Page 126 of Mine to Worship

“Promise.”

She tugs the pillow to her chest, her mesmerizing eyes peer into mine, compelling me to promise her the world, and make sure I keep every one of them.

“You have my word.”

I order something to eat while she and Brandon eat pancakes. After I finish eating, I get ready to pay my real brother a visit.

Adrenaline courses through me when I climb out of the car. I stare at the massive, glass-tainted building. I have spent years of my life doing two things, building a name for myself and taking Richard down. And at thirty years-old, I have accomplished both of them and so much more I could have hoped for. Calmness replaces the rush and I enter the building, heading towards the bank of elevators.

The receptionist waves me over. “Excuse me, sir, can I help you?”

“I’m Kian Reyes.”

“Yes, of course. I am sorry, sir,” he stumbles and backtracks.

“Don’t be. You were doing your job as you should,” I reassure him.

With every floor the elevator leaves behind, I can almost grasp how the shackles rattle as I free myself. The cries of the child inside me lose their desperation, the broken sobs of the others clamoring in my ears, those faces of people who thought no one could stop their agony flashing in front of me. I vindicated all the others. I made sure those responsible ended up on the streets or in prison, their money placed in organizations that tend to the survivors. Some of them disappeared, but I found them. And today, I will vindicate myself.

On the outside, I am Kian Reyes, hotel chain mogul, philanthropist, MMA club owner, but no one knows my role in the dark, where I wipe out the monsters that make this society ill with Kendrick and Jason.

I push the door to the conference room open, and each board member greets me with bowed heads, my tone cheerful.

“Hello, Father. Missed me?”

I could beat my chest in pride at the fear flashing in his eyes. He clears his throat, pulling himself together, adjusting the tie around his neck. My whole body bounces with unspent energy, expectancy pummeling at my ribcage to see the face he’ll make when he realizes the bastard trumped him.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice cracking at the end.

Did he think I was like him, threatening for the sake of feeling like a man? I warned him time and time again. I take the seat at the other side of the large table, facing him. I rule the board, the people, and the company. I put my index fingers together over my lips, not hiding my smirk.

“What is this?” Richard asks, head snapping from one board member to the next, but none of them answer. He jumps from his chair.

“What does it look like?” I ask, my voice dripping with mockery and his body rocks with anger.

“What have you done?” he asks me angrily, his palm slapping the table, his nostrils flaring.

“What I promised.”

“What is this?” he asks again and this time Alfred answers, “A coup, I would say.”

“You bastard, you can’t do this. This is mine. It’s mine, do you hear me?”

“No, it’s mine,” I say and throw two official documents at him. One, his discharge on the basis of his immoral actions. The second places me as the only heir and guarantees me his place in the company with the majority of the shares. His eyes scan through the documents, sweat covering his forehead, his expression whitening with every new line he reads. His eyes find mine, and he rips the papers in front of me.

“Oh, don’t be a child. What is that going to achieve?”

“You can’t, no one can. This is my right. You ungrateful piece of shit. I raised you.” He slams a fist on his chest, rage disfiguring his face. What a sight.

“Gentlemen, would you excuse us? I respect you enough to spare you the pitifulness of his breakdown.”

They nod in my direction. Once we’re alone, Richard shoves chairs to the floor and pushes everything off the table. Glasses shatter, pencils scatter while I remain seated, watching this man I loathe completely lose it. For years, all I wanted was his love and all he offered me were punches, abuse, and attempts to tear my spirit apart so enjoying this desperate display feels like a vindication.

I never expected to feel satisfaction so it’s no surprise when I don’t, but I feel the cry of relief of that little boy who was stripped of his rights to be protected to entertain the sick fantasies of his brother.

“I should have killed you.”

“You had the chance. But it’s no secret you’re a coward.”

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