Split Love

CHAPTER 52

His fists swung back and forth hitting the heavy punching bag that swaying in front of him. He punched relentlessly, striking right and left blows against the leather sack. Sweat ran down his neck and his bare back.

Pure, unadulterated rage. It poisoned his blood as it ran through his rigid body, burning his skin. That was all Micah felt coursing through his veins, his eyes aching. The deafening music didn't stop the destructive thoughts. The constant whisper that this was all his fault didn't leave him.

The meeting with Jasmine's supposed uncle had formed more doubts in his sick mind. He knew who Micah was, he knew his true identity and about his family. But what did her family have to do with him?

'You won't end her like you did her family.' The words repeated in an endless loop every time he hit the punching bag.

Richard Keller. Jasmine's phone clone had been useful in discovering the full name of the man who had landed a right punch to his jaw. And at that moment, Rocco was investigating the son of a bitch's true identity.

Micah gritted his teeth and kicked the punching bag.

A vague, subconscious intuition made him freeze. The punching bag came back but Micah caught it before it hit him. A strange sensation rose through his chest, reached his neck, and made his ears ring. Before he had a chance to decipher the premonition, the music stopped.

- We have him. - A familiar voice called out.

Micah turned and saw Damien next to the sound system. He nodded and walked away from the punching bag.

- Let's go. - He wiped the sweat from his face with a towel.

Anger spread like a disease through his body as the two walked through the halls, the pistol in his right hand loaded and ready.

They went downstairs in silence. Heavier air than normal had been hovering around Mikhail since the day before. Some mafia guys had already noticed and were avoiding him like the plague. Damien was no different, he just did what his older brother told him without blinking.

Facing Micah's fury was deadly, everyone knew.

Like deja vu, Micah came down the stone steps into the basement. His anger was at boiling point and he couldn't wait to get in there. His bare feet felt every pebble of dirt. Again, at the last door of the corridor, he abruptly entered the windowless room, taking everyone inside by surprise, except the bastard himself. The gun in his hand, eager to be used.

He glared at the asshole, his chest heaving hard, in and out. That had to end, one way or another. And unfortunately for them, violence was Micah's favorite language.

Damien closed the door and stood in front of it. Two other trusted men were standing behind the Irishman. Even though he was sitting on the chair in the middle of the room, he wasn't tied up.

His gaze dropped to Micah's hand, holding the gun. His narrowed eyes snapped up to cloudy ones. Neither of them looked away from each other for a few moments. A dead silence hung in the air.

- Where is Finn? - The man spoke first.

- Who the hell is Finn? - Micah shook his head but when Damien cleared his throat, he understood the question. - Oh, the other guy. He is dead. - He shrugged.

- You have no idea what you're getting into, Roman.

- Oh, I very well know. But I can't say the same about you.

Micah turned to the tool iron bench, the bloody scissors were there. A sinister shiver ran down his spine to the back of his neck. He closed his eyes for a second trying to dispel that damn nightmare but flashes of Jasmine dead in that same room made him open it quickly. That dawn, Mikhail killed the Irish man, now named Finn. Yes, he stuck the scissors into the man's hand and then slit his throat after he repeated several times that he knew nothing about Jasmine's kidnapping. The man choked on his own blood and died, right there in front of him.