“Lester boy,” I hiss, standing right in front of him. I tower over him, my shadow over his body, and he starts cowering. “Sit up, you pathetic excuse of a fucking man. I’m not going to beat you.” He relaxes at my words, sitting up straight, but his eyes are still wide with fear.

“You can’t do this… You can’t--” Before I can continue, I just punch him straight in the face. Fuck, that felt good. “You told me you wouldn’t hit me,” he cries out in pain, both his hands covering his nose. A straight line of blood starts dripping down from his nose and onto his lips.

“I fucking lied,” I simply shrug, and he turns his eyes up. He’s angry—oh, Lester is a very angry boy right now—but there’s nothing he can do about it. Unless he really wants to kick his ass in such a way that he’ll have to be dragged out of the house in a stretcher. Don’t get me wrong, he deserves all that and so much more, but I’m not a fucking savage. There’s nothing to gain from beating his ass, and my real purpose here is shutting him down for good.

“What do you want?” he cries out again, wiping his bloody face with the back of his hand. I’m almost tempted to punch him again, but somehow I restrain myself.

“What I want? See that young lady there?” I point toward Mistress Strokes, and Lester’s eyes go straight to her. He narrows his eyes into slits, and I don’t think I have ever seen someone so filled with hate. Strokes has been ruining his plans for months, and Lester tried like a mad man to put an end to it. He just didn’t count on me backing Strokes.

“You fucking bi--” he starts, his teeth stained with blood as he curses at his own stepdaughter. I stop him before he can continue and you probably already know how I did it, with a punch to the face, that’s correct. He still hasn’t learned his lesson.

“Be nice, Lester. There’s more where that came from. Anyway, as I was saying… You’re going to leave her alone for good. You’re going to forget that she even exists. If I ever hear that someone’s looking for her, someone remotely involved with you… I don’t care if it’s just because of a parking fine, Lester. Anyone goes after her, all of this will be leaked before you can jerk yourself off and cum. And from what I’ve heard, you’re pretty fast at that.”

He now turns his angry eyes toward Destiny, but I don’t even want him looking at her. I raise my fist in the air and that’s enough to grab his attention. He makes himself smaller, protecting his face with his arms, and I just drop my fist. Slowly he’s starting to get it.

“I’m not done, Lester, so pay attention. I don’t like repeating myself,” I fold my arms over my chest, confident that he won’t act out anymore, and then continue. “The moment Strokes, Destiny, and I leave this place, you’re going to make a few phone calls. You’re going to grab your cell phone, put it up to your ear, and you’re going to call whoever you need to so that Destiny’s club can reopen. I want it to happen so that there are no more suspicions around her or her club.”

“That’s not that easy --”

“Shut the fuck up, Lester. I don’t wanna hear it,” I spit at him. “You’ll think of something. You shut down her club, now you’re going to fix that. No excuses. And I’m far from being done.”

“Jesus,” he breathes out, sinking in his seat. He’s slowly starting to realize that we have him by the balls, and that there’s nothing he can do about it. He lost.

“I want you to get Python a license to operate in Manhattan as well. I’ve been trying to get one for months, and I know you’ve pulled some strings to block it. Now, I’m going to give a timeline; you have one month to get Destiny’s club reopened and Python’s licenses. Not a second more.”

“Fuck,” he hisses, still seething. “Fine, I’ll do that. I’ll get it done,” he finally submits, but I’m far from being done. If he thinks that all we want is for him to leave both our clubs alone, he’s very mistaken.

“And after that month is up… You’re going to leave New York City. For good.”

“Leave? I can’t leave, I’m the fucking Police Com--” This time I don’t punch him. I just slap him with the back of my hand as if he’s just a misbehaving schoolboy. This coward doesn’t even deserve my fists.

“You’re leaving,” I stress the ‘leaving’ part, making it clear that this is not up to discussion. Okay, to be honest, nothing of what I’m telling him is up for discussion. Not a word. “I don’t care where you go. Just make it someplace far away. I’d suggest Siberia. Seems like a fitting place for a piece of shit like you.”

The look on his face tells me that if he could he’d just murder me in cold blood right now. That’s when I realize that his threatening look isn’t just a look; he jumps off of the couch in an instant and, before any of my security guys can do a thing, he pushes me back. He reaches for something under his coffee table, and I see the cold metal of a police revolver shining in his hands. He takes his finger to the trigger, blood dripping out of his mouth as he snarls, and time stops; I see him squeezing the trigger in slow motion and I can almost imagine the bullet leaving its chamber and making its deadly way toward me.

“YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” I hear Strokes yell and, still seeing everything unfold in slow-mo, I watch as she runs toward him and kicks him straight in the balls with her heels. He drops the gun just before the trigger reaches its limit, and then he falls to the floor like a crumpled piece of paper. He has gone pale, and the only color in his face is the bright red still dripping out of his nose.

“Fuck, that was close,” I breathe out, taking a moment to steady myself. Mistress Strokes is now holding Destiny, stopping her from flat out murdering Lester with her bare hands. There’s no doubt in my mind that she could really do it if she wanted to. Destiny’s pretty scary when someone fucks with her man or with her child, and I’m just starting to realize that.

Smiling at Lester, I pick his gun up from the floor and then walk toward him. I caress the cold metal under my fingertips, taking my time to feel around his gun, and then I push the muzzle against his forehead. “You had your chance and you blew it. Time to say your prayers.”

“No, please, don’t…” he cries out, desperation turning him into something so pathetic that I almost pity him. Tears start falling out of his eyes, and he starts begging and crying like a baby. “I’ll do anything… I’ll do--”

“Goodbye, Lester,” I whisper as I show him my million dollar smile. I press the trigger and, for a fraction of a second, time stops. And then… Well, then nothing happens. I put the safety on the moment I picked up his gun.

“Oh, fuck,” he cries out, and I can’t help but laugh as I notice that there’s a dark stain on his jeans he had scrambled to put on once I burst in and after I took his picture.

Fucking tool.

He fucking pissed himself.

He should have stayed with his cock out.

“Well, don’t feel bad, Lester. Even big boys piss their pants from time to time,” I keep poking him with words, but now he has been defeated completely. He no longer has the nerve to stand up to me. He’s probably too afraid that I might just take the safety off and pop a bullet into his skull. Again, he probably deserves something like that, but I’m not a fucking degenerate like he is.

“Destiny’s club. Python’s license. And then get your ugly fucking mug out of New York,” I summarize the whole thing to him. There’s still the clincher, though. “Oh, yeah, Lester… I’ll keep tabs on you. I’ll have people watching. If I ever hear that you’re involved in human trafficking again… Forget about photographs being leaked. If you do that, I’ll hunt you down like a dog, and I’ll finish you for good.”

I throw him one last disgusted look and then turn on my heels. My security guys are already out by there, and one of them has parked the door right in front of Lester’s house. I walk to the doorway and then look from Strokes to Destiny.

“Shall we, ladies?”

Arm-in-arm with them, I walk out.