Chapter 17 - Cain and Abel
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The soundproof basement of the warehouse smelled of rust and damp concrete.
Silas Blackwood was chained to a heavy metal chair, his broken wrist hastily splinted, his face bruised and swollen. He looked up, terrified, as the heavy steel doors groaned open.
Damian walked into the room alone. He removed his suit jacket, rolling up his sleeves slowly.
“Damian, listen to reason,” Silas begged, thrashing against the chains. “The old man will kill you for this! You can’t execute your own brother!”
“You ceased to be my brother the moment you pointed a gun at a pregnant woman in the snow,” Damian said, his voice devoid of all emotion.
He walked to a metal table and picked up a heavy iron wrench.
“I’m the heir!” Silas screamed, panicked. “If you kill me, the Commission will turn on you! They won’t follow a man who murders his own blood!”
“The Commission respects power,” Damian corrected calmly, stepping closer. “And they will understand exactly what happens to anyone who targets my children.”
Damian didn't yell. He didn't monologue. He simply brought the wrench down on Silas’s kneecap with a sickening, definitive crack.
Silas’s agonizing scream echoed off the concrete walls.
“That was for hunting her,” Damian whispered.
He swung again, shattering the other knee.
“That was for threatening my twins.”
Silas sobbed hysterically, sagging against the chains, his arrogance completely broken.
Damian dropped the bloody wrench onto the floor. He pulled his pistol, aiming it directly at Silas’s forehead.
“And this,” Damian said coldly, “is for making her cry.”
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A single, suppressed gunshot ended the betrayal.
Damian turned and walked out of the room, wiping a drop of blood from his cheek. He had one more stop to make before he could return to his family. The throne of the Blackwood empire still needed to be forcibly claimed.
