CHAPTER 4
~Xavier's POV~
"Stop."
I watched them breathe as if salvation had arrived — if they'd known we'd only just begun.
"Talk and don't lie."
"Boss, please. We didn't do it."
That was the answer I didn't want to hear. I raised two fingers, and the men in black moved like wolves. They forced the left hands of both men onto the side table and lifted the knife.
Immediately, steel flashed.
"No, no, no, please. I will talk, please." Their hoarse voices scrambled together.
I said nothing. I let the knife drop close enough to smell the metal, let the blade kiss the skin until the first one split.
A scream ripped out that I'd heard a thousand times — animalistic. The second man went white, his eyes bulging.
"Please. Boss!" he begged, sounding abrasive.
"Enough."
The blade stopped. For a moment, only the drip of blood and the ragged breaths filled the room. They were crying real, ugly tears now.
"So," I said at last, voice low and hard enough to make them flinch. "You thought you could enrich yourselves by using my name… and my business… to smuggle illegal drugs?"
"No, boss. We didn't mean to, we're sorry, we just…"
"Silence."
The word dropped like a blade, and they finally fell silent, but their quivering lips did not stop.
A guard standing behind them didn't hesitate; he swung his hand hard, slapping the man across the head, making the offender fall forward with his face to the floor.
"Lift him," I ordered quietly.
Two men obeyed, hauling the offender back onto his knees.
I leaned slightly in my chair, resting an elbow on my knee as my hair fell forward, obscuring my face. "Tell me about the cocaine and the weed," I asserted calmly, but my tone was edged with danger.
The second man swallowed hard. "It—it's not with us anymore."
My brows lifted, just slightly. "Not with you?"
"Because the guy dealing for us," the man stammered, "he used a woman to deliver the goods in hopes of avoiding suspicion and getting the trade done easily, but now she's gone."
"Yes. She—she's gone. Nowhere to be found."
For a moment, I just stared at them. Then, I let out a short, humourless chuckle. "So you're telling me a lady duped you thieves."
They didn't answer. Good. Silence made them smaller.
I barely lifted two fingers, and my men moved like trained dogs. Iron poles appeared and the first strike landed with an appalling, wet sound.
One of them cried out hoarsely.. Their backs arched, skin splitting, curses and pleas mixing into a single ugly noise.
"Let's do this again. I ask a question, you answer," I said when the room started to settle.
They choked on air, faces wet with blood and sweat. "We don't know her, just the name," the taller one gasped, fingers clenching at the stumps where the knife had bitten. "Xena. That's all."
The shorter one nodded, and gestured towards his jacket on the floor. "Liam Louis linked us. His contact is in my phone, please, check it."
Ares shoved a guard toward them. "Phones," he said, and he immediately retrieved it for him.
The phone glowed under the dim light. The shorter man sobbed as though he had met his end. I looked at the screen long enough to see Liam Louis, then back at them.
"Xena," I repeated. "Liam Louis." I let the syllables sit before turning to my second in command, Ares.
"Find the girl," I told Ares without ceremony. "Recruit her if she's useful. Check her background properly for her weaknesses. And if she's clean, make her useful. If she's not..." I left the sentence open. He knew the rest.
Ares didn't smile. He never smiled. "On it," he said, already stepping away with his phone to his ear.
"Please—please, Boss, we'll do anything. Just don't kill us," the taller one gasped, clutching at his ruined jacket.
"What was I to do with them?" I asked, slow enough that the room leaned in.
"Spare us, boss… please," the shorter one sobbed. "We'll repay you. We swear..."
I nodded once. "I'll spare you."
A chorus of relieved sobs filled the air. "Thank you, boss—thank you, thank you."
"But first," I added, letting the words hang, "you would suffer. You would tell me everything. You would bear what you broke." I gave them the look I reserved for traitors.
"No, no—please, we'll tell, we'll tell—" they pleaded in the same thin voices.
The taller man scrabbled to his feet, eyes frantic. "I can—" He tried to run.
Ares was already on him. "Don't," he snapped, and two hands clamped him to the floor before he finished the thought.
I reached into my pocket without looking at either of them. The men's pleading died down to sharp, ragged gasps as my fingers closed around cold metal.
I didn't glance, nor flinch. I lined up the sight in my head with the same mechanical calm I had used a thousand times.
"Please, boss..." the shorter man squealed.
The crack of the first shot ate the air. The taller one's body went limp where he was held. The second shot followed—clean, decisive. Both men slumped, mouths still forming the words they never got to finish.
Silence flooded the room like blood. For a beat, I listened to the slow drop of something heavy, then turned. The bullets had done what I expected.
"Perfect headshot," I said to no one, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Never missed."
Ares made a small sound of approval. "Efficient," he said.
I didn't answer. I moved out, letting the men in black start the clean-up. The city's night air greeted us as we stepped outside. My Rolls waited—black, hungry.
"Drive," I told the driver when I slid into leather that smelled like victory and regret. "Take me to the training centre."
He nodded, hands steady on the wheel. The engine hummed. Night spilled by in reflected neon and rain-slick glass.
My phone chirped. I pulled it out, thumb already opening the message. From Ares: Boss, here are the files.
I tapped. Files opened; documents, addresses, a photo. I scrolled—and stopped.
She was there. Her hair caught in the flash, the same sharp chin I had memorised from countless small interactions across my counter at my secret bakery.
A laugh I had never heard because I was always watching the back of her head as she left—the same woman who had bought my bread and cake on mornings.
My heart stuttered.
"Boss?" the driver asked, sensing the change.
I forced my face back into its usual calm. "Keep driving," I said. My voice was flat, but my hands gripped the phone tighter than I should have.
The call came through before I could think. Ares' name flashed on my screen. He wasted no courtesy.
"Boss. She has a kid and she's baggage," he said immediately. "From the report, she went there, and the police got involved. It could get complicated. Rather than recruit her, she's a witness. I say we kill her."
For a second, the world tilted, and I tasted metal—real or imagined, I couldn't tell. My mouth moved before I decided on the mood.
"Don't dare," I said.
There was a pause long enough that Ares might rethink his tone. He didn't.
"She could talk."
"Then she won't." My voice was colder now, a blade folded away. "And you will not touch her child."
Ares exhaled, a soft sound that could have been capitulation—or retooling. "Understood, boss. I'll—"
"End of discussion." I cut him off. I ended the call.
Outside, the city kept its indifferent pulse. Inside, the leather was suddenly too smooth, too familiar. The photo burned under my skin. My fingers left a neat line across the screen.
"Sigh. Now I had a problem," I told the empty car, and the admission tasted shockingly like fear, a feeling I detested. Or like something worse—care. I didn't know which.