

“Genovese,” Ashton groans. “I swear, I haven’t been near your girl.”

Cillian remains silent in the background. I never gave him the full story about what happened to Alanis and he never questioned it. The way we work is simple and suits us fine. But as I glance back at him, I can see his own face contort with the same rage I’m trying to keep a control of.

It’s why I don’t hesitate to step forward, twisting the knife in his right shoulder as I get in Greedy’s face. “Five years ago, you dragged a defenseless woman into an alleyway of this club and beat the shit out of her.” I twist the knife further, his shirt glistening with the amount of blood pouring from his wounds. “And as if that wasn’t enough,” I growl, yanking the knife out and slamming it into his thigh. “You fucked her like she was yours.”

His screams are filled with terror, tears now streaming down his face as I pull the second knife out of his shoulder. I let the blood-soaked blade drag across his jaw as I circle the back of his chair, painting the untouched skin a scarlet red.

“But she wasn’t yours.” I lean down so he can hear my words, loud and clear. “You might not remember that night, but she sure as shit does. The ironic thing is, she’s still willing to grant you mercy. After what you put her through, she wants to take the moral fucking high ground.” I dig the blade into the side of his face, drawing it in a downward motion until blood pools down his face and into his shirt. “Unfortunately, you get me tonight.”

“Please!” he begs.

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