Chapter 108 A pathetic actor

Chapter 108 A pathetic actor
CHAPTER 108: A pathetic actor

Silas

The scent of damp concrete hung heavy in the warehouse. The useful dump was owned by Chauncey, something of a rusted tomb tucked away from the prying eyes of the city.

As soon as the driver killed the engine, I stepped out of the car, the gravel crunching beneath my boots. I found Chauncey waiting by the entrance. I had called him after Max had reached out to me.

He looked relaxed, hair tied up in a half up fashion, and a simple white shirt, leaning against a support beam and scrolling through his phone. He straightened as I approached, his eyes dark with a grim satisfaction.

“They’re inside,” he said shortly.

“Good,” I replied, my voice a low vibration in the quiet night. “Let’s not keep them waiting.”

I turned toward the heavy steel doors and pushed it open, my brother hot on my heels. Inside, the expansive, empty space was swallowed by shadows, save for a single bulb of harsh, flickering light in the center.

Max stood there, his silhouette stark against the dirt. A little away from him, under the harsh light, two figures were bound to chairs, their heads covered in rough burlap sacks, one of them jerking in a desperate, muffled struggle against the thick ropes.

“Sir,” Max nodded in my direction.

I took a seat in the only wooden chair that was positioned directly in front of them, leaning back with a deceptive, lethal calm. Chauncey took his place like a silent sentinel at my side.

I stretched out my palm, and Max placed a handgun into my hand. My hand closed around the cold metal, and I was ready to get the show on the road.

“Take them off,” I commanded. I wanted to see the look in the eyes of the animal that had dared to lay hands on what was mine.

Max reached out and wrenched the sacks away.

The first face was the lowlife phony from the ball, his eyes went wild with terror when he saw me. I gave him a perfunctory look, but it was the second face that held my gaze.

Damien Vane.

As the burlap cleared, his expression went through a violent transformation. First, his eyes squinted to adjust to the harsh light, then his gaze landed on me. It was then that the realization of where he was, and just who was holding the strings, set in. He couldn't hide the flicker of raw, naked fear that washed over his features, especially when his gaze trailed to the object in my hand. In the end, he tried to mask his obvious fear with a bitter, defiant arrogance.

“The great Silas Rutherford,” he sneered. “This is kidnapping. It's against the law.”

Chauncey scoffed. “Is that right, now?”

Damien huffed. “You can’t just snatch people off the street. You're breaking the law.”

I let out a cold, hollow laugh.

“The law?" I leaned forward, the shadows of the warehouse dancing in my eyes. “Did you think about the law when you put your hands on my wife?” I asked in a low, dark voice.

“I'm innocent, sir!” the fraud screamed suddenly, his voice pitching into a frantic, high-pitched wail as he strained against his bindings.

Chauncey scoffed, amused. “Are you now?”

“Yes, sir. I had no part in that attack.” He turned to me. “Sir! I swear to God! I was just hired for the night.” He pointed to Damien. “He just paid me to give that performance at the ball. I’m just an actor! I’m nothing!”

Damien turned his head, glaring at the man with a bitter, murderous contempt. “Will you shut the fuck up!”

The man didn't seem to care nor pay him any mind, he just kept looking between Chauncey and I, frantically begging for his release.

“I swear to God! He told me it was just a prank, a bit of theater! I’m just an actor! Please!”

I pointed the gun at him, my lip curling. “I always knew you were a lowly, pathetic phony. A cheap actor for a cheap play.” He visibly relaxed. “But that doesn't absolve you,” I added.

His panic surged. “Please! Just let me go! I didn’t touch your wife! I have nothing to do with what he did to her!” he pleaded, tears streaming down his face.

Chauncey stepped forward suddenly, and in the blink of an eye, he had already delivered a stinging slap across the man’s face, the sound echoing like a gunshot. The whimpering man was yet to recover when he grabbed him by the collar, jerking him and dragging him forward.

“You still deserve some form of punishment for the irritating theater, don't you think so?” He smirked, then released him with a shove.

The man let out a pathetic sob, a dark, spreading stain appearing on his trousers.

He had pissed himself in sheer terror.

Chauncey recoiled, a look of profound disgust crossing his features. “Did you just piss yourself?” He asked, his forehead scrunched in genuine confusion and disgust.

The man sobbed, nodding his head.

Chauncey stepped back, disgusted. “Urgh.. that's disgusting.” He turned to me, “he’s pathetic, Silas,” he said, returning to his former spot beside me.

I was disgusted and irritated by the man as well.

“Disappear,” I said, my voice a low, lethal promise. “If I ever see your face again, or hear a whisper of what you think you know anywhere, I will find you.”

He swallowed heavily.

“And I will make you bleed until there is nothing left.” He nodded vigorously. “Get him out of my sight.”

Max stepped forward and covered his head before dragging him, limp and sobbing, out of the warehouse and into the darkness.

I turned my full attention to Damien. He was shaking now. Even his clenched jaw did nothing to hide it.

I leaned back in the chair. “So, you wanted my attention, didn’t you?” I asked, watching the sweat bead on his forehead.

Chauncey looked at me, his brow drawn in genuine confusion. “What do you mean?”

I chuckled, mirthlessly. “The flowers. The fraud he hired, luring Vera to that warehouse. He wanted me to notice him all along,” I clarified, my gaze never leaving Damien’s face.

After a critical thinking, I’d realised that Damien was gunning for my attention all along. The target was not Vera. It was me.

Chauncey was still at a loss. “I don't quite follow.”

“He knew that eventually, I’d remember. I would remember that I was the man he had 'given' Vera to in the first place—the father of her child.”

“You fucking bastard,” Chauncey seethed.

Damien let out a jagged, sudden laugh, his eyes bright with malice. “You really are something else, aren't you? You figured it all out. Every little piece.”

“You’re not as smart or subtle as you think,” I replied.

“Why?” Chauncey asked, his voice tight. “What did you hope to achieve?”

“Blackmail,” I replied, the words feeling like shards of ice in the air. “Just as he had blackmailed Vera.”

Damien’s eyes widened, his bravado finally flickering. “You... you know? She told you?”

I chuckled, a dark, mirthless sound. “I knew.”

“What was he blackmailing her about this time?” Chauncey demanded, a bit confused.

I looked at my brother, the
truth finally spilling out into the cold warehouse air.

“Her past. She was an exotic dancer at his nightclub.”