Chapter 286

[ 1,044 words ]

Julian’s POV

The abandoned WEG shipyard warehouse in Brooklyn smelled of salt, rusted iron, and fifty years of stagnant oil.

It was freezing inside. The rain from the harbor was hitting the corrugated steel roof in a heavy, deafening roar, but the sound was distant, blocked out by the massive, cavernous silence of the concrete floor. In the center of the dark space, hanging from a single, frayed black wire, a high-intensity halogen bulb cast a harsh, stark cone of white light onto the damp concrete.

Directly beneath the light, tied to a heavy steel industrial chair with thick, reinforced zip ties, was Jude Wolfe.

He was barely conscious. His head was slumped forward, a thin, dark trail of fresh blood dripping from his nose onto the torn fabric of his silk shirt. His face was already a ruined, swollen mask of plum-colored bruising from the penthouse siege, but the fresh laceration at the back of his skull—courtesy of Sam’s fire extinguisher—had been crudely bandaged with a piece of dark utility tape to keep him from bleeding out before I was done with him.

I stood in the deep shadows just beyond the light, slowly wrapping the last layer of white tape over my knuckles.

The shhh-t of the tape tearing was the only sound inside the warehouse. I kept my movements slow, stretching the fabric tight over my skin, feeling the stiff, dry ache in my palms. My face was settled into a completely blank, frozen wall of stone. Inside my chest, the nuclear, primitive rage had settled, compressing itself into a cold, clinical focus.

Jude let out a wet, rattling wheeze through his wired jaw. His head slowly lifted, his single good eye blinking rapidly against the harsh glare of the halogen bulb. He looked around the vast, dark, empty warehouse, his breathing instantly turning shallow and frantic as the reality of his abduction registered.

He didn’t see me yet. I was nothing but a towering, silent silhouette in the dark.

“Windsor,” Jude whistled through his teeth, his British accent sounding wet and hollow behind the wire mesh. He tried to pull his arms, but the steel zip ties bit deep into his wrists, cutting off the circulation. “Windsor, you… you are completely out of your mind. This is kidnapping. This is federal p>

I didn’t answer.

I stepped into the light.

I didn’t offer a corporate explanation, and I didn’t issue a warning. I crossed the ten feet of concrete in two long, heavy strides, my boot-heels silent against the damp ground. I grabbed Jude by his styled dark hair, yanked his head back until his spine popped against the steel chair, and hit him.

Crack.

The sound of my taped fist connecting violently with his cheek was deafeningly loud. It was a raw, full-weight strike that carried the entire force of my back and shoulders. Jude’s head snapped violently to the side, a spray of dark blood and saliva splashing onto the cold concrete.

Before he could even catch his breath, I grabbed his throat, my fingers digging deep into his windpipe, cutting off his air completely, and drove my left fist straight into his ribs.

Crack. Crack.

I heard the distinct, sickening fracture of two ribs breaking under my knuckles. Jude let out a strangled, agonizing gasp, his entire body convulsing against the zip-ties as he tried to draw oxygen into his collapsed lungs. His face turned a dark, suffocating purple, tears of pure physical agony spilling over his swollen lashes.

I didn’t stop.

I hit him again, matching every single strike Katia had taken in her office. I hit his mouth, splitting his lips against his wired teeth until the wire mesh groaned under the pressure. I hit his temple, shaking his brain inside his skull until his single good eye went completely vacant and glazed. I was savage. I was a monster executing an intruder who had dared to step onto my territory and put his heavy, abusive hands on what belonged to me.

When his chest was nothing but a ragged, whistling gasp of pure agony, I released his throat. His head fell forward, blood dripping steadily from his mouth onto his lap, his body trembling violently in the cold air.

I walked to the metal workbench in the shadows, picked up a single sheet of paper, and walked back.

I slid the document onto the small wooden board I had positioned over his lap. Beside it, I dropped a heavy black titanium pen.

Jude’s chest was heaving, his breath coming in short, wet coughs. He slowly raised his head, looking down at the white paper through his swelling eyelids.

“What… what is this?” he whistled, his voice barely a rattle.

“You’re going to sign it,” I said, my voice dropping to a low, quiet register that carried a freezing, absolute finality. “It is an ironclad, legally binding document relinquishing any and all parental, custody, or visitation rights to Aiden Kensington. It also includes a full, notarized confession of your corporate fraud regarding Halo Systems’ server logs p>

Jude let out a wet, painful laugh that made him wince, his hand trying to twitch against the zip-ties. “A custody… relinquishment? You think… you think a piece of paper signed in a dark warehouse… is legally binding, Julian? My lawyers… my lawyers will have this thrown out of court in five minutes p>

“They won’t,” I said.

I leaned in, my face inches from his broken nose, my shadow completely swallowing his chair. I didn’t let the mask slip. I kept my face a flawless, unreadable wall of ice, playing along with his lie with absolute, cold-blooded precision.

“You want to play the doting father?” I rasped, my voice tasting of pure iron. “You want to tell the global press that Aiden is your son? Then sign the paper. Because if you try to challenge this document in a New York court—if your high-priced attorneys try to declare it invalid—you will have to file for a formal custody verification. You will have to submit to a court-ordered DNA test to prove your parental standing p>

Jude froze.

The wet, rattling whistle in his throat stopped instantly. His good eye widened, the realization of the trap hitting him like a physical blow.

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