I Belong To My Three Forbidden Masters

Chapter 106: Chapter 106

Darius’s pov

The man just walked up to me and pointed the gun directly between my eyes.

My eyes widened and my knees gave out completely. The polished floorboards rose to meet me as I hit the dark carpet, scrambling backward until my spine slammed against the base of a marble pillar.

My hands flew up, palms open, trembling so violently my tailored cuffs rattled against my wrists.

"Please! Don’t—please!" I gasped out, my voice cracking into a pathetic, high-pitched whimper. "Theodore! Tell him to stop!"

The scarred spokesman didn’t even look back at the desk. He stepped forward slowly, his polished shoes stopping inches from my knees.

He reached down, grabbed a handful of my hair, and yanked my head back until my neck strained. Cold, black steel pressed hard into my right temple, the heavy sight digging into my skin.

"You think this is a game, Darius?" the man rasped, his voice smooth, quiet, and terrifyingly calm. "It’s bad enough you promised us a rare asset, took fifty percent of our deposit, and failed to deliver on time. But coming into our office nd cooking up some wild, absurd story about pureblood vampire?"

He let out a short, bitter bark of laughter, his breath smelling of stale espresso and mint.

"There are no more purebloods, Thorne. The last line died out a century ago. You’re spinning fairytales to cover your own incompetence."

"No! No, no, no!" I choked out, shaking my head violently against his grip, tears of sheer panic finally spilling over my lower lids. "I swear on my life! I swear on my dead son! It was Balthazar! He is a pureblood—he’s alive! He took Lysander! He mated with him!"

SLAP!

The back of his open hand cracked across my face.

White light exploded in my vision. My head snapped sideways, blood filling my mouth instantly as my inner cheek tore against my back molars. I slumped against the pillar, gasping for breath as a loud, deafening ringing filled my ears.

"Shut your pathetic mouth," the spokesman snarled, wiping a fleck of my blood from his knuckles with a silk handkerchief. "We know everything about you, Thorne. We know your company is failing. We know your debt is due. We know your wife left you, and we know your useless son died last night. You are ruined. You came in here thinking you could make fools out of us so we’d go fight your battles for you."

He stepped back, adjusting his posture, raising the gun once more and aligning the sights straight between my eyes. His finger tightened around the trigger.

"We don’t do charity for dead men walking. It’s not beneficial to us and seeing as you are useless to us, you are of no good to us alive."

I felt cold, all of a sudden. I had failed.

Maybe Gideon was right, I was a coward who couldn’t do anything right. Why did I think this would work anyway.

I had nothing left to say to them that would make them trust me again. In three seconds, he was going to put a bullet through my skull and dump my body in the same mountain ravine as my phone.

I had nothing left to offer them. No money. No influence. No guards.

Except one thing.

"I KNOW WHERE THE BREEDER IS!" I shrieked at the top of my lungs, the desperate scream tearing through my raw throat and echoing off the glass walls.

The room went dead silent.

The spokesman froze. His finger paused on the trigger guard. He slowly lowered the gun an inch, his scarred face twisting into a cold, dangerous frown as his dark eyes locked onto mine.

"What did you just say?" he asked softly.

My chest heaved in violent, ragged gasps. I wiped the trail of blood from my chin with the back of my sleeve, scrambling back up onto my knees, resting my hands flat on the carpet in complete submission.

"I know where the breeder is," I rasped, my breath coming in shallow, terrified hitches. "I have been there before so I know the exact layout of the compound where he’s being kept. I know the shift rotations, the security blind spots, and the private quarters. I can get him for you. I can lead your men straight through the gates and put him right into your hands."

The spokesman stared down at me for five agonizing seconds. Slowly, he turned his head toward the back of the penthouse, looking over his shoulder at the obsidian desk.

Behind the desk, Theodore finally moved. He adjusted his gloves, leaned forward into the light, and gave a single, barely perceptible nod.

The spokesman turned back to me, lowering the sidearm completely and shoving it back into his armpit holster.

"You have one last chance to right your wrong, Darius," he said, his voice flat, heavy, and devoid of any warmth. "If you fail us again, we won’t just kill you. We will skin you alive and burn what’s left of your family name."

He reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out a heavy, dark leather checkbook, and unscrewed a silver fountain pen.

He wrote out a line of figures, tore the slip from the pad, and flicked it down onto the carpet in front of my face.

I looked down at the paper.

Pay to the order of: Darius Thorne

Amount: $100,000,000.00

My jaw slackened. The number stared back me in dark, bold ink. One hundred million dollars. Enough to hire an army. Enough to buy heavy tactical ordnance, private mercenaries, and enough silver explosives to tear Balthazar apart stone by stone.

"Use it," the spokesman commanded, leaning down until his face was inches from mine, his eyes gleaming with lethal promise. "Buy whatever gear you need. Hire whoever you want. But make sure that boy is standing in this room by next week."

He grabbed me by the collar of my charcoal suit, hauling me off the floor with effortless strength, and shoved me back toward the private elevator bank.

"Now get out of my sight."

I stumbled back into the elevator, my shaking fingers locking around the paper check as the doors slid shut, sealing me into the quiet, rising dark.

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