AllFreeNovel
Share Us
FOURTEEN
Shane
T
he night before, after Melanie confessed her dark secret, I ordered Callan to get me an address on David Leighton. We had some scores to settle, and I wanted to deal with this piece of shit without undue delay. I told Callan to come to LA immediately. As my stay here was extending, I needed my best man around. And so, I was just picking him up from the airport.
“Get in,” I said as I rolled down the dark-tinted window, smirking at the sight of my right-hand man and best friend.
“Long time no see, boss.” He grinned before getting in the car.
I drove away, leaving the sound of tires squealing behind. I took a turn to get on the highway, speeding up as we headed to San Diego.
“So, boss?” Callan asked, staring at me with a perky smirk on his face, and I realized I missed his annoying ass.
“What?” I asked, my gaze on the road.
“Melanie Atwood?” His tone was sarcastic, but then again, when wasn’t it? This man was a walking tease. “Atwood?” he repeated, emphasizing his point.
“Life’s full of surprises, isn’t it?” I glanced at him for a short moment before focusing on the road again.
“Holy fuck, you’re serious?” Shock flooded his eyes. He ran his fingers through his blue hair, adjusting himself on the seat. “What about your father?”
“Don’t you worry about my father. I’m a big boy,” I teased, despite being well aware of the meaning of his words.
“Yeah, but y’know. Your father is, well… dangerous.”
“So am I,” I said coldly.
“Wait a minute.” He took off his dark sunglasses before staring at me. “Are you tryin’ to imply you’d go against your father for the daughter of your worst long-term enemy?”
“If necessary, then yes,” I asserted firmly.
Callan raised his left brow. The scar he had right above it reminded me of a nasty fight he had two years ago with my former right-hand man who went against my order, betraying our family in the process. I remember like it was yesterday how Callan’s zealousness, courage, and devotion impressed me, and with no hesitation, I made him my right-hand man right after I put a bullet in the traitor’s head. I had no tolerance for treachery.
“But you’re his favorite,” he stated, racking his brain to determine if I was being serious. “And you’re the heir to the Vergoossen legacy.”
“It was never about me, Callan. It was about my mother,” I clarified, but a rush of regret washed over my body. I could never speak of my mother without feeling the pain all over again. The pain I was desperately trying to hide underneath a mask of an emotionless, ruthless, cold bastard.
Callan tilted his head, scanning my face as if trying to find a clue.
“I’m the only living thing he has, reminding him of her. He loved her deeply, truly. He never loved like this after. No one. Not even me,” I said, clenching the steering wheel. One thing Melanie and I had in common was the feeling of not being worthy of love. Although I was my father’s favorite, and in his twisted way, he loved me, I never got to know what love is. There was no place for love in a world where all that mattered was power.
“Didn’t your mother die because of Dedrick Atwood?” Callan asked, slightly hesitant. Despite being my best friend, he respected the boundaries I set as his boss.
“She did.” I clenched my teeth, trying to keep my rage leashed. “And I can’t let history repeat itself.”
“What do you mean?” I didn’t have to look at him to sense the confusion written on his face.
“I can’t let Melanie die.”
~••~
“I can deal with him on my own,” Callan said, loading his gun.
“No. I want the pleasure myself.” I slid the gun underneath my belt at my back and fixed the black leather jacket I wore. “I want him to look me in the eyes when I finish him. Let’s go.”
Callan nodded, not questioning my motives or actions. He led me toward the back entrance of a modern loft. After my call, he sent Franco, one of my men stationed in LA in case of any emergency, to check out this place. We’d always been prepared for any possibility. We had men in every state, in every corner of the country. Callan disarmed the alarm and gave me a sign we could go in. I sneaked inside, and he followed, covering my back. I searched across an empty living room with a dim light and a glass of scotch on a wooden table standing in front of a bottle-green couch. A twisted idea weaved into my mind. I slowly approached the sofa and sat in the middle of it, stretching my arm on its backrest, my leg bent. Callan looked at me with his brow raised, and I shrugged, tilting my head to the side, and a wicked smirk curled up the corner of my lips. I reached for the glass of scotch, and Callan shook his head. He knew my twisted ways by now. He stepped toward the door leading to another room and hid behind the frame, standing by.
