Chapter 23

Devon Zabel stared at the TV screen his assistant, Alissa, had just flipped on, shock coursing through him at the sight of the woman who’d destroyed his father’s life and, thus, his life staring back at him. She’d been taken captive by a group of terrorists, but they hadn’t killed her. Why couldn’t good things happen to him? Instead, it was one bullshit thing after another.

Five years ago, that woman had come into their lives, pretending to be someone she wasn’t. She’d been allowed access to his father’s inner circle, and then she’d dismantled that circle piece by piece, tanking his company and putting him behind bars. Well, the behind bars part had come later with the trials, but it had been her fault.

Nichole sat in the studio, looking like a sweet, innocent person in her creamy pants suit, but he knew who she really was. The woman was a traitor. His father wanted her to write a book about him, but she’d betrayed everything they stood for. If she hadn’t come into their lives, his father would still be operating, and he would be living in a penthouse apartment near Central Park instead of slumming it in Jersey.

The interviewer leaned in, a serious look on their face. “Miss Brenton, did you fear for your life?”

Nichole leaned closer, her eyes going wider as her expression turned very serious. “It was a scary experience. There were multiple times I feared what was happening.”

Devon slammed his hand down on his desk and let out a primal scream. Why hadn’t those bastards killed her?

Alissa jerked away at his outburst. “Want to keep watching?”

“Of course. I need to hear what that bitch is saying. She needs to pay for what she did.”

A plan, that’s what he needed. A plan to destroy her. She had to learn a lesson. Also, it wouldn’t hurt to use her as an example. That way, if another nosy reporter came sniffing around, they would think twice before they turned that information over to any authorities. Bitches like her thought too much of themselves. They needed to be taken down a notch or two, and he was just the man to do it.

After the segment ended, he stood and moved to the window to look out at the street below. Gone were the Manhattan offices and the luxury accommodations. Instead, he was stuck in Jersey. Not even a good part, but Trenton.

Ankle-deep puddles dotted the broken asphalt in the parking lot below. A hooker stood on the corner, her pimp in an old car down the street. The area depressed him, but it was what he could afford after she’d ruined his family.

Worse, the business had been gutted. He was trying to rebuild, but people didn’t trust them. The jobs they were doing were beneath them.

He turned away from the scene out his window and met Alissa’s gaze. “I need to know everything about her.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll see what I can find.”

“You do that. Don’t let anyone know who is looking into her. I want to surprise her.”

Alissa nodded and backed out of the office. She was meek, just like a woman was supposed to be. She wasn’t the best at office work, and she still made mistakes, but she did what he told her to do and gave half-decent blow jobs.

Soon enough, he would come up with a plan to take that woman down a peg or two. She deserved whatever bad shit came her way. If only those stupid terrorists had done the job for him. But they hadn’t, so he would have to finish their work for them. Soon, he would end Nichole Brenton. That should make his father proud.