Chapter 235
Wesley
"You came to your own house," Felix continued, his voice rising slightly. "You're here to drag away your own family. For what? For a girl who doesn't even want you anymore?"
"Shut up," I said quietly.
"God knows what else you'd do for her," Felix said, and now there was a mocking edge creeping into his tone. "What's next, Wesley? Are you going to throw yourself off a bridge if she asks? Cut off your own hand to prove you're sorry?"
"I said shut up."
"But here's the thing I don't get," Felix said, and his voice was louder now, sharper, cutting through the room like glass. "What's the point? She's Lance's woman now. She's never going to look at you again. To her, you're just the monster from her past. You think this is redemption? You think saving her makes up for what you did?"
He laughed—a low, bitter sound that made my skin crawl.
"All you're doing is making Lance's life easier. You're not saving anyone. You're just pathetic."
I crossed the room in three strides and drove my fist into his face.
The impact was satisfying—bone meeting bone, the sharp crack of cartilage giving way. Blood burst from his lip, dark and immediate, but Felix didn't flinch. If anything, he smiled wider, the blood staining his teeth red.
"That all you got?" he said, his voice thick and wet. "I thought you'd hit harder for her."
I grabbed him by the collar and pulled back for another punch—
"Boss!" Miles's voice cut through the haze of rage. "We need to go. Now."
I hesitated, my fist still raised, my breath coming hard and fast. Felix's eyes locked onto mine, daring me to do it. Daring me to lose control.
I let go.
He stumbled back, still grinning, blood dripping from his chin onto the expensive carpet.
"Smart choice," he murmured.
I turned toward the door, forcing myself to take a breath, to focus. We were running out of time. Every second we wasted here was another chance for this to blow up in our faces.
But then Felix spoke again.
"Oh, if you're just here to kidnap us," he said softly, almost conversational, "you're wasting your time." He paused, letting a cold smile spread across his bloodied face. "You'd better kill us now. While you still can."
I stopped.
"Because if you don't," Felix continued, his voice dropping to something dark and venomous, "I'm going to make sure Serena suffers. I'm going to make her death so much worse than Vanessa's. I'll make her watch the man she loves die first. Right in front of her."
He let the words hang in the air for a moment, then tilted his head with exaggerated thoughtfulness.
"Oh—right. That man will never be you, will it?" His lips curled into a cruel smile. "It'll be Lance she watches bleed out. Lance she'll be screaming for. Not you. Never you."
"Shut the fuck up," Miles snapped, stepping forward.
But Felix kept going, his voice rising now, almost manic, feeding off the rage building in the room.
"And you know what kills you, Wesley? It's not that she's with him. It's that you'll never stop thinking about it. Every night. Every time you close your eyes. You'll see her in his arms. You'll remember what it felt like when she was yours—when you could touch her, taste her, feel her underneath you—and you'll know you threw it all away."
My hands were shaking.
"Boss," Miles said urgently. "Let's go. Don't listen to him."
I closed my eyes. Took a breath. Forced myself to move toward the door.
"Oh, but don't worry," Felix called after me, his laughter echoing off the walls. "I'm not a monster. I understand what it's like to want something you can't have. Before I kill her, I'll let you have her. One final time. You can take everything Lance has now. You can make her scream your name instead of his."
I stopped walking.
"Doesn't that sound perfect?" Felix said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "You get to relive those three years. You get to remind her what she used to be—yours, desperate, begging. And then, when you're done, when she's broken all over again, I'll finish what you started."
I turned around.
"We could even make it a family affair," Felix finished, grinning like a madman. "Uncle and nephew, sharing one last meal before—"
I didn't remember crossing the room. I didn't remember the first punch, or the second, or the tenth. All I knew was that my fists were moving, over and over, slamming into his face, his ribs, his stomach. Blood splattered across my knuckles. His laughter turned into choking gasps, and still I kept hitting him.
"I won't—" I heard myself say, my voice ragged and feral, barely human anymore. "I won't let her name come out of your disgusting piece of shit mouth ever again. You don't fucking deserve to say it. You don't even deserve to think it, you sick fuck."
Someone was shouting—Miles, maybe—but I couldn't hear him over the roar in my ears.
When I finally stopped, Felix was slumped on the floor, barely conscious, blood pooling beneath him.
I stepped back, breathing hard, and wiped my hands on my jacket.
"Take him," I said quietly.
Miles nodded, motioning to Dante and Carlo. They moved forward, hauling Felix's limp body off the ground.
I turned toward the door—
—and froze.
A line of armed officers filled the hallway, rifles raised, red laser sights dancing across my chest.
Behind them, leaning heavily on a cane, was Arthur Lawson.
His face was pale with fury.
"Wesley," he said, his voice shaking with rage. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"