Page 65 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

Richard’s breathing is a mess of ragged gasps, his nostrils flaring, his body trembling from the pain we’ve already puthim through. But I can see the fight still lingering in his eyes. Stubborn old fuck.

I grab his tie and twist, cutting off his air just enough to make his face start turning red. "You don't get to fucking breathe while she's out there scared because of you." I release him only to slam my fist into his face again. His head snaps back, blood splattering against my pristine white shirt.

Angie sobs against the gag, her body trembling on the bed. I ignore her. She knew exactly what kind of man she married.

Behind me, Damien pulls a knife from his pocket, flipping it open. The metal glints under the hotel lights, sharp and unforgiving. He twirls it lazily between his fingers before tracing the tip along Richard’s cheek, just deep enough to slice the skin. A thin line of blood beads along the path, and Richard flinches, his breath coming out in quick, panicked gasps.

I rip the gag from his mouth. His lips are cracked, swollen, his teeth stained red. He coughs, blood spraying from his lips, and I step back just enough to avoid it hitting my shoes.

“Please,” he chokes out, his voice barely above a whisper. “I?—”

I cut him off with another punch, my knuckles splitting further against his jaw. He lets out a pained cry, his head lolling forward. I grab his face, forcing him to look at me through his half-shut, bloodied eyes.

“There’s nothing you can say that’ll save you now,” I murmur, and then I slam my knee into his gut. His whole body spasms, bile and blood spilling from his mouth.

The door creaks open.

Vincent steps inside, his expression deceptively calm as he surveys the scene. His gaze lands on his father’s battered form, then flicks to Angie’s bound and trembling body on the bed.

A slow smirk tugs at his lips. “Damn. Did I miss all the fun?”

I chuckle, shaking out my sore hand. “You were about to miss the best part.”

Vincent sighs dramatically, rolling up his sleeves as he walks forward. I place a palm on his chest, stopping him just short of Richard’s crumpled body. “Not yet,” I murmur, locking eyes with him. “You get the final blow.”

Vincent arches a brow, glancing down at his father, whose chest barely rises and falls, his blood pooling across the hotel carpet. “Looks like he’s already dead.”

I shake my head, slipping my free hand into my jacket and pulling out a sleek, black pistol. “Not until you make it official.”

Vincent’s smirk falters for a fraction of a second, his gaze flicking between the gun and Richard’s twitching body. He hesitates, just long enough for Damien to step forward, his voice cold, steady.

“This is the only way to get our trust back,” Damien says, watching Vincent closely. “The only way to prove you’re with us.”

I keep my hand pressed against Vincent’s chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath, the tension coiling in his muscles. He’s smart. He knows what this means.

“You wanted Willow so bad you were going to steal her away?” I remind him softly. “You wanted to kick us to the curb andsteal our girl. So next time you do that I won’t kill you, but you’ll go to prison for life.”

Vincent’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he exhales slowly and reaches for the gun.

I hand it over, watching as he curls his fingers around the grip, the weight of it settling in his palm.

Damien pulls out his phone, unlocking the camera and holding it up. “Smile, Beaumont,” he taunts, his expression void of amusement.

Vincent’s lips press into a thin line.

Richard lets out a wet, choking sound, his body jerking weakly. It’s almost pathetic. He tries to lift his head, blood dripping from his chin, his lips forming silent words. Begging, maybe. Apologizing.

Doesn’t fucking matter.

Vincent lifts the gun and aims it at his father’s head.

His hands don’t shake. His breathing doesn’t falter.

His finger tightens on the trigger.

The gunshot shatters the air.

Richard’s body jolts, then goes still. Blood splatters across the floor, the wall, Vincent’s pristine white cuff.

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