Nicholas stared at the phone screen of his phone as he gently brought it away from him ears, the call abruptly ended by Malakai. A chuckle escaped his lips as he slowly turned to face Michos whose hands were still bound with chain to two separate poles. A smirk tugged at the corners of Nicholas' mouth as he regarded the captive. "Did you hear what your father said?" Nicholas asked, amusement lacing his tone. Michos frowned, confusion etched across his features. "No... I didn't. I didn't hear anything, I was expecting you to put the phone on speaker as he spoke with him, but obviously you are not that ballsy. My dad was never wrong about you... but I know my father is coming to save me." Nicholas let out a low chuckle. "I doubt that. You father doesn't have that courage, Michos. Tu padre lleva tanto tiempo escondido detrás de una máscara. So, if he had the courage, he would have shown his face but he can't." "You are very delusional, Niçholas. Sólo espera y mira
Nicholas gently sauntered down the staircase, his face illuminated with a gentle smirk as he approached the front room. The wooden steps creaked softly under his weight, the sound echoing through the dimly lit corridor. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, his gaze immediately fell upon Michos, who sat hunched on a tattered sofa, his battered form shuddering in pain. The young man's bloodied and torn skin had been tended to by the guards - that was Nicholas's order but the physical wounds were merely the surface of his suffering. This wasn't what Niçholas wanted to do, but he really had no choice. Malakai had inflicted pain on so many people and doing so to his foster son wouldn't be considered absurd but something just didn't feel right. He didn't want to feel guilty but he did, despite knowing that Michos wasn't completely guilty on this. He was behind everything happening in that organization. Nicholas approached Michos with measured steps, his eyes narrow
Malakai's response was a burst of laughter, a sound so devoid of empathy that it chilled the blood of those who heard it. This wasn't what they were expecting, "Kill Michos if you must, Nicholas, I don't care anymore and don't even try to think you can pin me down with that little boy," he said, his words dripping with indifference. "His job for the RMI is done, and he's become... useless. Eat him if you want and drink is blood." Michos, who had been sitting in stunned silence, looked up in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief. He could scarcely believe the words that had just come from his father's mouth. Did his father just say Nicholas should kill him? Nicholas, sensing the shift in the room, turned to Michos, his expression unreadable. "Malakai, you do realize that Michos can hear everything you're saying, don't you? He is right here in front of me and he heard you saying he's useless." Malakai's laughter echoed through the room once more, "Then give the phone to
Nicholas's gazed at his reflection, scrutinizing every detail. The crisp charcoal suit fit impeccably, the tailoring accentuating his broad shoulders and slim waist. His shoes shone with a mirror-like polish, not a scuff in sight. Even his glasses, the frames a sleek onyx, complemented the ensemble perfectly. "India would love this," he said, smiling to himself. He couldn't help but let out a soft giggle as he spritzed on the last few drops of his favorite cologne. Everything had come together seamlessly, and he couldn't wait to see India's reaction. Straightening his tie one final time, Nicholas exited his private chambers, a serene smile gracing his features. As he made his way down the grand staircase, Gnits and Mr. Philips at the same time made their way into the front room. They both exchanged curious glances, ignorant of what was going on. It was rare to see Nicholas this unusually cheerful, his typical stoic demeanor replaced by an almost giddy excitement.
As the limousine pulled up to the grand entrance, two young women in pristine uniforms hurried to greet him, bowing deferentially. "Welcome, Mr. Loughty," one of them said, her tone honeyed. "Your table is ready." She gestured for him to follow, leading him through the luxurious dining room to a secluded corner. Nicholas felt his breath catch in his throat as he laid eyes on the table. It was lavishly decorated, a bottle of fine vintage wine already chilling in a silver bucket. Two elegant place settings waited, the gleaming silverware and delicate crystal reflecting the warm, golden light of the chandeliers overhead. "Please, have a seat," the attendant murmured, pulling out his chair. "Mrs. Loughty should be arriving momentarily." Mrs. Loughty? Wow! That was new. Where did they get that from? That was probably the name India used to book this reservation. Nicholas chuckled. Nicholas nodded gratefully, sinking into the plush cushion. His leg bounced anxiously as he waited, h
Nicholas looked up from his phone, his eyes meeting India's as she sat across from him at the table. A heavy tension hung in the air, palpable and unspoken. India's brows furrowed in concern as she observed the sudden shift in Nicholas' demeanor. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice laced with worry. Nicholas hesitated, unsure of how to broach the subject. He didn't want to needlessly worry India, but the situation demanded his immediate attention. Gently, he placed his phone on the table, the screen dark and ominous. "I... I need to go," he said, his words measured and careful. India's frown deepened, her frustration evident. "Wait, Go? What do you mean, go? What's going on, Nicholas?" Rising from his chair, Nicholas reached out and placed a comforting hand on India's shoulder. "I'm sorry, but there's something I need to attend to right away. It's very important." "But we were supposed to finish our dinner date," India pressed, her anger slowly bubbl
Nicholas straightened his shoulders, his gaze unwavering. This was the moment he had been so waiting for, now he felt relaxed, "Your son is where he should be," he stated plainly. Malakai's grip on the firearm tightened, his knuckles turning white beneath the black fabric of his gloves. "What do you mean by that?" he snarled, taking a step closer. Nicholas held his ground, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "If your son wanted to be with you, he would be here by now. You must have looked around, did you see your son anywhere? So, why are you asking me? What makes you think he is not dead just like Theresa? I told you I was going to kill him, you thought I was joking? This is what we call Tit for Tat." Malakai's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching in barely contained rage. "Don't test me, Nicholas," he growled, the gun in his hand steadily trained on the other man's chest. "Tell me where my son is, or I'll—" "Or you'll what?" Nicholas interrupted, his voice laced wit
Nicholas ran his calloused fingers through his sweat-dampened hair as he stepped into the vast, echoing expanse of the gym. The familiar scent of rubber and polished wood filled his nostrils, sparking a sense of nostalgia. It had been far too long since he'd last set foot in this sanctuary of physical discipline. He paused, letting his gaze sweep across the array of gleaming exercise equipment - the heavy punching bags, the sleek treadmills, the gleaming metal racks of free weights. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. This was where he came to clear his mind, to channel his energy into something constructive. "It's been a while! I can feel my real self coming back." Niçholas muttered to himself, smiling broadly. Shrugging out of his crisp button-down shirt, Nicholas padded across the polished hardwood floor, the soft soles of his black boxers whispering against the surface. The cool air caressed his bare torso, raising goosebumps on his sun-kissed skin. He flexe