Page 2 of Power
“How romantic. Does she know you’re a raging psychopath, or are you still covering it up with that charm of yours?”
“Shut up. You’re just jealous.” His voice shifts to something more serious. “But enough about that. You are coming over. End of story.”
I rub my temple, already feeling the stress creeping up my neck. “We’ll see, Remo. I have a few things to sort out first. Not exactly in the mood for grand entrances just yet. But yeah, soon. You know how it is.”
“Yeah, I do. Well, I’m here whenever. Welcome back, brother. I’d call you by the name I’ve always known, but honestly, I have no clue what you go by these days—Mr. Secret Identity.”
I snort. “Yeah? And I’d call you sane, but we both know that’s a stretch.”
Remo chuckles. “Touché. Now buzz off.”
After we hang up, I’m left with the echoes of memories that still sting like fresh wounds. There are days when I still feel that weight—the way his hands crushed me when I was younger. A son he couldn’t be bothered to love.
When Remo ran, I was left to pick up the pieces.
A boy alone, learning to survive. Learning that the world doesn’t give a damn about you.
My father’s face flashes in my mind—swollen from years of alcohol and rage, always scowling, always telling me I’d never amount to anything. That I’d die just like he would: a pathetic excuse for a man. Till today, his words still haunt me.
You will always be like me, son. Worthless.
Screw that.
I’ve spent my whole life proving people like him wrong. I am worth something. I’ll show them all. Every last one of them.
I stare at my phone and tap the screen, not bothering to check for new messages. I know exactly what I need to do.
I think it’s time I set things in motion.
I swipe through the documents laid out in front of me. Names, locations, contracts. My mole in the police department’s been working overtime, digging up every last bit of dirt he could on potential rivals here. I’m not interested in small-time players. I’m here for the real targets. People with enough power to bleed the city dry. It’s a fine art, figuring out who’s been where and who’s done what—these men think they’re untouchable. And I’m about to make them very terribly wrong.
A few minutes later, the flight attendant approaches—too eager for someone I’ll forget the moment this flight lands. She leans down, bringing her chest too close to my face, like she thinks I might be interested.
"Can I get you a drink, sir?" She asks, a little too sweetly.
I look up again, keeping my expression blank. I would offer her a smile, but she doesn’t deserve one.
"Not interested."
She pouts, clearly not used to being dismissed. “Not even in a preflight snack?” She tilts her head, voice dropping into something lower, more suggestive. “A big, strong man like you probably has a large appetite. Needs a lot of...sustenance.”
I take her in properly now. It’s not just the obvious—the tight little waist, the impressive rack, the long legs. She’s a woman who knows exactly what she’s selling.
She’s undeniably beautiful, though it’s the kind of generic, surgically enhanced kind that doesn’t stir much in me. I rack my brain, trying to recall the last time I lost myself in a woman and truly enjoyed the experience; it feels like ages.
A long time ago, I might’ve indulged. Now, it just feels like another pointless transaction. One, I have no interest in making.
I lean back, fingers drumming against the armrest.
Damn it all, I could use the distraction.
"All I need is your mouth around my cock. Get on your knees."
Excitement makes her eyes shine, then bulge in surprise first, and a second later, desire makes them go half-lidded. She grins at me.
"Of course, sir."
Her tongue peeks out one side of her mouth and she drags it over her lips in a move that's meant to be sexy but only succeeds in pissing me off.
