Chapter 41
The elevator descends to the last level, to his personal private area that's restricted to even me. The doors ping open and I walk inside the vast space with stone materials and mirror-like finishes. The stainless steel and leather are combined together, generating a distinct visual contrast. The dominant black tone has various shades that gives it a look of hellish elegance.
I roam around the lowly-lit expanse until I find him in the sitting area. He's draped in darkness, the hanging lights from above spare me a glimpse of the half empty wine bottle in his hand. I approach him. I catch a look of the empty bottle of Ley Diamante rolling at his feet.
He barely drinks—only when he's stressed. The last time I saw him drunk was... never.
I stand in front of him. "What's this?" I cock my head to the side, kicking the expensive bottle away. "Rapist's remorse?"
His Herculean figure is slumped sluggishly against the armchair. He lifts his head as if it's too heavy for him, deep darkness swallowing the top half of his head. Drawing an intangible boundary past his eyes.
"Watch your fucking mouth."
"Watch—" I whip around, walking away just to sling shot back. "I've seen you do... inhuman things and still I thought you had...at least a shred of honour that I know your obaasan raised you with, was still in you. But if she could see you, see the truth of her precious Kenji. She would be fucking disgusted."
"I'm—I'm warning you." he slurs, his vision askew, unable to look at me.
"Hadassah was in the OR because of what you did."
He chuckles... drawn-out and delirious. "I warned her, too." His head sways like his neck is broken.
Shock slaps an aghast look on my face. "You are one sick motherfucker. What's the point if you're going to dismiss the guards and fuck her without her consent. But a savage like you doesn't care about that." I snatch the bottle from his hand to pour the rest of it on him. "Sober up, I want you to feel it when I beat the fuck out of you."
He laughs again, sticking out his tongue to catch the outpour. Drenched in wine, I chuck the bottle away and it explodes on impact.
"For a second," I seethe. "I thought you actually cared about her, after all these years, I thought maybe..*.maybe* there's still some humanity in him. But you're beyond redemption."
His laughing cuts out, his smile vanishes like a wisp of smoke. He jabs a finger at his chest. "I care." He jabs it harder. "I FUCKING CARE."
He thunders up to his feet, his face an inch away from mine, his breath reeks of liquor.
"You truly are deranged. And it's my own damn fault. I let my love for you blind me, for too much and for too long, costing me my fucking soul. No more, I'm done with you."
I turn—he seizes my shoulder and forces me back around. *Drunk Orian is a stronger Orian.*
"Don't turn your fucking back on me! NOT. ON. ME." He grabs both lapels of my jacket to pull me back in. "I made you. I—I took care of you. I made you mine."
I narrow my eyes at him. "You make it sound like a fucking privilege. When the truth is that you would be nothing but criminal scum without me. I built Zenith. I made you one of the biggest names in the corporate realm. You were on Interpol's red notice, without my network of connections, you would be rotting by now. And I'm going to correct that mistake."
He swings at me sloppily. I evade. The next time I'm not so lucky when he knocks me down to the ground with a gut-wrenching blow. He climbs on top of me and unleashes a hail of punishing punches. I capture a glimpse of the idle bottle.
"You think you can judge me?" He hauls me up by my collar. Then bangs me against the floor, tearing out a groan from me. "You're no fucking angel."
I extend myself, outstretching my arm, fingers fluttering desperately.
He clutches onto my throat with a vice-like grip. "I made you."
I manage to take hold of the bottle and I smash it against his temple. He drops down beside me, unconscious. I vacuum in a mouthful of air before breaking into a fit of coughs.
I scramble up to full height. Before I go, I launch several kicks into his side.
"Sick—" kick, "—mother—" harder kick, "— fucker."
I adjust my jacket aggressively before I dash back to the elevator.
I fish out my phone, making a call on an encrypted line. "It's me... we have a problem. I have to fast track the timeline."
When I make it back up top, I depart from the elevator. I retrieve my gun and I shoot out the panel, watching sparks fly and components whiz out. I face forward, and an influx of guards run in.
"Easy boys," I reassure flaccidly.
Four pairs of eyes are fixed on the damaged panel of the elevator behind me.
I look over my shoulder theatrically. "Oh that, don't worry. Me and my brother just had a bit of a disagreement. You know how family can be."
I drift past them coolly. When I'm out of range, I race back to the medical wing. On entrance, I spot Richardson talking to the lady doctor that informed me about Hadassah.
"Hey doc." I flag him over.
He excuses himself politely before he comes to me.
"You're here about Miss Moor?"
"No, I'm here to ask you on a date. What the fuck do you think I'm here for? Is she good?"
Doctor Richardson nods confidently. "Yes, she's doing well."
"Good, good." I nod quickly, breathing fast. "Well enough to travel?"
His brows leaps to his hairline that's on the brink of extinction. "What?"
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