Page 54 of Brutal Heir
“I didn’t—” he wheezes. “I didn’t do anything!”
“Youdid something,” I snarl. “You left her with nightmares. You made her feelsmall. You stole something from her.”
And then it snaps. Not the chair. Not his bones. My control.
The rage that’s been festering in my chest for months, the pain, the helplessness, the humiliation, it all boils over. I punchhim again. And again. My knuckles split. I don’t feel it. I only seeher. Rory curled in the corner of the car, pale and shaking. My warrior girl reduced to a ghost by this bastard.
“Alessandro!”
I’m barely aware of Matteo. First his voice, then his body as he attempts to haul me off the fucker. But I’m lost to the fury, more beast than man.
“You thought you could hurt her and just walk away?” I whisper hoarsely, driving my fist into his gut. “I’m going to destroy you.”
He gasps for air, his head lolling forward, blood dripping from his nose onto the floor in slow, red droplets.
And still… no confession.
I lean in, pressing my lips to his ear. “I can make you disappear, Chip. No cops. No trial. Just gone. This club has secrets buried deeper than your conscience.”
He moans, pathetic now. The fight’s bleeding out of him with the rest of his pride.
I grab his face and force him to look at me. Then I run my finger across the scar on his brow. It looks new, and I wonder if Rory is the one who gifted it to him. “Say her name.”
“I—I don’t know,” he chokes. “Please, man?—”
I slam him back against the chair. “Say it!”
Silence. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t beg.
Just bleeds.
I stare at him, chest heaving, sweat clinging to my back. There’s a sick satisfaction curling low in my gut, and I don’t like what it says about me. But Idolike that he’s afraid. That I’m the one holding the power now. That for once,Iget to be the one who leaves the scars.
Because no one touches what’s mine and walks away alive.
Never again.
CHAPTER 23
MANGLED WRECKAGE
Rory
“Where in the blazes is that feckin’ eejit?” I blurt aloud as my frustration gets the best of me. I’ve searched the entire damned penthouse, and Alessandro is nowhere to be found, despite Mrs. Jenkins swearing up and down that she saw him this morning.
A tiny twinge of guilt quickens my agitated steps as I spin back when the hallway dead ends into his empty office. I know very well I was anarseto him yesterday when all he was trying to do was help. But the idea of admitting the truth of what happened at the halfway house had every nerve in my body rioting.
No one knows.
And I vowed no one ever would.
Until yesterday, I was certain the bastard was dead.
Darting around the corner, I march straight for the door. I should have gone right to Johnny in the first place. As the guard on door duty, he would know if his boss had left the building.
Fingers closing around the knob, I whip it open with all the grace of a bat out of hell, nerves fraying and temper already lit like a fuse.
Johnny startles as I practically leap out into the foyer. “Where is Alessandro?” For some reason, I can’t seem to catch my breath, my chest tight. Just the idea that he’s upset with me, and he’s stormed out by himself has my insides in a desperate knot.
