Page 75 of Hidden Heir

Above us, Ronan leans against the railing and stares down.

“He’s here because our laws demand the head of an organization is present for any trial of one of their own,” Leon tells him. “Not that you would know anything about following rules or tradition.”

“So what do you plan to do?” He licks his lips and raises his chin in defiance as he glares at Leon. “Gonna rough me up a bit more? Show off your strength to your whore?”

Each word out of his mouth stokes the anger inside me. Never in my life have I felt such an all-consuming rage. It rises inside me like a fever and my stomach twists into knots.

“Me? I’m not going to do anything. Brooke, on the other hand…”

Paul’s eyes slide over to me, filled with uncertainty. “You? What the fuck are you going to do? Slap me?” He laughs hoarsely. “At least give me the respect of facing real power.”

“I never thought of myself as a cruel person,” I begin, my voice quiet. “I tried to keep my head down in life. All I wanted was to grow flowers and create beautiful arrangements that made people smile, raise my daughter, and protect my family. Maybe take a holiday every few years. That’s all I wanted. But you took that from me.”

Paul’s eyes narrow.

“You tried to destroy me, showing me parts of myself that I didn’t know existed. You showed me that as a woman and as a mother, I need to consider insanity in order to help rid the world of psychopaths like you. I don’t want my daughter growing up believing that one fucker’s greedy scheme can destroy her entire life.”

My voice trembles slightly but I recenter and force myself to keep looking at him.

Behind him, one of the men that arrived with Ronan appears, dragging a large, empty oil barrel. The metal scrapes obnoxiously across the deck, but each time Paul tries to look, one of the guards flanking him shoves him forward.

“You came into my store, destroyed it, and attacked me. You threatened my daughter in the most horrific ways. You tried to force me to sell myself for sex to pay off some fucking debt that wasn’t even mine. And then you burned down my flower shop.” The images of the hollowed-out shell of my store displayed on the news flash in mind. “You tortured and murdered my babysitter, Hannah. She wasinnocent.” My stomach churns at the thought of the picture they sent me, another motivator forensuring Leon put an end to his old business ways. “She did nothing wrong and you killed her.”

Paul suddenly can’t meet my eyes.

“You killed my brother. Yes, he was an asshole. Possibly even just as horrible as you but he was still my brother, and you murdered him. You beat me, you mutilated me. You’ve scarred my body and attempted to break my soul. You’ve taken more from me than anyone should ever be able to take, and all because you’re a greedy, selfish fucking piece of shit.”

The tremble finally leaves my voice as Paul is hauled to his feet by the guards.

“Wait—!”

“Lucky for you, I’m going to make sure that you only experience a fraction of the hell you put me through. You’re going to be scared. You’re going to feel like your chest is about to explode, like someone has their boot on your neck. You’re going to be alone and adrift in darkness, begging for a death that will come slowly. Do you understand me?” I walk forward as he’s dragged back toward the barrel. “You’re going to suffer for a long,longtime. And I’m going to enjoy every fucking second of it, you monster.”

“Wait,wait! Ronan!” Paul yells. “Ronan, you can’t let this happen! I’m one of yours! This isn’t right! This fucking bitch is crazy! Ronan,please!”

Paul’s frantic begging and pleading lands on deaf ears as he’s hauled upward and dropped into the oil barrel. He tries to scramble out but one swift punch from a guard and he’s back down in a daze. Leon walks forward and motions for the guard to begin securing the lid. The guard picks it up and starts to slide it over the top but pauses when I approach. I stare in at Paul.

“Look at me, Paul,” I say softly. “Look at who beat you. It wasn’t someone from your world. It wasn’t a soldier. Wasn’teven someone with a gun. It was me, a womanflorist.” I wanted my face to be the last thing he ever saw.

The lid is closed and Leon and I step back. Paul’s cries for help are immediately drowned out by the flare of a blowtorch as one of the guards secures the seal. Leon’s hand slides into mine and he grips it tightly. I silently watch as the colors of the flare turn from yellow, to white, and finally red as it melts the seam together.

Paul kicks and thrashes inside the barrel and the thumps echo across the deck, along with his screams. My heart swells as the dark angry shadow inside me begins to fade.

I need him to suffer. I need him to die a slow, painful death because it’s the only thing that will make up for the trauma I now have to live with. Knowing he’s dead is the only thing that will bring me peace.

Once the lid is sealed, the barrel is dragged to the edge of the deck where several cement blocks are chained to it. It teeters dangerously as the guards await the order. Leon squeezes my hand, and I look up into his eyes.

“Last chance,” he says softly.

“Do it.”

The guards obey and the barrel containing Paul Conti is tossed overboard. It lands with a loud splash, sending water washing over the deck. Walking forward, I stare down at the waves and watch as the barrel sinks beneath the water. I watch as it descends down into the darkness, becoming no longer visible.

Peace settles over my shoulders and tears of relief spring behind my eyes.

Paul is gone.

He can never hurt me again.

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