Page 143 of King of Envy

We were hours into our session. He was unrecognizable, his face a crimson pulp of bruises and flesh. Several teeth littered the floor next to his nails.

“Fuck you,” he slurred.

So there was still a bit of fight left in him.

He’d given up what he knew about the current state of the Brotherhood’s finances, safe houses, and internal workings, but he hadn’t budged on their immediate future plans—yet.

“Tell me or don’t. You’ll die either way. But we can make this relatively quick…” I tossed the drill aside and picked up a handsaw. “Or we can do this the hard way.”

Dexter’s breath bubbled with panic. The handsaw was his favorite toy. He knew exactly how creative its users could get.

He watched me approach, his eyes losing their spark of defiance. He hadn’t pledged undying loyalty to the Brotherhood. They were merely an employer, and his refusal to give me what I wanted was rooted in pride and spite, nothing else.

Luckily, pride and spite didn’t compare to the merciless teeth of pain.

It took less than fifteen minutes for the saw to achieve its objective.

Dexter gave up Shepherd, and I gave him the (relatively) quick death I’d promised.

I pressed my gun to his head and pulled the trigger. Crimson mist spattered my skin. His body slumped, and it was over.

I stood in the resulting silence, my skin sticky with blood. Carnage and gore piled around me in a scene that would make the strongest stomachs heave, but I felt detached from the whole thing.

This. This was why the Brotherhood had left me alone for all these years. They were professional killers, but when I locked onto a target, I was vicious. Pitiless.

Adrenaline continued to pump, and the stench of death choked my lungs. I should leave and let my men clean this mess up, but I didn’t.

My body was here, but my mind was hundreds of miles and years away. Thirteen years ago, to be exact, when I’d systematically hunted and destroyed those responsible for my brother’s death.

The arrogance of the Brotherhood’s old leadership proved to be their downfall. They didn’t think one man could possibly pose a threat, but vengeance had a way of turning ordinary people into monsters. I’d quietly studied their kill methods during my years with them, and when the time came, I adapted them for my own use.

I went into hiding after the fire. I used my knowledge of their tricks and capabilities to evade them while I formulated my plan. Once I was fully healed, I tracked the leaders down over the course of a year. The ones who broke into my house were mere foot soldiers; it was the people at the top who really needed to pay.

I found them in their homes, in their cars, and at the day jobs they worked to keep up pretenses. When they sent their best after me, I killed them too, and I made sure their deaths were so gruesome it dissuaded others from hunting me.

Eventually, the leadership’s ranks dwindled to the point that they offered a truce. They would forget about the ledger, and I would end my revenge campaign. I’d gotten my pound of flesh and more. As long as we stayed out of each other’s way, we could coexist in uneasy peace.

I’d agreed. I’d made my point, and decimating the Brotherhood wouldn’t bring Lazar back. It was either let them go or spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.

Now here we were, back to square one. Them hunting me; me exacting my vengeance. The circle of life and death went on.

Spots flickered in front of my vision. I blinked, and the world slowly came back in bits and pieces.

Dexter. The warehouse. New York.

Clarity set in at the same time my murderous haze dissipated.

Twelve hours ago, I’d held Ayana in my arms. Touched her with the same hands that’d tortured and ended a man’s life. Kissed her with the same mouth that’d pressed formore—more intel, more screams—while I broke another human into a shell of who they used to be.

What would she say if she knew what I was truly capable of?

The coppery scent of blood thickened. Bile rose in my throat, and I turned abruptly, eager to cast Dexter behind me.

When I exited the basement, Sean was waiting for me. He must’ve sent Bruce and Mav upstairs to man the exits.

“I assume it went well,” he said. He didn’t flinch at my splattered clothing. He had his fair share of skeletons in the closet; my actions wouldn’t faze him in the slightest.

I gave a terse nod. I shared the info I’d gleaned and tasked Sean with confirming its veracity. There was a slim chance Dexter had fed me bad intel, though most of it matched Roman’s. The details that didn’t were the ones Roman didn’t know.

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