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Bastian is standing by the pool table with a bunch of his asshole friends.
He’s smoking a cigar and talking shit as usual. Next to him is tonight’s brunette. At least she looks to be in her mid-to-late twenties.
Our father is sitting in the corner of the room with one of his associates.
Bastian and Father notice Jericho and me straight away when we walk in, and the speed in which we’re moving.
They know we’re there for trouble.
I keep my head straight, my eyes fixed on Bastian as I walk.
Amusement fills his eyes for a fleeting second, but then it disappears.
“Coming for another round? Shouldn’t you be groveling at your wife’s feet or something?” Bastian speaks out loud for his audience.
I answer by grabbing his throat. Shock steals the blood from his face along with his confidence, and it takes him a second before he tries to break free.
Jericho grabs Bastian’s arms and secures them behind him, cutting off his escape attempt. Then he puts him in a lock that allows us to push him backward, moving with him across the room.
We go into the next room, which is a little boardroom. Of course, Father Dearest has joined us by now to make sure we don’t kill his precious son.
“What the fuck are the two of you doing?” Father shouts, but I ignore him.
Jericho releases Bastian, but I keep my hand around his neck, so I can shove him against the wall.
“Jericho, close the door,” I order.
When the door swings shut, I squeeze Bastian’s throat tighter.
As he gasps and splutters, Father rushes up to me and grabs my arm.
I look at him. The coldness in my eyes should tell him I don’t care anymore. I think he can see it because he loosens his grip on me.
This is the third time in my life that my father has touched me. The first was to physically pick me up and throw me out of his house and into the street when I was ten years old. The second was to stop me from killing Bastian years ago when we had that fight. Now here we are again.
“Let him go, Knight.” His voice shakes like that of an old man about to take his last breath.
“Get your hand off me. Now.” I keep my eyes riveted to his until he releases me, doing as he’s told, then I look back at Bastian and loosen my hand to allow him some air.
“You’re fucking insane,” Bastian coughs.
“As you live and breathe. Do. Not. Come. For. Me. Everagain.” My voice rises with every word. “Don’t fucking do it, and don’t you ever, ever dare go near my wife again, or speak to her.” The venom and power in my voice keep him in place, showing him I’m serious as fuck. “Do you understand me?”
The fool smiles, still thinking he has the upper hand, even though I practically have him by the balls. “I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands of me.”
I return the smile, but I know I look like a psycho. “Oh no, mon frere. It’syouwho isn’t in any position to make demands.”
I pull out the picture of him and Teddy Jamison’s daughter from the inside of my pocket and shove it in his face.
The instant he sees it, his skin turns alabaster pale and his eyes become dark pools of shock.
“How did you…” His voice cuts out like a wire being short-circuited.
“What is that?” Father demands.
I hand him the picture, and clearly, he must know who Teddy’s daughter is because he turns as pale as Bastian.
“You fool.” Father shakes his head at him. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him show such disdain toward Bastian. I might have to write it in my memoirs.
