Page 88 of Gamble with Me
The alarm went off precisely when we were behind the emergency exit of the fifth floor. Quickly, we slipped inside before the people hurried there to run to safety.
The floor was vacant in two minutes, and we left our hideout, heading to the main conference room. The place was full of shareholders having their regular monthly meeting. Idiots put soundproof glass on the walls and windows, so they didn’t know about the emergency. They continued to study reports as if nothing had happened.
Well, nothing had happenedyet.
I glimpsed at Dorian, who winked at me, and behind him, Malin appeared like a ghost. We were all dressed in black turtlenecks and suits and had the same haircut, making it hard for people to distinguish us.
My body shivered with excitement and adrenaline. I couldn’t wait to start with this. It would be a blow no one saw coming.
“Ready?” Dorian asked, glancing around for the last time to check if any staff had stayed behind.
I looked at Malin, who nodded, and I did the same.
“Let’s go,” I commanded, walking from behind the corner and turning the knob on the heavy glass door. We were extra cautious, so none of them saw us before we entered the conference room to shock them to the core, and it paid off.
The man presenting monthly profits stopped talking immediately when he noticed us. His brows furrowed as he watched us walk inside leisurely. The other twelve men also drifted their attention from the board to us, most looking surprised.
“Good afternoon, Zyon,” the head of the company, Damien Levenburg, greeted with fake sweetness, his gaze jumping from me to my brothers. “I didn’t know you were coming. To what do we owe the pleasure?”
I didn’t answer. I let them cook in their own sweat, sensing the nervousness growing. Malin casually walked around the long glass table until he stood behind the man presenting and pushed him down to sit.
Dorian scanned the room with his calculated glance like a lion ready to pounce at its prey, picking the best spot for attack.
I, on the other hand, stood by the door, relishing in the raw fear that spread like an infectious disease. They knew this wasn’t a social visit, but they had no idea those were their last minutes on earth.
“Zyon.” Damien awkwardly rose to his feet, but Dorian instantly pushed his ass back on the leather office chair.
“What is going on?” another man whose name I didn’t remember asked, trying to sound confident. Yet his voice jumped slightly, and his eyes showed concern. All of them were worried. Finally, they were starting to understand the heaviness of this situation.
“I came to collect what you owe me,” I replied firmly, hiding my hands in my pants pockets and slowly walking toward the table. “You owe me too much for my liking.”
“There must be a misunderstanding, Zyon,” Damien said, watching Malin, who opened the window and lit a cigarette through narrowed eyes. “We don’t owe you anything.”
“You don’t?” I echoed, looking at Dorian, who pointed at his watch. We didn’t have much time for empty talk. “John Porter and Anastasia Bloom broke under pressure, Damien. I know everything.”
A grave silence reigned in the room. Malin returned to his previous position behind the man at the main table, and Dorian pulled out his white desert eagle.
“I’m sure we can explain, Mr. Zhumagulov,” someone said from the other side of the table, but I was done listening to fabricated nonsense.
“Malin,” I addressed my brother coldly, underlining the severity of what was about to come. “Show our former friends how interested we are in their bullshit.”
It was barely a millisecond before the room filled with desperate grunting and wheezing. Malin was strangling the man with steel thread while the poor victim of his brutality tried to fight for his life without success. My brother skillfully demonstrated the dreadful reality, freezing everyone in their spots.
All eyes in the room were set on the awful scene of the man dying. His breath was cut short, his eyes bulged, and his hands fought and clawed at Malin’s forearms until he fell limp on the chair with an empty gaze fixed on the papers scattered in front of him.
It was absurd. A young person died a violent death as an illustration of our cruelty and need to scare our enemies before the inevitable end would come.
But even more bizarre was that no one tried to help him. They just sat there, paralyzed by shock and the realization that they were next. It baffled me that no one tried to fight. Their self-preservation instinct failed.
“What do you want, Zyon?” Damien asked, evidently upset.
The others barely took a breath. The fright was written all over their faces, and some nervously wriggled in their seats. Dorian roughly pushed one of them with his gun, giving him a pointed look to say that if he didn’t stop moving, there would be consequences.
“I thought you would never ask,” I chirped excitedly, nodding at Malin. He hid the steel thread in his pocket and threw a file before Damien, who carefully opened it as if he expected it to blow up, his eyes widening at the content.
“You can’t be serious,” he ground out, glaring at me. The man on his right side, the lead accountant, if I remember correctly, scanned the document with his frightened stare, shaking his head in disbelief.
“This is extortion,” he uttered, returning the file to Damien. “No one will ever sign it.”
