Chapter 5 BLACKMAIL

MILAN'S POV

For half an hour, I stayed in the hallway, completely silent. My back against the makeshift green painted walls. Glasglow's words playing on a loop in my head. My steady breathing doing nothing to calm the pensive feeling growing inside me.

'Sell off the Empire at Bronze Estate to me. And I will destroy the video.'

My lips let out heavy breaths, frustrated bursts, running a hand through my hair, steering forward. I stopped in front of Sierra's room. Shut my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.

'How the hell did I get myself into this?'

My fingers tightened on the door knob.

'Glasgow, that animal.' I clenched my teeth. The girl is no better. She wasn't a virgin which means this is obviously not her first rodeo.

Glasglow was smart, I will give him that but there are some lines you don't cross in the game of power. Sierra was mine. I pushed the door open. My gaze met a terrified boy cramped under his reading desk, George standing beside him, holding several snapshots.

"Sir GrandStone."

He turned to me.

"I found these under that old dusty drawer beside his bed."

I took the snapshots from him and scanned through. Every single one of them was Sierra's pictures. All taken in the girl's bathroom.

The light expression on my face grew dark. Anger peeking inside me like a boiling volcano. My eyes trailed off to find him, there were switchblades in my gaze. The boy cringed away, shuddering.

George need not be told. He knew well what I wanted next. He thrust a hand under the desk, grabbed the boy and yanked him out. Effortlessly holding him up. The boy looked like a rat in comparison to George's bulky build.

"I... I...I..I.. I'm sorry. I swear. I just liked her. I will destroy everything. I won't do it again. Please don't hurt me, please." He shut his eyes, pleading.

George looked at me. I placed a hand on my temple, messaging it in exhaustion. I didn't have time for this fool.

"George, drop him."

He let the boy go. The kid hit the floor hard, his hip cracked, the sound pierced the air as well as his scream.

"Shushhh" I placed a hand on my lips. He covered his mouth, tears had wet his face already. His feature twisted by the excruciating pain of a fractured hip.

"Is this everything?"

I waved the pictures at him. He nodded. I grinned, sardonically.

'Even at this time, you still dare to lie.' I waved my head in pity. I actually thought of sparing him.

"George," I slipped the snapshots into my suit pocket. "I don't want him to be able to see girls again."

"Yes Sir."

The boy shrieked. I took a step, he scurried painfully to my feet, grabbing my leg, he struggled to go on his knees.

"No, please. No. I get rid of everything I promise. I'm just a spoiled brat. I will change please." He begged.

"Get off him you son of a ..." George grabbed his collar.

"Hold on."

George let go. The white fluorescent light in the room adding a dark glow on my three-piece black suit. I bent over, a little, took out my handkerchief and wiped his tears

"Don't worry." I whispered softly. "I am not cruel. You will use your danity grey eyes again."

I folded the handkerchief and slipped it into my pocket. I looked at him and smiled. "But... it will take a miracle."

His face paled, his lips gaped, he sank inside him before my eyes. It was hopeless, he realized. I left the room, George and The boy needed their privacy afterall. I decided to wait in the car.

George joined me moments later, all tucked in and looking like he did not pluck a boy's eyes out a while ago.

"Where next, Sir."

"Go to Amante Del Ali's."

George glanced at me from the rear mirror. A brow raised. My gaze went to the window. Watching SUVs and Mercedes zoom past, gathering dust behind them. The afternoon sun, baking the earth.

"Sir, we have other options. De Ali is a demon, he is really a bad idea."

"Drive George."

The car fell into disquiet save for the ignition and the screeching sound of tires as the car wheeled into the highway.

****

A large Safari painting hung on pristine white walls greeted me as I waltz in, my guide offering me to sit on a bean-mosaic couch, and to rest my feet on a lion skin rug.

Someone was in the corner, Average height, athletic, muscular but small build. He was dressed in a tennis outfit pouring himself a jug of beer. The room, enveloped by the almost toxic scent of AX body spray.

"I didn't think I would see you again." His Italian descent mared his English seductively.

"Me neither."

He chuckled, turning to face me. I held his gaze, he beamed, accentuating the nasty scar that slit his right eye.

"I wonder what could be the problem."

"I need someone thrown off a roof."

"Uhhh, spooky." He said, sarcastically. "Who exactly?"

"Glasgow."

His smile turned upside down. He made a small grin. "It explains a lot now." He gulped down the beer.

"What?"

"Glasgow... I can't touch him, Sorry." He hunched his shoulders in defeat.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Dude's been nourishing my accounts for months. Making sure I don't kill him it seems."

I frowned. That bloody smart ass.

"How much? I will bid higher."

He made a half smile and drew letters in the air. I raise a brow, comfortably hiding the shocking surprise. I couldn't pay higher than that. Even if I had the money, I wasn't spending it on a dirty devil like him.

"You are not talking, GrandStone."

I left the couch, eyes still on him. "You can retrieve things right or did he pay you to be useless too."

"Don't mock me, Milan."

I laughed, mockingly. "He has a video. I'm in it and a girl. Get me every copy."

He cocked up a mischievous smile on his lips.

"Sounds like someone has been in a cunt of trouble." He chuckled at his own sick joke.

"What do you need?"

He pursed his lips, finding his way back to the tempered round glass dining table, pouring himself another drink.

"I'm having problems transporting some of my... medicines overseas. I hope you don't mind if I use one of your cargo ships."

I wore a disgusted look on my face. He found my sincere display of emotion amusing.

"Suite Yourself."

He beamed.

"It was nice doing business with you. Beer?" He pointed at a translucent jug of ale. Something was floating in it. My stomach lurched immediately. There were five red polished fingers inside it.

"You're sick."