REGAN RAY UNBOWED

Chapter Five

"I'm on my way," Regan said, his voice tight with a suppressed rage as he ended the call. Anger boiled through his veins, a molten fury that threatened to consume him. He fisted his hands at his side, the pressure in his grip so intense it felt like he could crush a stone at this point, his knuckles whitening with the effort. They've crossed the line now, the absolute limit, he thought. I'm not going to let them get away with this. "You've crossed the line, Mr. Alfred," he spat out, the words thick with venom, as he angrily stormed out of the room. He kicked the door with such force that the house seemed to tremble from the impact.

He rushed down the stairs, his steps long and deliberate, his focus narrowed to a single point: vengeance. He could feel the heavy thud of his footsteps resonating through the empty house, each one echoing his burning fury. He headed out of the exit door, his breath coming out in short, sharp puffs.

He burst through the garage door. In a few swift motions, he pulled his power bike, a sleek, black machine with chrome accents, out of its spot, the smooth surface glistening under the afternoon sun. The metallic scent of oil and gasoline filled his nostrils as he threw his leg over the seat, his body poised for action. He turned the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life beneath him, a deep, guttural sound that reflected the storm brewing inside him. He gripped the handlebars, the vibration from the powerful engine thrumming through his veins. He adjusted his helmet with a sharp jerk, the hard plastic covering his face like a mask. He had just one goal at this point: to arrive at the restaurant before that monster and Stacy could put their evil plan into motion, What exactly is he planning at the restaurant? he thought.

Regan sped out of the driveway, the bike’s wheels tearing across the pavement. The wind whipped past his face, blurring the houses and trees as he rocketed down the street. He was riding at a very high speed, each second ticking by, bringing him closer to the restaurant, closer to his vengeance. The rush of adrenaline coursed through his veins. He was determined to get there, to stop whatever scheme they had cooked up. He was sure that Alfred was going to do something drastic.

Regan rode his bike up to the restaurant. The sound of his engine was like a signal for Anny. She quickly ran out, almost out of breath, to meet him.

Regan got off his bike and carefully put his helmet on the seat. "Thank goodness you're here, Regan!" Anny said, her voice shaky. "Your uncle says he's the new owner, and he wants us to leave!" Her eyes were wide with fear, and she was trying to catch her breath.

"No! That can't be true," Regan said right away. He couldn't believe that his step-dad could become the owner of the restaurant so fast. It was impossible. He was sure it was just another trick his uncle was playing, and he wasn't going to let him get away with it.

"I won't let him win," Regan said angrily, as he headed towards the restaurant door.

The air hung heavy with tension as Regan pushed through the restaurant doors. The scene that unfolded before him was a stark betrayal of everything he held dear. His step-father, Alfred, sat perched like a king on a mismatched kitchen chair, Stacy perched beside him like a queen, her hand possessively resting on his arm. The restaurant staff, usually buzzing with activity, stood stiffly in a silent, apprehensive line, their faces a mixture of fear and resentment. The sight was a grotesque parody of order, a chilling display of usurped authority.

This wasn't just a hostile takeover; it was a deliberate humiliation. Alfred's smirk didn't reach his eyes, it was a cold, calculated expression that spoke volumes about his insidious plan. The way he held himself, the way Stacy draped herself across him, it was all an elaborate show of power, designed to break the staff's spirit and solidify his hold on the restaurant. The scene was calculated to destroy Regan, to humiliate him in front of those he considered his friends and colleagues.

A wave of nausea washed over Regan. This wasn't just about losing the family restaurant; it was about the blatant disregard for his feelings, the cruel display of power by a man who should have known better. The betrayal ran deeper than he could have ever imagined. He spotted Jeff amongst the staff, but he wasn’t standing with the others in the line. A small spark of relief ignited in Regan’s chest. At least he wasn’t totally alone in this fight. His friend might have been mad at him, but he wasn’t ready to abandon him in this chaos.

Regan's anger simmered, a volatile mix of betrayal and disbelief. It was an anger that burned deeper than mere annoyance; it was the fire of someone who had been intentionally wronged, someone whose trust had been mercilessly shattered. His eyes flicked from Alfred's smug face to Stacy's triumphant smirk, before settling on the downcast faces of his colleagues.

"Oh, Regan," Alfred drawled, his voice dripping with false pleasantries. "You've arrived just in time. Join the line, please." The words were polite, but the underlying tone was a challenge. The devilish smirk never left Alfred's face, adding an insidious layer to his seemingly innocent words. It was an invitation to a battle Regan wasn't sure he was ready for.

He took a deep breath, his heart pounding a furious rhythm against his ribs, but his gaze remained locked on Alfred. He would not yield to this man, not to this blatant disregard for everything he held sacred. He would fight to reclaim what was rightfully his, and in this battle, his step-father would understand that he'd deeply underestimated the depths of his own hatred.