Victor Langston's Pov
Dave Langston swiped his keycard against the hotel room door, exhaustion dragging at every step. The past few hours had hollowed him out. His heart still raced with the sound of the gunshot, the sight of Nathan's body crumpled on the platform.
All he wanted now was to collapse, maybe pour himself a drink, maybe forget.
The lock clicked. He pushed the door open.
And froze.
Victor sat in the armchair by the window, suit perfectly pressed, a glass of whiskey in hand. The afternoon light spilled through the half-drawn curtains, glinting off the rim.
Dave forced a weak smile, his voice wavering as he set his bag down. "Victor. Didn't think I'd be seeing you here. How… how'd you find me?"
Victor swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his tone calm, almost conversational. "You're my brother, Dave. You move to a hotel after a fight, you don't think I'd notice?" He took a slow sip, eyes never leaving Dave. "Family fights aren't new. But disappearing with secrets? That's new."
Dave swallowed hard, loosening his tie with trembling fingers. "It's not really a secret when you know where I am, is it?"
Victor leaned forward, setting the glass on the side table. "Tell me, Dave." His voice dropped, carrying an edge. "Where's Nathan?"
The question hit like a blade. Dave blinked, forcing confusion onto his face. "Nathan? How should I know? I haven't seen him nor anyone since I came here."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Then Victor reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol, a silencer already screwed on. The metallic glint made Dave's blood run cold.
"Victor..."
The bathroom door opened. Three men stepped out, each broad-shouldered, dressed in black. They fanned out behind Victor like shadows ready to pounce.
Dave's chest tightened, his breath quickening. "What is this?"
Victor rose from the chair, the gun loose but steady in his hand. His jaw clenched, his voice trembling with restrained fury. "My son was following you. He called me, said you were acting jumpy, secretive. That was hours ago, now his not answering his phone, his friends are saying he hasn't been seen or heard from. So, I'll ask you again... where is Nathan?"
Dave's knees weakened. His mouth went dry. He tried to hold the lie but it broke under Victor's stare. "I didn't mean for me him to get hurt." he stammered. "Nathan… he wasn't supposed to be there. Or he should've stayed hidden. God, Victor, I didn't want him to..."
Victor lunged, grabbing Dave by the collar, slamming him against the wall. The gun pressed under his chin, silencer biting into his skin. Victor's eyes glistened, veins pulsing in his temple. "Where is my son!" he roared, his voice breaking, a crack of raw grief cutting through the rage.
Dave's body shook violently. Tears stung his eyes. "He's dead! Nathan's dead!"
Victor staggered back, releasing Dave as if burned. His face twisting as a strangled cry tore from his throat. He stumbled to the window, gripping the curtain with trembling hands. "No… no, God…" His voice fractured into sobs. He slammed a fist against the glass, forehead pressed to the cold pane. "You killed my boy…"
Dave choked on his own tears, shaking his head frantically. "No! No, it wasn't me. Victor... it wasn't me! It was Brooklyn… she shot him. I swear to you, I tried..."
Victor turned, his face streaked with tears but his eyes burning like fire. His hand trembled as he raised the pistol again. "This is all on you... you let him die. My son... your nephew!"
Dave fell to his knees, hands raised in surrender. "Please, Victor! I'm your brother!" His words tumbled out in panic. "You have to believe me... I didn't want this, I didn't..."
The silencer coughed once. Then again. And again.
Each muted shot thudded into Dave's chest, his body jerking violently with each impact. Blood blossomed through his shirt, his gasps sharp and shallow. His eyes widened in shock, then dulled as he collapsed onto the carpet, crimson pooling beneath him.
Victor stood over the body, shoulders heaving, tears blurring his vision. He squeezed the trigger until the clip was empty, each shot fueled by grief and rage. When the gun clicked dry, he dropped it onto the chair and staggered back, covering his face with both hands.
The room stank of cordite and blood.
One of the men stepped forward cautiously. "Boss?"
Victor's hands lowered slowly, his expression hardening into something colder. The grieving father was gone. What remained was a man who had just lost everything and was ready to burn the world for it.
"Clean this up." Victor ordered, his voice hoarse but steady. "Leave no trace." He turned to the second man, his eyes bloodshot but focused. "Get a team. Find my boy and bring him home."
The third man straightened, awaiting orders.
Victor's gaze sharpened, his words dripping venom. "And find her that bitch. I want her head by tomorrow."
The men nodded, already moving.
Victor sank back into the armchair, his face buried in his bloodstained hands. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths but his voice low and broken carried across the room.
"She took my son from me. I'll take everything from her."