Page 18 of Vengeful Lies

The elevator doors open, and I see Edward grappling with the phone. Most likely it’s the receptionist advising him we’re on our way.

“M-Mr. Monti, what a p-pleasant surprise,” he stutters. The last time I saw Edward was at Michelle’s party, and I had my arms wrapped around his throat after he tried to assault one of the women there.

I’m no hero, and I’m not here specifically for that. What I want is my money.

“I have the money. It’ll just take one more day to transfer. Or I can give you the cash right now.”

Hawke and Ford take either side of the door to ensure no one interrupts us, and I step toward his desk, evaluating the large room. It’s flashy for a corrupt accountant, and it’s good to see the money he owes my family has been going elsewhere.

Dutton stops at the edge of the desk, but I walk all the way around and look down on the fat little man whose eyes are black and swollen from the broken nose my tigress gave him. My upper lip twitches. She broke it well.

He scampers out of his chair and presents it to me. I sit, kicking my feet up onto the desk. I pull out a cigar and light it. Edward doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself and stands awkwardly to the side, a foot away from me and Dutton.

“I have the money.”

I smile and look at the boys, as if imploring them to get in on a joke. “The problem is, Edward, I shouldn’t have to come in here personally to receive it or remind you. I only do reminders once.”

“If this is about the woman from the party, I didn’t know she was yours…” he says nervously.

I give nothing away. “Everything in this city is mine, Edward. Including you.”

I’ve done my research on Edward, and he’s a disgusting piece of shit who is underhanded and especially grotesque toward women. “Everyone and everything are replaceable, though, aren’t they?” I add, and I swear the motherfucker is about to piss himself.

I find the button to the window shutters and press it, the slow pace of them dropping, agonizing the man in front of me as he turns a noticeable shade paler.

“I’ll have the money to you by tomorrow. I swear,” he promises.

“That’s good, Edward. But as punishment, you will now give us a forty percent cut of your profits.”

His jaw opens and closes several times before he says, “But it’s only at twenty percent now, that’s?—”

With lightning speed, I jump out of my chair and pull out my new favorite knife, the one I stole from a certain little hitwoman.It all happens so quickly, and it’s not until he’s screaming that he understands what just happened. Dutton has him pinned back by the shoulders as I firmly hold down his arm, the blade smeared with blood from where I detached his finger with it.

My favorite color spreads over the table, and I relish the beautiful red glistening in the light.

“This isn’t a negotiation,” I remind him.

I hand the knife over to my cousin as I pick up my cigar again to take another puff.

I exchange places with Dutton, despite Edward screaming and trying his best to fight against us. I clamp down on his shoulders, cigar hanging out of my mouth.

“My cousin came here on business. But I came here for something personal,” Dutton says, and the demon in him comes out to play. This is a side to him that not many see when the mask slips. He rips open Edward’s shirt, revealing a hairy stomach.

“Please… P-please!” Edward screams hysterically.

Dutton smiles, taking pleasure in toying with him. “It’s public knowledge I’m protective over my family. Especially my little sister. You remember Billie, don’t you? You tried to, what would she call it… slide into her DMs?”

“I-I don’t kn-know what you’re t-talking about,” he babbles on a sob, slowly starting to lose consciousness from the pain and shock.

“Well, she, of course, never saw that message because I deleted it. What isn’t common knowledge is that I have access to all of my baby sister’s messages. I’m quite protective, you see, and I’ve deemed you someone who needs to be taught a lesson about how you treat women.”

His screams bounce throughout the room as my cousin casually and artistically starts carving “Pin prick” into his chest and stomach.

By the time we’re done with him, he’s sobbing under his desk, barely conscious.

“I don’t want to come back here again,” I warn him as we make our way out, satisfied by the thrill but my thirst deeply unquenched for more blood. Discipline is a skill, one I’ve continued polishing. But even I need a release, and right now, the thought of Michelle repulses me; my cock only twitching at the image of amber eyes glaring at me with scorn and repulsion.

I smirk to myself, wondering how she’ll cry when she chokes on my cock.

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