Then again, no one wants to trespass on private property owned by me. I don’t cover my ownership beneath fake documents or names.
I don’t hide who I am.
The main building is larger than my holding cells back at Asher Holdings, unencumbered by the foot traffic of a busy lobby, and sits at the center of what used to be an area known for its industrial warehouses and automotive body shops. I purchased this section of property a few years back and have let it sit without purpose until I met London and decided to move certain practices here.
Not all. Many come before their judge a floor below the banking operations, but this one is reserved for those who cross me on a more personal level.
I’m an unforgiving man.
Possessive. Prideful.
But more than these egotistical traits, I love my Twirl without reason, and any attempt on her life is the ultimate sin.
The large metal doors slam closed behind me and I look around the vast room, ignoring the two men chained and on their knees at the center of the open space where Javier sits in a chair between the two. His eyes flick to mine for a second or two, a smirk on his face while playing with a blood-stained blade in his right hand. “We have two hours.”
“Mariah knows?”
“Always.”
Chuckling, I turn my attention to the rest of the room and take in the amount of crap still sitting collecting dust. There are what look to be aftermarket car parts, while a vintage Shelby Mustang is half bonded and sanded. “What have we learned?”
“That stupidity is vast in their familial gene pool.”
“Noted.” There are four men standing back against a stack of boxes, dressed in white with masks on their faces. They nod but don’t say a word. They’ll wait in silence until it’s time to clean the room. “Motive?”
“Greed.” The younger of the two, and to Javier’s right, mumbles something that quickly turns into a scream as he’s stabbed in his side, right between his ribs. “This one also has a crush on Mrs. Asher and thinks himself good enough for my sister.”
My eyes narrow and focus on the man in question. He’s twenty-six, no more than five foot seven, and scrawny. He’s blond and blue-eyed with his own urine surrounding him.
Not worthy, and it takes everything in me not to react. Not yet.
I’ll let Javier have his moment.
Our family is a tight and impenetrable circle, and those within will die for each other. He cares for London as if she were his younger sister—protects and takes offense to anything or anyone that could cause her harm.
She’s to him what Mariah is to me.
Javier leaves the knife in and twists the handle, ripping his flesh and more than likely nicking a rib bone. “Robbie Tillis, here, wants to take her out of the country and force a marriage, while the older brother just wanted the money and a quick fuck.”
I close my eyes and take in a deep breath.
Just one.
Before fully opening them again, I have my Desert Eagle in my hand and there’s a large bullet hole in Robbie’s thigh. His screams rend the air—curses and sobs leave his chest as the puddle of piss mixes with blood. It grows, and he becomes pale.
No pain tolerance whatsoever.
“Remove every stitch of their clothing.” The cleaners move as one unit, all four stepping into the center and tearing each piece of fabric off my guests. Their naked forms shake, plead, and cry. They threaten and then take it back in the same breath. “Silence.”
“You vile son of a bitch. Please, don’t do this...we can work this out.” This comes from the older of the two, Ron. “We’ll disappear as if nothing happened. London is safe...fuck!” he yells out as my foot meets his jaw, breaking his front teeth and forcing the pieces to the back of his throat. Ron sputters, fights to spit them out, but I keep my foot there and press him down until he’s contorted, head on the cold concrete ground and looking up at me with fear.
“Swallow.”
“We’re sorry!” Robbie cries, his chain rattling against the ground, but all movement ceases when I snap my eyes to his. From the corner of my eye, I see Javier stand, knife once again in his hand. “Please, Mr. Asher. Have mercy on us.”
“Give me one good reason why.” The man below me tries to fight the weight pressing down on his face, fights to squirm away, but I gift him the privilege of my boot once more. And as I wait for the inconsiderate asshole to follow my instruction, to answer me, I raise a brow at Ron. “Swallow.”
Ron’s face swells rapidly beneath a layer of grime and blood; his nose and lips split open. He’s in pain, fighting for breath while trying not to gag, and yet, he’s a good boy and swallows his teeth.
Grimacing. Crying.
“S-sir, we were just trying to come up with enough money to pay off a loan shark and leave. Truly, we meant no harm.”
“You meant no harm?” I dig the bottom of my sole deeper into his brother’s face, cutting off the deep breaths he’s struggling to get into his lungs. The bone and cartilage crunch and rip, choking him with his own blood while also pooling in his mouth.
Ron’s shackled hands can’t fight me off. The way he’s bent back, kneeling on tired legs while his arms stretch with
