7

"Mr. Moore, I take it you can guess why you're here?"

Lucien wiped away the blood on his knuckles before taking a seat behind his desk. He didn't typically mind getting bloody in his line of work, but he didn't want to change his clothing and delay the plans he had scheduled right after this meeting.

Zade, his right hand man and enforcer, stood just to the right of the "rich" businessman kneeling on the ground beside Lucien's desk.

The older man, Alfred Moore, wheezed, wiping a shaking hand over his busted nose before answering.

"I've been meaning to pay you what I owe."

"Really?" Lucien asked in mock surprise. "And when did you intend on doing that? Not today before you were brought here. Not last week when your payment was due. Tell me, Mr. Moore, when exactly were you planning on returning the three hundred thousand dollars I lent you?"

Alfred glared at Lucien before looking down at the ground when he realized he'd been caught, mumbling one apology after the other until Lucien sighed.

"Your apologies won't pay me. Your money will. So where is it?"

"Please," Alfred said earnestly. "I just need a few more weeks-"

"I typically don't lend out money to people like you," Lucien interrupted. "You shouldn't even need my money, but I made an exception because your brother is someone I've done business with before. I'm sure he would be displeased to know you're incapable of paying your debts."

Thomas Moore would be even more displeased if Alfred's head was delivered to his doorstep. It would be terrible news coverage during his campaign to become a congressman, but Lucien couldn't let a slight against him go unpunished.

He was known for being merciless, and he wouldn't make an exception for a blubbering man begging on his knees.

"Zade, cut his finger off."

Alfred's head shot up, tears filling his eyes.

"What? No! No, please, Mr. Thorne!"

Lucien stood, backhanding Alfred hard. The ring on his middle finger cut Alfred's face open and he gave a startled shout. Nothing was worse than a powerful man crying and simpering like a bitch, begging for mercy.

Weak men were pathetic.

Zade planted a foot on Alfred's back, pushing roughly until he was pinning him to the floor.

"Do you want to do the honors?" Zade asked, holding out a switchblade.

Lucien shook his head. "I have plans right after this, and I doubt my date will enjoy seeing me covered in blood." Although Harlow was turning out to be quite a fierce, devious woman.

Perhaps she'd like it.

Zade snorted, leaning down until he was kneeling on the middle of Alfred's back.

The man began to choke and cry, and if Lucien didn't conduct most of his business in a private building he owned downtown, he might have told Zade to cut out his tongue just to shut him up.

But work like that usually resulted in some article of clothing or another getting ruined, even if he wasn't the one handling the punishment directly. Blood splattered everywhere, whether it was from a bullet or a knife.

And if there was one thing Lucien despised more than people betraying his time and his trust, it was messes.

No doubt this was a product of his youth, growing up with a druggie mother who spent her lucid moments hoarding so much shit that their small trailer had been filled with maggots and rats for months at a time.

Alfred let out an ear piercing shriek as Zade sawed into the man's pinky, cutting through the bone as blood spilled all over Lucien's carpet.

He'd have to get that replaced by tomorrow.

Lucien waited until Alfred quieted down before he crouched next to him, careful to keep his Oxford shoes from the blood pooling on the floor. They were Prada and had cost him a small fortune.

Lucien rested his forearms on his knees, lacing his fingers together as he studied the whimpering fool in front of him.

"I'll be lenient with you, Mr. Moore. You can have an extra three weeks to repay me. But just know that each week I go without my money, I'll take something else from you. A finger. A hand. The tiny prick in your pants. It could be anything."

Alfred began to cry again and Lucien rolled his eyes, standing to his full height.

"See to it Mr. Moore is escorted off the property. And can you call our cleaners to handle this? I want fresh carpet by tomorrow morning."

It was another hour before Lucien was traveling back home, with Zade acting as his chauffeur. He knew the twisted fuck wasn't doing this out of the kindness of his own heart. He only wanted to see Harlow for himself, to meet her and perhaps scare her.

Lucien wasn't the only one who had been waiting years for retribution, and Zade was practically chomping at the bit to see this decade's long task completed.

"When do you think you'll get in contact with those dickheads overseas?" Zade shot him a glance in the rearview mirror.

"Not until the time is right."

"Seems like the time is right to me. Why delay the inevitable?"

Lucien sighed. "We've waited for ten years, Zade. We can wait a few more months."