My head whipped to the side just as one of the men restraining me staggered, hands flying off my shoulder.
Kane, all bloody, shaking, and furious, had thrown himself at the man holding me down. James threw what looked like lamp at the brick wall heading toward him while shattered pieces from another lay beside Darragh.
I pulled the arm of the man holding me down before head-butting him straight in his face. My ears rung as he fell to the ground, my eyes searching the room for the Irishman in pure rage. He scrambled back, making a frantic break for the hall that led to his private office.
I hit the hallway at a full sprint. He reached his office and slammed the door, the heavy lock clicking just as I hit it. I heard him dragging a heavy filing cabinet against the wood, his breath hitching in panicked, wheezing gasps.
I didn’t stop. I backed up, then threw my entire weight against the door. The frame groaned. Again.Crack.On the third hit, the wood splintered, and the cabinet slid back.
I pushed through. The office was plush—mahogany, velvet, and the scent of old money. Darragh was backed against his desk, clutching the belt in his trembling hand.
“So… This is how you fuckin’ repay me,” he spat. “After everything I’ve done for you? You think I don’t have power over you anymore, boy.”
“You don’t,” I said, closing the distance. My footsteps were slow, deliberate. “You’re just a man, Darragh. A weak, pathetic man.”
He tightened his fist with belt before he swung. I ducked, the buckle still tearing at my skin, but caught his wrist and squeezed, the bone snapping under my grip. He screamed, dropping leather, but he wasn’t done. He lunged like an animal, ramming his shoulder into my ribs. We crashed into the wall. Pictures shattered. His elbow slammed into my jaw and pain exploded.
He didn’t give me a chance to recover. He went for my throat, but I lunged, my fist connecting with his nose. Bone shattered, blood spraying across my knuckles. I followed it with a hook to his ribs.
He fought through the pain, trying to lunge at me again like a wild animal. This was the sick fuck I knew. This was the man that tormented me.
I drove another fist into his ribs, before going across his face.
He hunched over in pain. “You… you think you’re free?” he wheezed.
He laughed behind a weak, wet, gurgling sound, teeth red with blood. “Who’s going to pay for your mammy’s hospital bills, eh? Those machines aren’t cheap, lad… You think you can save her without my hand in your pocket? You’re nothing but a street rat without me.”
I hit him again, a straight right that sent him crashing to the floor. His head cracked against the corner of the desk on the way down.
“Surely not… Noah?” Darragh choked out, blood leaking from his ears. “You’re going to work for Daddy now? Be Noah’s good little boy? That’s how you’re going to save your mam, eh? By being Daddy’s little bitch?” He spat this last word, infusing it with every ounce of venom he had.
I was on the ground. My fists flew in a blur. He smiled through every punch, blood poured from his mouth, but he grinned, wide, horrifying, delirious, like he was savoring every blow.
“Atta boy,” he rasped, coughing blood onto my shirt. “Harder. Show me what you’ve learned.Show me what I fuckin’ made.”
I slammed him into the desk. Punch after punch, my knuckles shredded as I destroyed him with my fists.
With every sickening crunch, that awful memory of him whipping me with that fucking belt began to fall away. His threats to Ingrid, the scars that stung on my back, all of it going silent in my mind.
Finally, I relented. Darragh lay face down, blood spraying from his mouth and staining his white silk shirt.
He was a mess now. Eyes swollen, face crimson, body crumpled, he breathed heavily.
“You didn’t make me, Darragh… You don’t own me,” I breathed out. “Not anymore.”
He gave another smile. “I hope...” he wheezed, a final, spiteful glint in his gaze as he gazed up at me. “I hope you like watching me die... because soon... you’ll have to do the same... with your mammy. She’ll go cold... just like me... and you’ll be the one to turn off the lights.”
I leered over him, slow and silent, while the fight raged faintly in the lounge behind us. He tried to keep his head up, tried to lift himself, crawl away, but he couldn’t. And then I saw it.
That fucking belt. It lay by the edge of his feet, gleaming in the dimly lit room. My body moved before my mind caught up. I picked it up, taking a step toward him as he lifted his head one last time.
Then I stepped over him, looped the leather around his throat, watching his face go pale.
He made a pathetic gasp for air as I planted my knee between his shoulder blades andpulled.
His body went rigid. Despite the broken bones, he found the strength to overcome the agony raging through him to grab for the leather encircling his neck. He clawed at it. But he couldn’t grip it: the belt was too tight, the leather digging too deep into his skin; and besides, his fingerswere bloody and mangled. His mouth opened and closed, but no noise came out.
His hands clawed at the floor, nails scraping for purchase, finding none. His broken fingers slipped uselessly on the wood. His legs kicked once, then again, weakening with each jerk.
