Chapter 36

Arsen

Even if wehadn’t bribed the desk clerk downstairs for the room number of John McClaren’s suite, we would have known where his room was the second we stepped onto the floor.

The jackass has security standing outside his door.

And yeah, he checked into the hotel using his real name. He thought he was untouchable.

I was about to brand him with my fingerprints.

The second the suited guards saw me and Kruger rushing down the hall, they stepped off the door to block our advance.

“I’ll take the one on the right,” Kruger said.

We attacked at the same time. I went low and rushed the man, catching him around the tops of his thighs and dropping him onto his back. He scrambled up, and I kicked him in the ribs and then punched him in the face.

He grunted and swatted at my hand when I patted him down, searching his jacket for the room key. I found it and straightened. Kruger was shaking out his fist, the other guard at his feet.

Without a word, I swiped the card, the light on the door turned green, and I barreled into the room without hesitation.

There were some shouts in the suite as we rushed in. More guys in suits came running, and I knocked past them like a battering ram.

“Matthew!” I roared. “Matthew Prism!”

“P!” Kruger yelled.

Three men converged on us, trying to cage us in.

“Arsen!” Matthew’s panicked voice came from somewhere in the room. “Arsen!” he yelled again, banging against something… a door.

Horror rolled over me, and I spun, pinning McClaren with a look. “You put him in the closet.”

He said something in reply, but I didn’t listen. That man’s voice was the most useless sound on this planet.

I shoved through the men, and one of them tried to yank me back. I kicked him and took off again, finding a piece of furniture blocking the closet door.

I flipped it over, and it flew into the nearby bathroom. The door shuddered under the weight Matthew was throwing at it, and I wrenched it open without hesitation.

He fell out, and I caught him, but he was beyond comprehension. He started swinging, and I let him, taking a hit to the side and then letting him plow me into the wall.

“You’re okay,” I told him. “You’re okay now, baby. I got you.”

He stopped, his wild eyes seeing me for the first time. My heart broke. Cracked right in two. Tears stained his pale face, blood smeared his lip, and his jaw was bruised. His hair was mussed, his eyes bloodshot, and even though we weren’t touching, I could see him shaking.

I let out a keening sound and held up my arms in surrender. “Oh, baby, what the hell did they do to you?”

“Arsen,” he whispered and then fell into me, literally stopped holding himself up. I caught him and used the wall to support our weight while I dragged him up by the armpits and pulled him into my chest.

He started crying, and the two pieces of my broken heart swelled with anger.

Cupping the back of his head, I held him against my shoulder and anchored the other arm around his waist. Feeling something warm and sticky, I lifted my hand from his hair to see it was covered in blood. The anger that burned through me turned homicidal, and though I wanted to go after McClaren, I stayed where I was.

“You’re safe now,” I whispered. “I’m here.”

“I shouldn’t be.”

“I know that, baby. Someone so precious doesn’t belong in such an ugly place.”

He tried to pull back, but I wouldn’t allow it, holding him even tighter.

He sniffled. “No. I mean here at all. My father planned to drown me in the pool when I was little.”

Just then, two of McClaren’s men came around the corner.

The look on my face stopped them in their tracks. “I’ll give you exactly two seconds to get the fuck out of my face and never come back. Two seconds. And then I’m going to start cracking necks.”

Pretty sure they had guns.

Pretty sure one just pissed their pants.

“One. Two.”

I put Matthew against the wall and lunged. Someone screamed, and the door punctured the wall with how hard they flung it open on their way out.

I turned to go back for Matthew, but there was a grunt and groan deeper in the room.

“Kruger,” I called. Another groan. “Fuck.”

I ran forward to find the biggest guard on the floor, knocked out cold.

Behind me, Matthew gasped. “No,” he said and tried to rush around me.

I grabbed him around the waist, stopping him, but he kept trying to go.

“Ben.” His voice cracked.

“Stay back, P,” Kruger said, a little more serious than normal.

I looked then, seeing McClaren holding a steak knife to his throat.

“Oh, for shit’s sake,” I spat.

“Grabbed me from behind after I knocked out wannabe Captain America over there,” Kruger explained.

I shifted Matthew toward the bed so he could sit down. He didn’t stay there, though. His ass hit the mattress and then bounced right off as he shoved past me, rushing to help his brother.

“Stay back. I’ll slit his throat. The arterial spray will paint this room,” McClaren threatened.

“It’s a shitty steak knife, dipshit. Good luck with that,” Kruger intoned.

It was impressive his audacity remained even when being held at knifepoint.

Matthew was beyond hearing, beyond rational thought, and kept advancing. Kruger winced when the blade pricked his skin. Matthew growled, the first time I’d ever heard him make that sound, and then he lunged.

McClaren screamed, and Kruger jammed his elbow back, hitting him in the ribs to escape his hold. Matthew snatched the knife and stabbed it into the old man’s stomach.

He shouted, the sound pure pain, then gurgled. Disbelief shrouded his face when he looked at the knife sticking out of him and then up at his cast-aside son.

“I thought about what I did,” Matthew said, his voice almost monotone. It lifted the hairs on the back of my neck. “And I decided I’m done being your victim.”

The old man flinched and stumbled back when Matthew stepped toward him. “No! Leave my intestines alone! No!”

“P, did you threaten this asshole’s intestines?” Kruger asked. “I’m proud.”

“He got that line from me,” I told him.

Matthew ignored us and kept advancing, batting away McClaren’s attempt at pushing him back to wrap his hand around the handle of the knife. A wet sucking sound filled the room as he ripped it out. “Oops,” he said, dropping the bloodied knife on the floor. “Probably should have left it in.”

McClaren howled, reaching around to slap both hands over the profusely bleeding wound.

It wasn’t deep enough to kill, just enough to hurt and make him bleed like a stuck pig. A mean glint competed with the pain in his eyes, and his lips parted, likely to say something else Matthew would never be able to unhear.

I slammed my fist into his mouth, cutting my knuckle on one of his teeth, then stepped back to watch him spit it out at his foot.

“You don’t get the last word.” I snarled. Then to Kruger, I ordered, “Call the police.”

I turned to see Matthew looking smaller than I’d ever imagined he could look. It was like the final confrontation with his father drained everything left inside him.

“I stabbed him,” he told me.

“You did so good,” I said, pulling him into my chest for a hug. “You protected yourself well.”

“They jumped me at the radio station.”

My jaw ached from clenching it, from how angry this entire situation made me. “I know, baby.”

“Cops are on their way,” Kruger announced.

McClaren took off running toward the door. On his way, he trampled the unconscious guard.

“No loyalty,” Kruger muttered and went after him.

McClaren froze the second he wrenched the door open.

“Senator?” Ryan’s voice boomed from the hall. “You’ve been outvoted.”

Rush jolted forward and, with one swing, knocked McClaren out cold.

We let him lie where he landed.