Page 212 of Sinful Pleasure

Fuck. I didn’t even get the chance to kiss her, to hold her in my arms.

My woman, carrying our future.

But that joy was dulled, buried beneath a tidal wave of fury.

A blinding, all-consuming rage at the fact that my father—this spineless, worthless bastard—is the reason she and our child are in danger.

That realization unlocked something new inside me. Something darker. A version of myself that knows no mercy, no limits, and no restraint—not even for my own bloodline.

I pinned Martin to the ground with savage force, my hand clamping around his throat, savoring the feeling of his life slipping through my grip. His hands flailed in the air, clawing at my wrist, trying and failing to push me off. The futility of his struggle only made me tighten my hold.

He’s just now beginning to understand the depth of his actions, the weight of his sins, and the cost he’s going to pay for them.

The fear in his eyes was intoxicating.

“You fucking created me,” I snarled, leaning in close enough to see the panic dilating his pupils. “Now you’ll pay the price for it.”

I drove my fist into his face, hard and unrelenting.

Once. Twice. Three times.

The sound of bone cracking under my knuckles was a symphony to my rage.

I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Blow after blow, blood splattered across my hands and onto the floor, painting the scene of his destruction. His face—a twisted, swollen mockery of the man he once was—blurred under the relentless onslaught.

Thirty punches, maybe more.

Each strike landed with a reason.

For Allyn. For our child.

For every sin, this bastard committed. And yet, it wasn’t enough.

He was still breathing, defying logic and justice, holding onto life he didn’t deserve.

“Fucking piece of shit,” I snarled, slamming his head into the ground.

Blood gushed from his mouth, pooling beneath him as he coughed and sputtered, his left eye swollen shut, his body barely clinging toconsciousness.

“All your life,” I growled, venom dripping from every word, “your men fought your battles. Others suffered. Others died. All for you!”

“M-Maddox…” he choked out, his voice weak, blood spilling from his lips. ‘

I silenced him with another punch, harder than the last.

None of this—none of these blows—could ever be enough to make him pay for the hell he put us through.Not even close.

When I finally stopped punching him, Martin was nothing more than a bloody wreck beneath me, barely breathing, struggling to force air into his lungs, just as he deserved.

All his life, this bastard had been hiding behind the sacrifices of others, his name a curse that led to death and destruction wherever it went. He had blood on his hands— but there wasn’t a fraction of the intelligence or honor required to wield the power he thought he deserved.

A coward. A weak leader.The fact that he was still breathing now was an insult to everyone who’d died because of him.

I stared down at him, my gaze cold and filled with disgust.

“I may carry your last name and have your blood in my veins, but I’m not your son, Martin.”

His eyes flickered with panic.

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