I hit him again and again. He whimpers, his knees buckling. Heading back to the tools, I drop the knuckles and pick up a golf club this time. Swinging it lazily from hand to hand, I watch him start to shake.
“P-p-please,” he stammers, chest heaving. “I-I’ll tell you whatever you want.”
“Who sent you? Why did you go see the Clarks?”
“They…they paid me, okay? They said all I had to do was make them think I wanted to invest and then sign the vineyard to?—”
I step closer, the smell of his fear rising with each shallow inhale.
“To who?” My voice drops to a growl. “Speak.”
“F-f-fuck!” His whole face tightens, terror carved into every line.
“Believe me.” I lean in until my shadow swallows him. “I’m much scarier than whoever paid you. Open your mouth and give me a name before I grow tired of it and decide to rip your tongue out.”
“Alright! Alright!” he sobs. “His name is Daniil Volkov. Very scary guy. He wants the vineyard. I don’t know why, I swear. I only know what they paid me to do.”
I pat his blood-slicked face, the way you might a dog that finally obeyed. “That was very helpful.”
He gasps like oxygen will save him. It won’t.
“And Fiona?” I ask, taking a slow step forward, tone turning razor-sharp. “Did they tell you to touch her? Were you told to lay your filthy fucking hands on her?”
“No! No, I swear. That was a mistake. I didn’t know she was yours. I was just?—”
“You do now.” I swing the club hard until it connects with his face with a crunch, ripping into his cheek.
His scream tears free, short-lived, before I swing again. And again. And again.
Bone cracks. Blood sprays. Skin gives way to meat. I don’t stop until there’s nothing left but pulp, until even his mother wouldn’t recognize what used to be her son.
The club clatters to the floor when I’m done. Rinsing my hands in the sink, I splash water on my face, meeting my own gaze in the mirror.
She made me kill for her when I should’ve killed her instead. A long time ago.
What a fucking twist of events.
I turn to my men. “Burn the body. Dispose of the ID.”
They nod without question.
The Volkovs will pay for this. They all will. I’ll rip out every vein one by one until there’s nothing left to kill.
And Fiona? She might hate me, but she’ll never have to worry about another man touching her again.
Not while I’m still breathing.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
FIONA
My cell buzzeson the bathroom sink the next morning, an incoming text from Emilia saying she’s leaving in five to meet for our lunch date.
I try to add extra concealer to the bags under my eyes, but it’s no use. I slept maybe three hours. Just enough to relive every second of last night in stuttering flashes.
His hands on my skin. His mouth dragging confessions from places I didn’t know existed. My own voice, begging.
I don’t want to think about it. But I can’t stop either.
