CHAPTER 8
~Xade's POV~
The night was quiet. The kind of silence that made the ticking clock sound louder than it should. I sat in my study, the faint glow from the desk lamp casting long shadows across the scripts spread out before me.
"Hmmm…"
Just as I picked up my pen, a soft knock came at the door.
"Come in," I said, not looking up.
Bruce, my butler, stepped in with his usual calm precision, and a silver tray in his hands. A bottle of aged scotch and a single glass rested on it. He set them down gently on the table in front of me.
He reached for the bottle and began to pour, but I raised a hand to stop him, my eyes still fixed on the pages. "Not tonight," I said.
Bruce gave a small nod, waiting for further instruction.
My phone buzzed against the glass table before me — a call from Dominic. I sighed, leaned back in my chair, and glanced briefly at the screen before answering. "Bruce," I murmured, "I'd rather have a cup of hot coffee. Not scotch. I plan to stay up all night."
"Black or creamed?"
"Black. No sugar."
"As you wish, sir."
He turned to leave just as I lifted the phone to my ear. "Speak," I said, crossing one leg over the other. "Have you done the task I asked of you?"
Dominic hesitated. "Um… about that, sir?"
I frowned. "Spill, Dominic. It's twelve forty-one a.m. I don't have patience for hesitation."
"I tried paying the bills," he said, "but I found out someone had already covered them. The hospital said five patients were sponsored for surgery today. Ms. Winter's nanny was the fifth. Everything's been paid for — the full surgery, the previous bills, all of it."
My hand stilled on the armrest. "What?" My brows creased. "How could—who was it? Check. Find out who it was. I doubt this was any ordinary charity, considering they got up to number 5 and stopped."
The words came out sharper than I intended. Bruce paused at the doorway, glancing back briefly before continuing out. I sat there, listening to my own tone echo in my head, realising how quickly emotion had taken over logic.
"Sir?" Dominic's voice broke through the silence. "Is this still about who paid for her or…?" he drawled, and I knew why. "You seem… tense. What's wrong?"
I rubbed a hand over my face and exhaled. "Sorry. My bad. I'm just… tired. Goodnight, Dominic."
"Goodnight, sir."
"Sure, just look into things for me."
The line went dead. I set the phone down and leaned back in my chair, staring at nothing for a moment. The light flickered faintly against the rim of the untouched glass of scotch.
I did not know why I reacted that way. Did saving her mean so much to me?
If so why did that familiar feeling that tingled my insides from years ago, came whenever I saw or thought of her.
My fingers drummed lightly against the table. "Ms. Xena," I muttered under my breath, "who is your saviour?"
* * * * * * *
~Xavier's POV~
1 a.m.
I was in the ring, throwing punches until my gloves smarted. The sparring dummy took the worst of it; sweat ran down my temple.
Anytime I killed someone, my body and mind got stressed and the only way to distress was boxing or any form of training.
Every punch I threw, my mind kept replaying the faces of those traitors in my mind. Not because I missed them, but because they had put the lady I had a crush on in danger.
Anger surged through me, fuelling all my punches.
Just then, the door opened and Ares, dressed in all black, walked into my training room. Ares stood at the ropes, watching.
The way he stared at me made me my skin crawl. It was obvious he had something to say but chose to give me the silent treatment just to irk me.
"Ares, what's the matter?" I waite.
Knowing Ares, if he was angry or moody, he wouldn't budge immediately. So I pushed again, hitting the nail in the head.
"Has it been taken care of?" I asked between jabs, before picking up my white handkerchief and wiped sweat off my face.
"Yes. The medical expenses, full surgery payment and previous debts have all been cleared as per your order."
I smirked and cleaned my face again. "Good. Who did you route it through?"
"You know I don't ask questions when you give orders," he said, but he wasn't smiling. "I just do it."
"You look like I killed a man," I said, chuckling. "Relax."
"Do you think you're an angel, Xavier?" Ares said, keeping his eyes sharp.
"Where's this coming from, Ares?"
He shrugged slightly, locking his hands in front. "For someone as deadly as you, draping yourself in all white doesn't make you an angel, right?" he added, as if reading me.
My gaze drifted from his face to the handkerchief in my hands and then to my entire outfit — shorts, sneakers, socks, custom made boxing gloves, phone, water bottle — all white.
"I am a lot of things to people," I said, leaning on the ropes. "Girls in my bed scream 'O God' or 'you're an angel, a sexy angel', people I offer charity to say I am an angel in disguise, my late Mum..." I froze for a second, then let the smile slide back on and continued, "she calls me an angel."
"It's just your signature outfit for fooling people into thinking you are innocent," Ares said flatly.
"It's not." I straightened. "And even if it were, that's not entirely bad."
"Xavier… What I am saying is this. Xena Winters is a lost cause," Ares began in a low, tight voice. "And not only did you not let her be, you ordered Amethyst to settle all of her debts. I know."
"I know you know, Ares. I never hid it from you. I just pushed the work to someone else since you clearly don't like kids." I wiped my forehead with the white handkerchief.
Ares's mouth tightened. He frowned like I'd slapped him. "Xavier, for your—"
My phone cut him off, buzzing sharp against the vinyl at my waist. I grabbed it before the second ring finished, and answered without looking. "Speak."
A clipped voice came through. "Boss, it's Vincent, something's wrong. The D'Anthonio family are seeking payment for their drugs. Turns out Crisp and Quake took five hundred thousand dollars' worth."
"Settle them," I said without thinking, knuckles white on the phone.
A beat passed but Vincent wasn't still ending the call, then his voice dropped. "They demand double in payment."
"Give them," I snapped, irritation rising in my tone.
"No, Boss. Not that payment. They want the head of the Xander family to kneel."
The words landed like a stone. My jaw tightened. I could taste iron at the back of my throat. Ares heard it too — the flash in his eyes went hard and dark, like a blade catching light.
He was not just my second-in-command. He was my right arm, the weapon I keep closest. His father served my father; and he was raised to be the blade for the first son.
That history sat between us like weight.
"And the old man?" I asked.
"Furious," came the reply.
I ended the call. The air felt thicker, humid from sweat and the musk of leather. I climbed down from the ring; the canvas gave underfoot with a dull, familiar thud. Ares matched my pace, behind me.
"On what scale do you want their painful deaths?" he asked, calm as always but with something hungry in the edge of his tone.
"On the scale of a hundred," I said. "Make it so they never set foot in the Xander compound again."
"And if they have already?" he pressed, taking a stop.
I halted, clenching my fist before answering, "Then they do not leave alive."