Chapter 82

Ryan's sister looked furious.

She had always known her younger brother was a piece of shit. She just hadn't realized how far he was capable of going.

And she knew enough about the ugly secrets wealthy families buried behind closed doors to understand one thing very clearly.

If there had been a first time, there could easily be a second.

Her two children were still young. If Ryan ever decided he wanted to hurt them, there were countless ways he could do it.

"Give me your phone."

She took her husband's phone and replayed the video several times.

Then her expression changed.

"Wasn't the camera in this part of the old house supposed to be broken?"

Silence.

They looked at each other.

Neither of them spoke.

Ryan's sister picked up her own phone.

"Looks like I've been far too merciful. My own father and brother have been playing me for a fool."

Her gaze hardened.

"Check the security footage. Find out which car Ryan took and which direction he went."

Her husband paused, studying her face.

"If he hates this family so much," she said calmly, "then there's no reason for him to come home again."

Two hours later, a sports car made a turn beneath a sky streaked with the last red light of sunset.

Ryan smacked the steering wheel and cursed as he drove.

He had planned to stay with one of the rich friends he usually partied with, but before he even reached the development district, the fuel warning came on.

"Fuck! You too?"

He turned off the main road and pulled into an old, run-down independent gas station.

Dim yellow lights glowed beneath the canopy. Around it stretched a half-abandoned industrial district, silent and nearly deserted.

Ryan killed the engine and checked his bank balance.

His face darkened.

He got out and told the attendant to fill the tank.

"Where's the bathroom?" he asked impatiently.

The attendant pointed toward a small concrete building behind the station.

"Round back."

Ryan muttered a curse and crossed the wet pavement.

The restroom was filthy.

A bare bulb buzzed overhead, trembling slightly whenever the night wind slipped through the building. Cheap advertisements covered the stained walls, and the floor carried the sour mixture of old grime and disinfectant.

Standing at the urinal, Ryan was already thinking about how to find someone to get rid of Elena for good.

And his sister.

That husband of hers too.

As far as Ryan was concerned, they could all die.

Footsteps sounded behind him.

Ryan stiffened.

He turned.

Several large figures had appeared in the narrow doorway, blocking the only exit.

At the front stood a man in his fifties. His skin was dark from years of working outdoors, his hands rough and callused, his face deeply lined.

But it was his eyes that made Ryan's stomach tighten.

They were fixed on him with six years of hatred.

Behind him stood two other middle-aged men and two younger men in their twenties.

Every one of them was carrying either a club or a hammer.

"What the hell do you want?" Ryan snapped, panic creeping beneath the aggression in his voice. "Get out!"

"Ryan Foster."

The older man spoke slowly, his voice rough as sandpaper.

"Six years."

Ryan frowned.

"You probably don't remember me anymore."

The man stared at him.

"But I'd recognize you even if you were burned to ashes."

Ryan searched his memory.

Nothing.

"Who the fuck are you? Get out of my way."

He tried to move toward the door.

One of the younger men stepped forward, seized Ryan by the collar, and drove a fist into his stomach.

The impact folded him in half.

"Ugh—!"

Ryan dropped to his knees, retching onto the filthy floor as pain tore through his abdomen.

"You want to know who I am?"

The older man crouched in front of him.

He grabbed Ryan by the hair and forced his head up toward the dim light.

"Six years ago. Westlake Academy."

His voice shook.

"Evan Parker."

Ryan's pupils contracted.

He remembered.

Evan Parker.

The poor kid who had earned a scholarship to their elite school because of his grades.

He was thin and delicate-looking, with a pleasant voice, and people in their class generally liked him. Even the prettiest girl in class had been especially kind to him.

Ryan had asked her out.

She rejected him.

And Ryan decided Evan was the reason.

After that, he and his friends dragged Evan into the school restroom and forced him to drink from a toilet. In the middle of winter, they stripped him and soaked him in freezing water. Ryan had even burned him repeatedly with cigarettes, leaving more than a dozen scars across his chest.

Eventually, Evan couldn't endure the abuse anymore and jumped from the school building.

He survived, but the fall shattered both legs and severely damaged his spine, leaving him confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life.

Ryan had been a minor at the time.

His father paid people off, used his connections, and buried the entire incident before it could reach the press.

"You..."

Ryan's voice began to shake.

He looked around.

An abandoned industrial district.

A nearly empty gas station.

No one nearby.

"Three hundred thousand."

Tears ran down the older man's face.

"Three hundred thousand was what your family decided my son's life was worth."

Ryan finally understood.

Evan's father.

"My boy has spent six years unable to walk," the man continued. "Six years in pain. Some nights it hurts so badly he cries until morning."

His expression twisted.

"And you?"

He looked at Ryan with naked hatred.

"You get to drive sports cars, drink, party, and live like nothing ever happened."

"Fuck! What do you want from me?"

Ryan backed away.

"If you touch me, my father will destroy you! Your whole family will be dead!"

The man laughed.

There was no humor in it.

"Rich boy, I've been looking for you for six years."

His voice became strangely calm.

"Every day, I told myself that if I could make you pay for what you did, I wouldn't care what happened to me afterward."

Ryan's teeth began to chatter.

"If something happens to you, what about your son?"

"You don't need to worry about that."

The man's mouth twisted.

"And I don't think anything's going to happen to me this time."

He leaned closer.

"Otherwise, how do you think we found you?"

Ryan went still.

Before he could respond, the man stood and looked at his brothers and nephews behind him.

"Let him find out what it feels like when all you can do is lie there."

"No."

Ryan scrambled backward.

"No! Stay away from me!"

The men moved closer.

"Help!"

His voice rose into a scream.

"Somebody help me! They're going to kill me!"

His cries echoed through the filthy restroom.

No one came.

One of the younger men raised his club.

A sharp crack split the air.

Ryan's scream tore through the empty industrial park.