Page 78 of Goldsin

The sound of his body collapsing to the floor follows next, hands stained red as he clutches his now shattered knee.

As the pain courses through him, every indent of his face contorts, stretching toward the ground. He turns around, putting all his weight onto his good knee as he tries to crawl toward the bathroom door, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

Excitement surges, and my lips twitch as I step forward to kick him in the stomach, putting a stop to his pathetic attempt.

He looks up at me with mercy shining in his bulging eyes. But I have none to give, just like he had no mercy for my mother when she was alive.

“Are the things you did to my mom flashing back to you, huh?” I shout at him as rage overcomes me, and I shoot him in his right shoulder. “All those disgusting, degrading things you made her do—did to her!”

This time nothing comes out of his mouth, only short gasps for air.

The sight’s a sweet caress to my tortured soul.

His sweating hand struggles as it pats his pants pocket, trying to get something out of it. The objectgleams in his hand, and in one swift movement I kick the phone from his grip.

“Don’t even think about it,” I say through clenched teeth, my patience slowly evaporating.

“G-go to h-hell,” he hisses, using all his remaining energy to spit those three words at me through gritted teeth.

I beam down at him. “After you.”

And I shoot him in the center of the forehead.

I watch his unmoving body for three seconds—that’s how long it takes to change the course of a life—before the smell of feces hits my nostrils. Not the smell of blood but the flood of brown liquid leaking from his trousers.

It’s disgusting. Borderline nauseating. But I can’t not revel in his humiliation.

I didn’t even need him to strip. It’s obvious he died covered in his own filth.

Before leaving the bathroom, this time I double-check there’s no blood on me. When I’m happy with how I look, I return to Eleanora and Emeric, who are closer to one another than they were before.

Emeric must have worked his magic, because the furious Eleanora that I left behind is nowhere in sight. Or she’s playing him. You can never really tell with these two.

I pour myself some wine and swallow it down in one breath.

“Ugh.” Eleanora’s face scrunches up. Looking around the restaurant, she asks, “What is that awful smell?”

Twirling my finger over the rim of the glass, I mumble in amusement, “Smells like a coup to me.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

JULIAN

“Please ... P-please, I b-beg you ...” The gasped words stammer out of his mouth, blood dripping down his chin.

I circle the bruised man tied to the chair in the middle of boxing ring at the Den. The stains on the floor suit the place, giving it that extra touch of violence. I should consider telling the cleaning company to leave them there.

I created the Den to escape the violent life Lucian raised me into. Ironic, really. Yet the type of violence that happens here is an art form, a way to release built-up tension. A way for me to retaliate since I can’t at home.

Yet right now, as I punch the asshole to death, I can feel the way Lucian was able to taint my sacred place without even having to take a step inside. Should I stop, or should I keep going—use his face the way I can’t Lucian’s?

The latter should be exciting.

Swollen eyes plead at me. “It wasn’t m-me. I s-swear!”

I choke down a laugh. How stupid does he think I am? I saw the surveillance footage of him breaking into Lucian’s office at Harrow Enterprise. I fucking saw that disgusting face twist with pleasure as he forced himself onto Marison, Lucian’s secretary, before hacking Lucian’s computer with a flash drive and stealing important information.

He couldn’t resist, could he?

---