Page 102 of Corrupt

Open hand. Across his mouth and cheek. Hard enough to whip his head sideways, hard enough to split skin. The sound cracked through the space. Wet. Ugly. Blood arched and spattered over concrete. Tyler cried out, the noise torn from him as the air left his lungs all at once.

Cormac chuckled indulgently. “Keep going. I don’t think he’s listening.”

I drew a breath. Stepped back in.

Then I drove my fist under Tyler’s ribs, angled up. Short. Brutal. A blow leaving little to see but taking everything away. Tyler folded forward with a strangled sound, body jerking against the restraints as his chest seized. He gagged, coughing, eyes blown wide, trying and failing to drag air back in.

Cormac didn’t look at him. He watched me. “Again.”

I hesitated. A fraction too long.

Cormac’s grit his teeth. “Don’t go soft on me now, lad.”

“Ain’t soft.” I struck Tyler again. “Never been soft.”

I hit him again. A solid fist to his jaw. Composed. Precise. I knew exactly where to land it. I wasn’t trying to break him; I was marking him. Burning the lesson into flesh and memory. His head snapped sideways. The cry leaving him broke halfway through, turning raw and animal.

“Again.” Cormac’s voice had gone flat. Dead.

Behind me, Doyle shifted. One step. His warning. He’d take over if they thought I wasn’t doing this properly. So I drove my fist into Tyler’s gut again, lower this time. Too low. Too hard. The impact knocked the breath clean out of him, and he folded forward, gagging violently, restraints biting deep as his body convulsed around pain it couldn’t escape.

“Who runs this line?” Cormac asked calmly. “Is it him?”

“No.”

Another blow. Same place. Measured. Wrong.

“Is it you?”

“Yes.”

The word tasted like blood.

I hit him again. And again. And with every strike, I emptied. Rich retreated, folding in on himself somewhere dark and unreachable, and Razor slid fully into place. Heavy. Familiar. Unforgiving.

This was what he was for.

Why he existed.

When I stopped, Tyler hung slack in the chair, head lolling forward, breath coming in thin, broken pulls that didn’t sound right. Blood dripped from his mouth, spotting the floor beneath him.

Cormac nodded once. Satisfied. “That’ll do.” He stepped in close and gripped my shoulder, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. “Good to see you haven’t forgotten who you belong to.”

I didn’t look at him.

I kept my eyes on Tyler’s chest, counting breaths, knowing I’d gone too far, and that whatever came next would be on me.

“Now, I want my product out today. By you.” Cormac pointed at me. “Only you.” Then he turned away, grimacing at Tyler. “Clean this up. And make sure he understands that next time, I won’t let you do it.”

Doyle followed without a word. The door slammed shut behind them, the echo ringing through the warehouse long after they were gone.

Silence rushed in.

I stood there, staring at the blood slicked across my hands, the reality of what I’d done settling heavy and sick in my gut. My jaw clenched as I looked at Tyler, slumped in the chair, head hanging forward. Half of me hated him for whatever choice had put us here. The other half knew better.

This was on me. Every bit.

I crossed the space and tilted his chin up. “Jesus.”