Page 20 of Stalker Stepbrother

“Let her go, Kingsley,” I say with a low voice. Where I come from, some fights are already won before they start, mostly if you know how to scare off your enemies. I am from the streets. I’m proud of it because I know Kingsley won’t survive a day in my shoes.

And yet, he wants to pick a fight with ME.

Guy has big balls but shit for brains. Maybe not total shit because he’s a lawyer, but yeah. This won’t end well for him.

“No way, Callahan. Give me what I need first,” he says, waving the gun in Callie’s face.

He’s digging his own grave involving her like this.

My heart is pounding in my chest like a war drum, fists clenched at my sides, body primed to fight. “What do you need, Kingsley?”

“Everything. Give me 50 million and you won’t see me again.”

See, the thing is, he could have asked me 500 million in exchange for Callie and I’d do it. But now that I saw he made her cry and tremble in fear? And he dared touch her and raise a gun to her head?

Messing with me is one thing, but hurting what’s mine? He just signed his death warrant.

“Deal,” I shrug, acting nonchalant but my blood boils when I see him grab her arm. My hands are itching to do real damage to him, but I can’t risk my girl.

“Do it,” he says, pointing the gun at me.

“Fine.” I raise both hands to show him I don’t have any weapons. As if I need one. I can finish him with my bare hands and watch with joy as life drains from his body. “I’m just grabbing my phone. Easy. I need to call my accountant. This shit’s too big for transfer online.”

His eyes flick from me to my hands as I’m taking out my phone. The fucker’s excited. He actually thinks he can pull this shit off. Instead of dialing, I click the app connected to my home security, proving once again that he really didn’t think this through.

Attacking me in my own home? Me? The guy who’s made millions off commercial and residential security? Why the hell did he think I didn’t have a guard dog or massive fence outside?

I press an option, and the alarm blares inside the house, shattering the silence and momentarily jolting Kingsley from his focus. I take advantage of this distraction, and I grab Callie, push her behind me, and lunge at him.

He drops the gun, and I grab him by the collar, smashing him against the staircase and knocking the breath out of him. He rears his arm back, ready to take a swing at me, but I can see his moves from a mile away. He fights like someone who never had anything taken away from him…until now.

But he doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know what it took to survive on the streets full of criminals, men who will kill you if you so much as look at what belongs to them.

I dodge his punches easily, and I throw one at him, my fist connecting with his jaw. He staggers back and shakes his head, trying to fight the nausea. I don’t give him a chance to regain his footing. I attack him like a man possessed, landing one blow after another, making sure I hit all the parts that could weaken him.

I howl in anger as I knock him to the ground, straddling him and pinning him down. My breath is heavy, pulse pumping madly, but I don’t let up. His smug look earlier is now replaced by desperation and fear. He desperately tries to escape my grip and block my blows.

“Please…please don’t…kill me… Please…” he moans, almost unintelligible.

Wrapping my hand around his throat, I force him to look at me, his eyes already starting to swell shut. “No, shitface. I won’t kill you. I’m not that forgiving.”

I stand up and rest my boot on his chest, but it’s pointless because he barely has the strength to open his eyes.

Making sure he’s not out of my sight, I head toward Callie, quickly looking her over to see any obvious injuries. “Are you hurt anywhere, baby?”

She shakes her head and buries her face in my chest. “No. I’m okay. Shaken but okay.”

The police officers take Kingsley away, head hung low in embarrassment because he’ll be on the front page tomorrow. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll make an example of him, so anyone will think twice about even being within five meters of Callie. They touch her, they’re dead.

I watch him struggle to walk and bend to sit on the back of the squad car. I never take my eyes off him even as I pull Callie closer to me, resting my chin on her head and inhaling her scent.

A pair of headlights illuminate where we stand, and I shield Callie’s eyes from it. I hear Janis’ voice before I see her. She’s running between cops, tears streaming down her face, as she grabs Callie and pulls her into a hug.

My father follows closely, his eyebrows drawn together in worry and confusion—or maybe both, I don’t know. He likes to distance himself from any kind of drama. I feel a smack on my arm and turn to find Janis glaring at me. She points a finger to my face. “This is your fault! All your fault! If not for you, she won’t be in danger at all! Look at you! All your enemies will be hers! They will try to hurt her! This won’t be the last time!”

Some of the cops awkwardly busy themselves as Janis yells at the top of her lungs. I have no patience for this. Callie must have sensed it because she inserts herself between us and tries to stand taller. “No, Mom. You need to stop this. Stop blaming him. You brought me here, remember? Callum protected me.”

Callie’s pent-up anger rises to the surface and she backs Janis, her voice breaking as she continues to cry. I want to stop her, but I also understand she needs this. “You’ve never heard anything from me. Never heard me whine or complain even as you took trips to different cities with your friends, leaving me to fend for myself. I was nine the first time you did that, and you forgot to leave money for me! Our neighbors took pity on me and gave me their food, and you came back telling me all about the spots you visited, bringing me a doll as if that made up for everything.”

---