Chapter 59
59:
Brendon froze at the sound of Christina’s laughter. His brows pulled tight. “What the hell are you laughing at?”
“She’s snapped!” Katie shrieked, fear sharpening her voice. “She’s been a ticking time bomb since day one—just throw her in a damn asylum already!”
Yolanda hesitated, wringing her hands as if offering wise advice instead of plotting against Christina. “Maybe something set Christina off. We should take her to a hospital. Let a doctor—”
“Hospital?” Finnegan cut in with a snort. “Hell no! She’s insane. What she needs is a padded cell and a straitjacket.”
Christina’s laughter died, replaced by a deadly calm. “You think I’m the crazy one?” Her voice was low, chilling. “No, I’m the only one who’s sane here.”
The moment her eyes locked with theirs, something in them recoiled. They all backed up—every one of them.
“Someone like you should be locked in a padded cell!” Katie spat, her voice sharp with venom.
Katie hated Christina’s guts. This conniving bitch knew too much—even skeletons buried deep in her cupboard. Every step Christina took chipped away at her plans. Christina had to be erased. Crushed. Eliminated—whatever it took.
Driven by that thought, Katie snapped, “Hold her down! I’m calling the asylum. Let them deal with her madness!”
Christina responded with a laugh—cold and dripping with contempt. “You? Take me down? Don’t make me laugh.”
“Why can’t you ever just surrender? Why is it always a goddamn war with you?” Brendon snarled, voice ragged with rage. “Say you’re sorry, and I’ll act like none of this ever happened.” His tone was low and dangerous.
What Brendon truly craved wasn’t peace—it was control. He wanted to see Christina break. To watch that fire in her eyes fade, replaced with the same docile obedience she reserved for those old men she charmed.
Ⱡ𝗮𝗍𝙚𝕤𝖙 ς𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝗲𝖗𝗌 ɢ𝗮𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀․𝚌𝗈𝗆
“Apologize?” Christina scoffed, her smirk razor-sharp. “You think you deserve that?”
The mocking curl of her lips sent Brendon over the edge. His hands closed around her throat, grip unrelenting.
Christina’s face turned scarlet as her breath hitched, the air cut off, her body trembling beneath the weight of his fury.
Brendon wanted her to feel it—that creeping, breathless panic. If brute force was what it took to break her, then so be it. How could he let this stubborn little woman keep disrespecting him?
Across the room, the massive movers stood still, muscles taut, eyes locked on the chaos. Only Christina’s earlier glance—a silent command layered with warning—kept them from intervening and leaping into the fray.
“How about now, Christina?” Brendon growled, his jaw clenched, shaking her with barely restrained fury. “Still think we don’t deserve it?”
Her lips curved into a slow, merciless smirk—cool, composed, and cutting. “Not. Even. Close.”
The ease of her contempt, the unshaken confidence in her gaze—it ignited Brendon’s fury like gasoline on fire. His fingers dug in tighter, joints creaking, skin stretched bone-white with rage.
On the sidelines, Katie and the others basked in the moment, faces lit with vindictive glee. Finally, someone was clipping Christina’s wings. How was Christina going to act high and mighty now? They stood there watching like vultures circling roadkill.
The movers stood like statues—pathetic, paralyzed, hiding behind silence and uniforms. Cowards, every last one. Not a soul among them dared defy the Dawsons.
Overcome with smug adrenaline, Katie stepped forward. Her eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction, lips curled in triumph. She raised her hand and swung—ready to mark Christina’s face—but pain bloomed across her gut instead.
“Ahh!” Katie’s scream ripped through the room as she collapsed, limbs folding awkwardly beneath her. She hit the floor with a sickening thud, gasping, clutching her stomach.
“Katie!” Yolanda shrieked, scrambling to her knees beside Katie, panic etched in every line of her face.
Yolanda spun on Christina, voice cracking. “Why did you kick her like that?”
Christina’s expression was ice. “If you’re so concerned, then why don’t you take her place and let me kick you instead?”
“Christina…” Yolanda whispered, apparent rawness bleeding into her voice. “Do you still hate me that much?” She took a breath that rattled in her chest and then stepped forward, trembling. “If you need to let it out—your anger, your grievance—take it out on me. I won’t fight. Scream, hit, whatever you want. I deserve it.”
Christina tilted her head, studying Yolanda. Then, her face twisted into something colder than contempt. “Why would I waste my energy on you? Even touching you would make me feel dirty.”
The insult landed like a blade. Yolanda’s mouth trembled, and tears spilled unchecked down her cheeks. She looked utterly broken—like a porcelain doll cracked beyond repair, abandoned and ashamed.
That sight struck Brendon like a punch to the chest. Something twisted deep inside him. His gaze snapped to Christina, dark and thunderous, fists clenched. “You got a death wish, Christina?” he growled, his voice coiled with venom.
His hands, which had momentarily slackened, clamped down again—sudden and brutal, like a steel trap snapping shut.
But Christina didn’t recoil. Her eyes met his with a ferocity that burned cold. “No,” she whispered, lips curling. “But it sure looks like you are.” She barely tilted her head—just a subtle cue—and suddenly, those towering, muscle-bound movers jumped on Brendon.
“Ugh!” Brendon didn’t even get a full breath before a hand like a steel trap snapped around his neck. His lungs collapsed inward. Darkness crept at the edges of his vision as panic surged to the surface. He wasn’t choking Christina anymore. Now he was the one clawing for air.
Brendon’s hands beat against his captor’s arm, fists pounding helplessly against muscle that might as well have been concrete. His captor didn’t even blink.
“Brendon!” Yolanda lunged forward—only to be snatched mid-step. Another mover hoisted her up by the throat, her heels scraping for purchase that didn’t exist.
Every one of them—dragged off the floor like rag dolls. Legs kicked. Fingers scratched. But it was like watching insects caught in the jaws of lions.
“L-Let… go… please,” Katie choked out the words, her voice strangled, her face contorted in terror. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she fought with every ounce of strength she had.
She kicked. She writhed. But her captor’s grip was inhuman—unyielding. Her lungs screamed. Her limbs weakened. The black haze pulled tighter around her, whispering finality. What the hell? No! She couldn’t accept it! She refused to die here. Not in this place. Not like this. There was still a life waiting for her—glamour, wealth, indulgence. She was meant for more.
With a final burst of fading energy, Katie clawed at the fingers around her neck, her mouth opening to make a bid of screaming. “H-Help!”
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