Ray sits up straighter. “Okay… well, I think you should tell him about his parents.”
I narrow my eyes, danger threading through my voice. “Now why thefuckwould I do that?”
Ray leans in and hisses under his breath, “They were working for an organisation that werebasicallyterrorists, boss!”
I clasp my hands tightly together and raise my brows, voice dripping with impatient sarcasm. “Oh… you think I don’trememberthat, huh?”
He gestures animatedly, sighing. “I just think the kid needs a reason. Heneedsto know why we were there, why his parents had to go.”
I lean back in my chair, voice cold. “If anyone finds out they had a kid, they’ll track him down andGod knowswhat they’d do to him.”
Ray nods slowly. “I know, but… I mean…”
He can’t get the rest of the words out before Lorraine walks back in, calm as ever, cutting him off. “Youclearlyhave feelings for the boy.”
I scoff loudly enough that Ray actually flinches beside me. I turn on him. “Get the fuck out and make sure my shipments are running on time.”
He stands immediately. “Of course, boss.”
Lorraine starts wiping down the long table with deliberate, unhurried strokes. The rest of the staff usually help her at this point, but she must have told them to stay out.
She doesn’t even look at me when she speaks again. “You need to let the boy have some free will, Soren.”
“Free will?” I repeat, incredulous. “He’s indanger, Lorraine.”
She scoffs, the sound sharp and unimpressed. “What… inside these walls he’s in danger?Please. What a ridiculous excuse. You don’t want to share him because you havefeelingsfor him.”
I stand up so abruptly my chair scrapes back with a harsh sound. “This conversation is over. Don’t be so absurd.”
She huffs, still wiping the same spot. “If you don’t, then… give him space. Let him make friends. Give him time to not be scared of you, Soren.”
“He’s been here two fucking years, Lor.”
“And in that time, you’ve treated him like a dog on a leash.”
The words land heavier than I expect. I don’t answer her. I just turn on my heel and walk out of the dining room without another word, the heavy door swinging shut behind me.
My blood is simmering. I need to hit somethinghard. There’s a brand-new punching bag waiting in my private gym on the upper floor, and right now it’s calling my name louder than anything else in this goddamn house. I head straight for the stairs, fists already tightening at my sides, dark hair falling across my forehead as I move. The image of Kit’s frightened face, the way he shrugged out of that robe and ran, keeps flashing behind my eyes with every step.
He’s terrified of me,still, after two years. And the worst part is… I don’t know how to fix it without breaking him even more.
???
I’m standing in the middle of my gym, chest heaving, every inch of me drenched in sweat. The tape around my knuckles is frayed and dark with moisture as I slowly unwrap it, letting the strips fall to the floor. My black vest is soaked through, clinging uncomfortably to my torso, and the shorts I’m wearing are plastered to my thighs. Damp strands of dark hair stick to my forehead and the back of my neck. The punching bag still swings gently on its chain, the leather dented and scuffed from the brutal beating I just gave it, but none of it helped. If anything, I’m more pissed off now than I was when I walked inhere… frustration and something sharper still coiled tight in my gut.
A sharp knock echoes through the heavy door.
“What?” The single word comes out clipped and ice-cold. I’m in no mood for pleasantries.
The door opens and Ray steps inside, his expression tight. “Boss, we’ve got trouble.”
I don’t even look at him at first, just flex my sore knuckles and roll my shoulders. “Care to expand on that, Ray?”
He walks further in, tablet already in hand, and holds it out so I can see the surveillance footage. It’s our private section of the docks, night-vision green, timestamp from this morning. My team is cracking open the latest shipping container. It should’ve been packed with crates of Glocks, fresh tactical uniforms, body armour, all the high-end shit I source from my overseas contact… the ex-army guy who knows exactly how to move product without leaving traces. Instead, the camera shows the men pulling out empty space.Nothing; the entire crate is fucking empty.
A displeased growl rumbles up from my chest. “What about last night’s shipment?”
Ray nods quickly and swipes back on the footage. “All the produce arrived, boss. The coke is already at the warehouse being packaged. No issues there.”
