Page 62 of The Ties That Bind (Fraser Crime Syndicate 2)

CHAPTER17

Kane

Sticky anger clings to my veins as I storm from the house. I've been betrayed before, by men who I thought were on my side. Aaron Leep stabbed me in the back metaphorically by taking my sister and my sister-in-law and handing them over to our enemies.

But I have never felt the sting of betrayal as bad as this. It chokes me, making my throat so tight I can hardly breathe. She came here looking for secrets. She came here looking for things that could hurt me and my family.

That slices me open and leaves me bare. I let her get under my skin, and that is on me. I should never have given her the leeway to make me feel a fucking thing.

I jog down the steps to the waiting car, my fingers curled into tight fists. I had only come home because I needed some documents from my office. I hadn’t been able to resist seeing my wife while I was here, but I didn’t expect to walk in on a conversation that was clearly not meant for my ears.

Her words, her lies, change everything.

Ford glances at me cautiously as I approach the car. He doesn't ask if I'm all right. He knows better. Instead, he just opens the back door for me and I climb in. As soon as he is in the driver’s seat, he meets my gaze in the rear-view mirror. “Back to the office?”

“No. Take me to the warehouse.”

I need to work out some of this rage before it consumes me, and the only way to do that is to draw blood. The kill room at the warehouse is a constant turntable of our enemies and those who stand against us getting their comeuppance. I can only hope that my men have someone on the hook that I can play with for a few hours.

Because the alternative is I carve my wife’s skin, to bleed her as she has bled me. As much as I hate her right now, I can’t bring myself to harm her, to mar her skin.

I glance up at the house and see her standing in the doorway, her mouth turned down at the corners, pain in her eyes.

Fuck.

I stare at her, meeting that sadness with ice cold indifference. Fuck her. I have put everything into this marriage, more than I should have, while she has been looking for ways in which to expose weaknesses that could unravel me. I hate her for that. I hate her for making me feel things that I try to keep buried.

Most of all, I hate her for making me believe we had a chance.

I stare out of the window as Ford drives the car out of the driveway and towards our destination. I don’t glance behind to see if Elena is still waiting in front of the house. I don’t care what that bitch is doing.

The car barely reaches the end of the driveway when my phone jangles. I pull it out of my suit jacket pocket and see Elena's name flash up on the screen. I reject the call, sliding my phone back into my pocket. She calls again at least three or four times before I reach the warehouse.

I ignore every call.

I have nothing to say to her.

I meant it when I said she and I are done.

Ford stops the car in front of the entrance, and I climb out, before making my way into the building. There are few men hanging around. They greet me with lifts of their chins, a mark of respect for the man I am and my position within the firm.

I ignore them all and make my way to the back of the building where our kill room is located. As I approach, I see two men standing outside the door, smoking a cigarette. They quickly straighten as they see me, stubbing out their smokes. I ignore them too, pushing into the room.

As expected, there is a man hanging from the hook attached to the ceiling. His head is bowed, his bare chest sweaty and caked in blood. They've had him awhile, by the looks of it, but he is still alive. I glance over at the man who has been torturing him and give him a withering look. It’s enough to have him scampering out of the room.

I slip out of my jacket and hang it on a hook on the back of the door. Then I undo my cuff buttons and roll my sleeves up to my elbows. Next, I remove my tie, hanging it with my jacket before unbuttoning the top button of my shirt. My victim watches me through swollen eyes, fear rippling across his features.

I have no idea what this cunt did. It doesn't matter either. All that matters is releasing this intense pressure growing in my chest before it suffocates me.

I move to the tray of instruments on the small table next to his hanging body and examine each instrument in turn, unsure which one I will be utilising. I need something that is going to take time to kill him, because I don't want this to be over too fast.

I hear my phone ringing again in my jacket pocket, but I ignore it and pick up the blowtorch. I should probably build up to this, but I need to smell the flesh burning off him.

I light it up and turn my gaze to him. “You're about to have a very bad afternoon.”

I press the flame against his skin. He screams immediately, the smell of his flesh burning as the skin bubbles. I don't let up, holding it over him until his head sags between his shoulders. Only then do I stop.

How could Elena do this to me? Who the fuck am I living with? I liked the fire in her, but this is different. She is more calculated than my mother. She came into this marriage under false pretences even before we had exchanged rings. She's been alone in my house for a week. Plenty of time to snoop around. I don't keep anything incriminating at the house and she wouldn't have been able to get into my office as it's always locked, but the thought she even wanted to feels like the worst invasion of my privacy.

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