Page 79 of Bound to a Monster

“Your only son.” The bite of the whiskey is harsh. Dad rolls his eyes.

“How quickly we forget your brother.”

“Step’s dead. Unfortunately for you.”

“For everyone.” He jabs a finger on the desk. “Are you here to apologize? Frank’s fucking livid still.”

“You locked me out of the store.”

His smug smile makes me want to stab him in the eye. “I forgot I did that.”

I move closer to his desk. “Why?”

“Because you fucked up once already. Relax, you’re not fired, but I am making sure that all my stock is accounted for and I’m going to decide how Frank gets compensated. Most likely it’ll be from your private stash.”

“You didn’t have to change the locks.”

“Actually, I did. You’ve had too much freedom. I’m thinking you’re going to take a step back from the business. You never were able to handle it.”

“That’s probably because you never taught me how.”

He snorts and waves a hand. “You never wanted to learn. Only your brother?—”

I throw the crystal glass at his head. He grunts in shock as it thuds into his skull. It’s a great throw—right into his forehead—and hard enough to draw blood. He blinks at me in surprise, mouth moving without any sound.

I bound over the desk. Dad raises his hands, and there might’ve been a time when he could’ve defended himself from me, but that time was at least twenty years earlier. Now he’s old and he lost a step and I’m in my prime.

He topples backwards as I pummel him. We collapse into an undignified heap behind the desk. He tries rolling and grappling, but I punch his arms away, landing blow after blow.

“Connor!” he yells but it’s muffled when I slam a forearm into his mouth. He knees me in the crotch and shoves me back enough to shout again, louder this time. “Connor, help!”

There’s a slam at the door. Alex is there, holding it closed, as the kid named Connor pounds at it. I hit Dad again, and again, and again, before wrapping my hands around his throat.

His face is a wreck. His nose is bent and bloody, and blood is seeping between his crooked teeth. He snarls, animalistic, thrashing and fighting for his life. If I hadn’t done this before, it might take me off guard. People can be shockingly strong when they’re not holding back. When the only way to survive is to give it everything.

But I have a good grip.

“It’s time,” I say, breathing hard, sweat rolling down my face. “You’ve had long enough.”

“Fuck,” he gags, choking, face turning purple. “You. Mistake.”

I squeeze tighter. “You were never worthy.”

One last buck. He tries to throw me off, but I’m firmly planted. I stare into my father’s eyes as gunshots go off behind me. Connor must be trying to get through. I don’t bother looking. I want to see death take my father.

It comes for him, and the darkness in me screams with victory.

Oleg Federov goes still and slack. I keep holding on and wait longer, longer, wait for the light to go out from his eyes, wait until I’m sure he’s dead and gone, before I finally let him go.

I check his pulse. There’s nothing.

I push myself to my feet, shaking from exertion and adrenaline.

“What the fuck?” Connor the guard’s standing at the door. It’s open now, and Alex is crouching to the side. Clearly, he had to get out of the way when the shooting started.

Connor aims a gun at me, but it wavers.

“Oleg’s dead,” I tell him, staring him down.

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