Chapter 106 Daddy's Dirty Jobs Roman Flashback I had his head in my grip, gloved fingers twisted into greasy hair, pulling until his neck strained back and his eyes rolled toward the ceiling like some cornered rat desperate for escape. His breath came foul and hot against my wrist. I leaned in, voice low, steady, deliberate. “What dealings do you have with my father?” The bastard smirked even through the pressure on his scalp, spittle wetting his lips. “Why don’t you ask him yourself? Since you’re so eager to do daddy’s dirty jobs, why not ask him what this one’s for?” My fist moved before thought could catch up. The crack of bone against bone echoed through the room, sharp as breaking glass, and his head snapped to the side. My pulse thundered. What in hell could my father of all people have ever wanted with him? Out of the billions of men in the world, why would my father touch filth like this? “I don’t give a damn about whatever business you had with him,” I said, shoving his head forward until his eyes snapped to mine. “I’m not here for my father. I’m not here on his behalf.”Confusion clouded his expression, as if that answer didn’t fit into his twisted little puzzle. “Then who sent you after me?” I leaned down, close enough for him to see his death written in my eyes. “I’m here because of Savannah Hart.” That name hit him like cold water thrown across a sleeping drunk. His whole body jerked, then—suddenly, absurdly—he began to laugh. A raw, hacking sound that shook his shoulders. My men shifted, exchanging wary glances, not sure if he’d lost his mind completely. “What’s so funny?” I asked, voice edged with steel. He wheezed out his answer between cackles. “Did Julius finally grow warm to the little girl he’s always despised? Why’d he send you, huh? He was the one who never minded that I had eyes for her. He knew I was sleeping with her and he didn’t mind. Why is he sending you after me now?” The words landed like lead in my chest. I stumbled back half a step, trying to make sense of it. What did he just say? Savannah’s father—aware that a married, grown man had “eyes” for his little girl—and he not only allowed it, but encouraged it from the get go? My gut twisted. What the fuck?His gaze flicked to my men, then back to me. His grin widened, manic. “It’s true. Julius didn’t care. He told me I could have a go at her as many times as I wanted. He only got pissed when she was dumb enough to get pregnant. Put him on speaker right now, you’ll hear it from his own mouth.” His laugh broke into hysterics, high-pitched, deranged. “How could he possibly love the living proof of his wife's infidelity?” Everything stopped. Nothing else drummed in my ears except the words that he just said. Savannah wasn't his daughter. “What did you just say?” A mocking smile was on his lips now. “That pretty much confirms it. You had no idea, did you?” “Who the hell is her father?!” I yelled. “Why don't you ask Julius yourself!” His voice rose an octave higher. “He sent you after me, didn't he? That piece of trash turned on me.” I forced my breathing calm, though every muscle in me begged to tear him apart right there. “I’m not here on Julius’s behalf. I’m here because you raped my fiancée. You thought you could hurt her, scar her, and live out your old days in peace. I came to disapprove.” The laughter died. His eyes went wide, face blanching as if someone had pulled the rug from under his sanity. “What? Savannah got engaged?” His voice cracked with disbelief, almost like that revelation stunned him more than the brass knuckles I was about to use. “You sound surprised,” I said flatly. He shook his head, muttering to himself. “Julius fought so hard to split her from that Archer kid, only to let her get engaged to the general’s son. It doesn’t make sense.” Then he looked up at me again, chuckling under his breath. “And here I thought he hated her.” That word again. Hate. The sickness of it seeped into my bones. The weight of the recent discovery weighed heavily on me. I wasn't exactly surprised. No father treats his daughter the way Julius treats Savannah. “Look at me, Asher.” Slowly, nervously, he lifted his gaze. “First,” I said, my voice a blade, “I want you to know that my face will be the last thing you’ll ever see. My name will be the last thing you’ll ever remember.” His pupils shrank. “You—you’re going to murder me? For what? An accident that happened years ago? She’s alive, isn't she? She’s thriving. She’s engaged to you! Why drag this back up? What did I even do wrong?” The audacity snapped something inside me. I reached for the brass knuckles one of my men handed over, sliding them on like a second skin. They were cold, heavy, and perfect. “What did you do wrong? Maybe this will remind you.” The punch connected with his jaw so hard the sound reverberated in my teeth. His scream tore through the air, his blood spraying warm across my glove as the brass split flesh wide open. He stared at his own blood dripping onto his thighs like he’d never seen it before, trembling like a leaf in the wind. “Stop! Please, stop!” he howled, shaking. “I’ll do anything, just stop!” I tilted my head, mock-curious. “Stop. That’s funny. She also begged you to stop, didn’t she? She pleaded. And you didn’t. So tell me—why should I?” His chest heaved, desperation fighting fear and losing. “You already hit me with that,” he stammered. “Isn’t that enough? Whatever stories she spun, she wanted me. She baked me cookies, she fluttered her lashes, she wore those skirts, she flipped her hair all the time—she wanted me! I just gave her what she wanted.”My vision tunneled. Rage swallowed thought. I launched at him, fists raining down, brass knuckles carving his face into something unrecognizable. He gurgled laughter even through the blood, his teeth pink. “She wanted it?!” I roared, dragging him up by the collar. “She wanted you to rape her? She was just a girl being kind, and you twisted it into this filth!” He grinned through split lips, coughing blood. “She wanted an older man to hold her down and fuck her.” My fist answered before my brain could. Over and over until his features were a ruin of bone and pulp. My men stayed back, smart enough to know nothing could part me from the satisfaction of each strike. By the time I stopped, he was barely recognizable. “Go on,” he croaked, spitting blood. “Do it. Kill me. Isn’t that what you came for? Because I had her first?” I straightened, forcing my breath steady. If I killed him now, it would be a release for him. And I wanted worse. “You know,” I said, wiping blood from my knuckles, “I often wondered how to hurt you in a way that would matter. How to make you feel something even close to what Savannah felt. Death’s too easy. Pain, though—pain can be tailored. Pain can make you wish for death.” He blinked, dazed but listening. “The first idea was castrating you like the animal you are. Cutting off the weapon you’ve used like a predator, making sure you could never touch another woman again.” He bared his bloody teeth in a grotesque grin. “You think she hated it. But she cried from how good it was. She liked it. I can give you pointers—” I drove the toe of my boot into his gut, folding him in half, cutting off his laugh. He gasped like a fish on a dock. “You’re pathetic,” I said, voice calm now, deadly calm. “You cling to lies because they make you feel powerful. But you don’t fool me. You don’t fool anyone. You’re nothing but a coward with a disease between his legs.” He wheezed, eyes darting between me and my men, still grinning despite the fear coating him. “Then what are you waiting for? Do it. Kill me. Get rid of this coward. Let’s see if you have the balls to go against your father.” I chuckled, low and sharp. “You think I care about my father? Hurting him is one of my joys in life. I’m not here to protect his interests. I’m here to protect hers.”I crouched until I was eye-level with him, close enough he could smell the iron on my gloves. “I thought maybe letting my men have a turn with you would be justice. But you’re too twisted—you’d find a way to enjoy it. Wouldn’t you, Asher? You’d savor it, even bleeding. That’s how sick you are.” His eyes flickered, a spark of sick amusement. “You think you have me all figured out?” I shrugged. “So no,” I said, standing tall. “You don’t get that. You don’t get the luxury of dying quickly, or the sick thrill of your fantasies. You get what you fear most.” I looked to my men. “Hold him down.” They moved instantly, pinning his ruined body to the floor, his shrieks rising into something feral as he realized what was coming. “Please!” he screamed. “Not that! Anything but that! I’m sorry! I swear I’m sorry!” He gulped in fear. “I admit I forced myself on her! I raped her! She never wanted it! I'm sorry!” His voice cracked into hysterical sobs as one of my men produced the knife. I stood back, watching. Cold. Detached. Unaffected. “Take it,” I ordered. “Make sure he never hurts another girl again.” And I watched. His screams split the air, piercing, raw, then choked into wet gasps. Blood pooled dark across the floorboards, soaking into his trousers, spreading like a shadow swallowing him whole. He writhed, then sagged, broken. I stared down at him, chest heaving, the rage inside me finally cooling into something hollow. “You’ll live from this,” I said, voice a whisper meant only for him. “But never again as the man you were. Consider this justice—for her.” “Regardless of what you did to her, she'd hate for you to die. She’d beg for mercy on your behalf.” His eyes rolled back, but some spark of defiance still glimmered, pathetic and lingering. I sighed, pulling the gun from the holster of the man beside me. “But mercy isn’t in the Blackwood nature.” I pressed the barrel between his cracked lips, tilting his head back with the steel. His whole body trembled, blood bubbling from the ruin of his mouth. For a second, silence wrapped the room—every man holding his breath. Before he could even realize what was happening, I pulled the trigger. The bullet tore upward, a sharp crack splitting the air, and his body jerked once before collapsing limp, blood spraying all over the tile beneath him. His eyes stayed open, glassy, but there was nothing left inside. I dropped the gun, straightened my spine, and stepped over the corpse. “You know what to do.” They nodded. Pulling my phone from my jacket pocket, I scrolled to the one number that had nothing to do with blood or vengeance. When my secretary answered on the first ring, my voice was calm, almost gentle. “Find me the most expensive florist in Philadelphia,” I said. “Tomorrow morning, I want the largest, most beautiful arrangement they can create delivered straight to my girl. White lilies, red roses, orchids—make it grand and unforgettable. Spare no cost.” There was a pause on the line, then a quiet acknowledgment. I hung up, sliding the phone back into my pocket, the stench of blood thick around me. The corpse at my feet was nothing. The screams still echoed in the walls. But Savannah, she was my everything. And tomorrow she would be surprised to receive flowers so beautiful they would never hint at what I had done tonight to avenge her pain.