Vengeance in His Bed

Beron froze, his eyes widening in pure shock. "What?! That... that is impossible!" He shook his head, his face twisting in revulsion. "What kind of woman is she to give her heart and her body to a monster who slaughtered her own parents?!"

Dorrent’s jaw locked tight, a lethal spark igniting in his silver eyes. "You know damn well I didn’t slaughter her family out of my own free will, Beron," Dorrent growled, his voice dropping into a chilling, low register. "You did something to me nine years ago... something that triggered that abnormal black cycle rut. And it is only a matter of time before I tear your empire apart and find out exactly what poison you put in my veins."

Beron’s expression went completely dead. Realizing the secret was slipping out of control, he raised his hand high in the air, his face darkening into psychopathic malice.

"Open fire!" Beron roared to his men. "Shoot the car! Kill the girl and blow the whole vehicle to hell! She is no longer of any use to us, so death is the only path left!"

Inside the passenger seat, Jannah pressed her back hard against the leather seat, her hands covering her mouth in sheer horror. She heard every single word through the reinforced glass. A icy wave of realization washed over her—Damian’s father was truly that ruthless, that utterly evil, willing to execute her in cold blood the second she no longer served his breeding bloodline agenda.

The armed men raised their rifles, their fingers tightening on the triggers to rain hellfire upon the vehicle.

SCREEECH!

Before a single shot could echo through the night, the deafening sound of burning rubber tore through the air. A sleek white sedan came drifting around the curve at breakneck speed, smashing directly through the gap between two of the cars and sliding to a violent halt right in the center of the standoff.

The driver’s door flew open.

Damian stepped out into the blinding light, his face pale, his immaculate clothes slightly disheveled, and his golden eyes blazing with an uncharacteristic, explosive fury.

Beron stared at his son in utter astonishment, his hand dropping as his jaw went slack. "Damian?! What on earth are you doing here?! I locked you up!"

Damian stood tall against the glare of the headlights, a bitter, dark smile breaking across his features as he glared straight into his father’s shocked eyes.

"You are so utterly full of yourself, Bellero..." Damian delivered, his voice ringing out over the quiet road with a dangerous, razor-sharp edge, "...you actually believed you had every single thing under your control!"

Damian walked around the passenger side of the sedan and opened the door. He reached inside, grasping the shoulder of a trembling, heavily bruised man, and dragged him out into the harsh glare of the headlights.

It was Enock.

The old mechanic was battered, his face swollen with fresh contusions and dried blood crusting over his lip, but he was alive. Damian kept a firm, protective grip on Enock’s arm, stepping forward until they stood squarely between Beron’s armed mercenaries and the blocked road.

Beron’s eyes bulged in utter disbelief. His hands shook against the head of his golden cane as he glared at his son, his voice rising into a furious, panicked screech. "Damian?! What in God’s name do you think you are doing?! I locked you in the manor! How did you get out—and why did you bring that snitching trash with you?!"

"I brought him because I am done letting you cover up your sins with blood, Bellero," Damian answered, his voice devoid of the gentle warmth he usually wore in his clinic. It was cold, razor-sharp, and vibrating with an intense, long-suppressed fury. "You thought locking me in the basement would stop me? You thought sending your hounds to drag Enock to a psychiatric facility to erase his brain would fix this?"

"Leave this place right now!" Beron roared, pointing his cane violently at Damian. "You are ruining everything! Get back in the car and let my men finish this!"

"I am not going anywhere," Damian delivered flatly, taking another step forward, shielding the battered mechanic behind his broad frame. "And I am certainly not going to stand by and watch you slaughter any more innocent people. This insanity comes to an end tonight, Bellero. You are going to lower your weapons and surrender yourself to the authorities... or you let this situation deteriorate until you lose your own life."

Beron stared at Damian as if his son had grown a second head. A harsh, hysterical laugh tore from the old Mafia lord’s throat. "Surrender to the police?! Have you lost your mind, Damian?! What kind of a stupid, completely useless son are you to turn against your own father?! Everything I built, every drop of blood I spilled in these bogs, was to pave a path for you to claim the Nenth bloodline! I did this for our family’s legacy!"

"Your legacy is a pile of rotting corpses and broken lives!" Damian spat back, his golden eyes flashing with raw, volatile hatred.

He tilted his head, letting out a dark, mocking laugh that cut straight through the tense air of the road.

"You call me useless?" Damian sneered, his voice dripping with venomous disdain. "Maybe if you had actually been man enough to win Frost Nenth’s heart thirty years ago... maybe if she hadn’t looked at you with absolute disgust and chosen a penniless Beta over you... then I would have been born an Enigma. Instead, I was born a weak, B-tier disappointment to a pathetic, obsessed old man who couldn’t handle rejection."

Beron’s face went dead, ghostly white before flushing into a violent, apoplectic purple. The humiliation of his life’s greatest failure—losing Frost Nenth—being hurled back into his face by his own flesh and blood completely shattered his remaining composure.

With a choked, demonic roar of fury, Beron reached into his suit jacket, pulled out a revolver, and aimed the barrel dead center at Damian’s forehead.

"SHUT YOUR DISGUSTING MOUTH!" Beron shrieked, his finger trembling violently against the trigger, his knuckles stark white. "Shut your mouth right now if you ever want to see tomorrow morning! I swear to God, Damian, do not test me!"

Inside the sports car, Jannah gasped, pressing her hands against the glass as she watched Damian stand unflinchingly before his father’s loaded gun. Beside the car, Dorrent stood quietly, his eyes narrowed as he watched the fractured Boren family tear itself apart, his hand resting casually near his waist.

Damian took a bold step forward, pressing his own forehead directly against the cold, deadly steel of his father’s revolver.

"Go ahead, Bellero," Damian whispered, his voice dangerously soft, echoing with a chilling, suicidal bravado across the road. "Pull the trigger. Go ahead and kill your own son... just like you killed Jannah’s parents."

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