Chapter 60: Vicious Bonds: Chapter 60

Killian and Rowan stand behind me, and I pluck the bloom from my lips, tossing it on the ground in front of the tattered house, then focusing on the front door. Smoke drifts from my lips, and I do wish the bloom would calm me down, but it won’t at the moment. Right now, I’m annoyed and in pain, and this is just the distraction I need. Besides, I’ve warned this Moren fucker twice to stop stealing from my warehouse. Twice is too many. I don’t allow third chances.

I pull out the steel wire from my pocket, raising it in the air to get a good look at it. I haven’t used it in weeks. The thread is still strong.

“Right. Let’s move in,” I tell the boys. I march up what’s left of the wooden stoop and kick the front door in.

The place reeks of gold dust and black opium. Rubies are scattered across the table, some of them tipped out of a familiar black satchel. They’re the rubies from the safe in my warehouse. That’s not what catches my attention most, though. It’s the fucker lying on the sofa, a hand pressed to his bloated belly, his balding head tipped back. He’s in his underpants, which are stained brown and yellow from shit and piss, his knobby knees chalky. He’s so fucked up that he doesn’t even wake when we burst in. However, a naked woman in the corner screams at the top of her lungs, grabbing a dirty throw pillow to cover herself.

“Leave,” I grumble, and she whimpers as she collects her clothes and rushes past me, Killian, and Rowan. Rowan stands on one side of the room behind me, Killian on the other, and they glance at me before marching ahead to run a perimeter check.

“Clear,” Killian calls when they return.

I walk deeper into the house, kicking the slanted table in the middle of the room and causing Moren’s foot to fall. He jerks awake, gasping, a ring of black powder on one of his nostrils.

“Oi. Sit up,” I snap at him, and his eyes fill with panic when he realizes it’s me. Yes, me. Not a friend. Not a neighbor. Me.

“Mr. Harlow—sir, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Rowan moves past me, reeling his arm back and punching Moren in the face with a solid fist. I tip my chin as Moren yowls and clutches his face, trying to stop the blood now gushing from his nose.

“Spare me the manners, Moren. If you had even an ounce of respect for me, I wouldn’t be here. Now, I know what you’ve done, and I’m here to make sure you never do it again.”

“Sir…” he blubbers.

“On your knees. “I step around the table where my rubies are.

Moren looks from me, to Rowan, then to Killian, who I’m sure he doesn’t want trouble with either but will have it if he doesn’t do what I say. With slight hesitation, Moren drops to his knees in front of the table, and I walk around, clutching the steel rope in my hand.

I glare down at the top of his bald head. “Place one of your hands on the table.”

“Please, Mr. Harlow. Just kill me. Kill me, please,” he moans.

My eye twitches and I give the man a fuller look before pulling out my gun and tipping his chin with it, forcing him to look at me. Blood has spread over his upper lip, his eyes filled to the brim with tears.

“Kill me,” he begs. “Please.”

“Now, Moren,” I sigh. “Would killing you teach you a lesson?” I bring the barrel of my gun to his forehead. “Killing you is much too beneficial for the mistake you’ve made. There is no suffering in death. It all just ends for you, and you’ll live your life in the afterworld, gleeful and robbing souls, and what comes of it, eh, Moren?” I look him hard in the eyes. “Nothing, that’s what. Hand on the table.”

Moren’s right hand trembles as he places it flat on the tabletop, and I put my gun back in place, pulling out my steel rope and wrapping it around his forefinger and middle finger. He’s crying, praying, but what’s the point of prayers? They’ll get him nowhere.

Without another moment of mercy, I slice two of his fingers off with the rope and he screams, throwing his head back and hitting the edge of the filthy couch. He cradles his bleeding hand to his chest, sobbing, and I’m not sure what it is about the act, but it causes a wrenching in the center of my chest, like something is grabbing my heart and twisting it. The pain angers me. It defies everything I’ve built, everything I stand for, and I’m normally not one to let anger control me, but this time I do.

I stand there staring at Moren, realizing how easy he has it, despite how fucking poor he is. He has this life with no burdens, no lies, no torment, no pain, and no Tether hanging above his head, and he goes and fucks it up by stealing from me. Me? The fucking Monarch of Blackwater! He’s a fucking idiot who has it so easy—it’s all so simple for him! Why does he abuse it?

I don’t think as I bring a foot up and kick him in his face. I kick and stomp until my vision turns red, and it isn’t until a pair of hands grip my shoulders to yank me back that I stop the angry assault. The hands burn through my coat, increasing my anger.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” I snatch myself away from the hands and turn to face Killian, pointing my gun at him. Killian doesn’t flinch, but he frowns, glaring at me.

“This is not you, brother,” he rasps, and I lower my gun, breathing raggedly. I look back at Moren, whose face is bloody and swelling, but he groans. Still alive.

I switch my gaze to Killian again, then Rowan, who wears every emotion on his face—concern, confusion, a little bit of fear. He’s not afraid of me. He’s afraid for me.

“All right, Caz?” Rowan asks.

I stare at them, men who are basically my brothers. Both of them stare at me with pity in their eyes, and why shouldn’t they? I’m not like them. We’re all monsters, yes, but I’m head of this beast and I’m nosediving, dragging them down with me.

Another wave of pain hits me, and I clutch my chest. I nearly buckle to my knees, but I catch myself. You’re weak. Pathetic. You’re a worthless bloody bastard. As I draw in a sharp breath, Rowan reaches for me, but I step away before he can and leave the house. Once I’m outside, I mount Onyx and ride away, refusing to look back.