Ryan looked at Charles Pierce approaching and his expression shifted into something almost obsequious.
“Mr.
Pierce!
Wow, what a surprise!” Ryan’s voice went up an octave, friendly and nervous.
He jogged forward a few steps, hands raised in a placating gesture.
“This is all a huge misunderstanding, I swear!” He pointed up at the roof of his estate, then at the sky, his face the picture of innocent confusion.
“I have no idea what happened!
Someone must have been throwing things from one of the other buildings—you know how these high-rises are, people get drunk and stupid—and it just happened to hit Brandon!
Total accident!
Terrible luck!” Ryan shook his head sympathetically.
“I was actually planning to come by with a fruit basket once I finished up here.
You know, to apologize on behalf of the neighborhood for such a terrible incident!” The delivery workers who’d been frozen in fear were now looking at each other, confused.
A misunderstanding?
Really?
Charles’s footsteps stopped.
He looked at Ryan the way you’d look at an insect trying to convince you it wasn’t about to be stepped on.
A cold smile crossed his face.
“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Charles’s voice was soft, almost conversational, which somehow made it more menacing.
“This is an estate neighborhood.
Each property is separated by hundreds of feet of lawn and trees.
You want to tell me someone accidentally threw something from another building that happened to arc perfectly through the air and hit my son directly in the face?” He took another step forward.
“Try again.” “Forget talking to this piece of shit!” A rougher voice cut in—louder, more violent.
Marcus Wang stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with something predatory.
“The kid touched my son.
That’s enough.
We break his hands and feet right here, drag him to the docks, tie some concrete blocks to his ankles, and dump him in the Hudson.
Problem solved.” Marcus’s voice had the casual brutality of someone who’d done exactly that before.
Several delivery workers looked like they might pass out.
Ryan’s gaze locked onto Marcus.
The moment he saw that face—the moment he heard that voice—every carefully constructed façade of calm shattered.
It’s him.
It’s this fucking monster.
The memory hit Ryan like a freight train: being held down while Marcus smiled, while Jessica whispered encouragement, while they started cutting— Ryan’s fists clenched so hard his nails drew blood from his palms.
He wanted to reach into his storage space right now, pull out a gun, and empty an entire magazine into Marcus’s face until there was nothing left but pulp.
But I can’t.
Not yet.
Ryan forced himself to breathe.
Forced his rage down.
Four hours.
Less than four hours until midnight.
If he killed Marcus now—especially with a gun, in front of fifty witnesses—the NYPD would descend on this place like the wrath of God.
He’d spend the apocalypse in an interrogation room.
Or a cell.
Or dead from “resisting arrest.” Wait.
Just wait a little longer.
After midnight, when the temperature dropped and society collapsed and law enforcement ceased to exist—then he’d show Marcus what true desperation felt like.
Ryan’s expression went blank, wiping away the fake friendliness.
Movement from the Maybach caught his attention.
Two women stepped out and walked toward the confrontation with practiced confidence.
Jessica.
And Ashley.
Of course they’re here.
“Mr.
Pierce!
Mr.
Wang!” Jessica called out, her voice dripping with helpful concern.
“We can testify!” She’d clearly dressed for this—designer clothes, perfect makeup, playing the role of the loyal girlfriend backing her man’s family.
Jessica walked quickly to Charles’s side and pointed at Ryan with one manicured finger, her face full of theatrical disgust.
“It was him!
Brandon’s injury was completely Ryan’s fault!
We saw the whole thing!
He did it deliberately because he’s jealous and unstable!” Her voice rang with false righteousness, like she was some kind of heroic witness to injustice.
Ashley jumped in immediately.
“Exactly!
He’s obsessed with Jessica!
He can’t handle that she’s moved on to someone better, so he attacked Brandon out of pure spite!
He’s psychotic!” Ryan looked at the two women playing their roles, and something cold and sharp settled in his chest.
Perfect.
Everyone who’d betrayed him, everyone who’d hurt him in that other timeline—they were all here right now.
Marcus.
Derek.
Jessica.
Ashley.
After tonight, I’ll show every single one of you what hell really looks like.
Ryan stopped looking at the women—they were irrelevant, background noise—and focused back on Marcus.
His posture straightened.
The fake humility evaporated completely.
When he spoke, his voice was cold and clear.
“Marcus.” Marcus’s eyes narrowed at the familiarity.
“Your son’s knee?
Yeah, I shot it.
Deliberately.” Gasps from the crowd.
Someone dropped a food container.
“And you know why?” Ryan continued, his tone utterly calm.
“Because he deserved it.
Why don’t you ask your precious boy what he was doing last night?
What he and his goons were planning to do to an unconscious woman?” The words landed like a bomb.
Even Charles looked momentarily thrown.
Marcus’s face went dark as a thundercloud.
“I don’t give a fuck what he was doing,” Marcus snarled.
“He’s my son.
Nobody touches him.
Nobody.” “Dad!
Stop talking to him!” Derek screamed from his wheelchair, being pushed closer by an attendant.
“Just kill him!
KILL HIM NOW!” Brandon’s muffled voice came through his bandages: “Break every bone in his body!
I want to hear him scream!” “Enough,” Marcus said.
He raised one hand, the gesture sharp and final.
“Take his legs.
Both of them.
Make it hurt.” “Yes sir!” Four of the suited bodyguards stepped forward in formation—big men, trained, moving with the confidence of people who’d done this before.
The delivery workers scattered, backing away to avoid being anywhere near the violence about to happen.
But Ryan didn’t look scared.
He stepped backward slowly, moving toward the massive steel gate of his estate.
“Wait!
Wait a second!” Ryan called out, holding up one hand in a ‘stop’ gesture while continuing his retreat.
The bodyguards hesitated, confused.
To everyone watching, it looked like Ryan was panicking, trying to delay the inevitable.
“Trying to run?
Too late!” one of the bodyguards laughed.
They rushed forward— Ryan’s hand moved behind the gate, into a blind spot where no one could see.
Retrieve.
The military crossbow materialized in his grip.
He brought it out from behind the gate in one fluid motion and leveled it at the lead bodyguard’s head.
“He’s got a weapon!” Derek shrieked from his wheelchair, the memory of last night making him nearly hysterical.
“He’s got the crossbow!
Watch out!” Too late.
The four bodyguards froze mid-charge, suddenly staring down a loaded crossbow bolt aimed directly between the lead man’s eyes.
“One more step and I pull the trigger,” Ryan said, his voice flat and emotionless.
“Whoever moves first, dies first.” The bodyguards stopped like they’d hit an invisible wall.
They stared at the razor-sharp bolt inches from the lead man’s face and came to an immediate, unanimous conclusion: We’re not paid enough for this shit.
If you are interested can check it out.