Chapter 124: The Butcher’s Ledger 2

Noah’s POV

Jennifer Riley

The pathetic, entitled bitch who had sent Damon a voice message claiming she had inside information about Jenson’s plot against Micah and me.

A cold, wicked realization settled in my chest.

’Instead of waiting around for my butler to finish his sweep, I can just squeeze the truth straight out of her,’ I thought, my jaw setting into a hard line as I slammed my car door shut and marched directly toward them.

"Damon! You can’t just abandon me in the middle of a store like that!" Jennifer shrieked, clutching her designer purse against her ribs, her face twisted in utter outrage. "We were on a date! You promised to buy me that bag! Who the hell runs out of a boutique without saying a single word?! Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for me?!"

"Shut your damn mouth, Jenny!" Damon roared back, running a hand through his disheveled hair, looking ready to rip his own head off. "I don’t give a single fuck about your bag! Someone’s life is on the line right now, and you’re crying about a piece of leather?!"

"Who cares about some random loser?!" she yelled back, stomping her foot on the pavement. "You were supposed to be with me! You owe me, Damon! You said if I gave you the information, you would—"

"I was just about to reach you," Damon said, cutting himself off the moment he spotted me walking up. He turned away from her, taking two fast steps toward me, his face pale and sick with worry. "Did your people find anything yet? Do you have an address?"

"Wait in the car," I said flatly, not even breaking my stride as I approached.

Damon blinked, clearly caught off guard by my blunt order. "What? Noah, we don’t have time to—"

"Get in your car and shut the door," I repeated, tilting my head slightly, my voice dropping into an icy, dangerous register that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "I’ll deal with this desperate creature and get back to you in two minutes."

Damon looked at me, then glanced back at Jennifer, who was glaring at us both with open contempt. He clenched his fists, swallowing whatever argument he had prepared.

"Nice way to order me around," Damon muttered under his breath, turning on his heel and heading straight for his driver’s side door. "But thank you. Make her talk."

He climbed inside and slammed the door shut, leaving the two of us standing alone in the open lot.

Jennifer crossed her arms over her chest, trying to put on an arrogant, untouchable smirk as I stepped into her personal space.

"Oh, look who it is," she scoffed, tilting her chin up. "Noah Miller. The great captain himself. Did you come here to apologize for your friend’s terrible manners? Because let me tell you, neither of you are getting a single word out of me until Damon comes back out here and—"

Before she could finish her sentence, I closed the distance between us.

I reached out, wrapped my fingers firmly around her wrist, and twisted it just enough to drop her balance, forcing her to stumble forward. With my other hand, I grabbed the heavy leather strap of her designer bag, yanked it effortlessly out of her grip, and hurled it across the asphalt.

The expensive bag crashed against a concrete pillar, its contents spilling out over the dirty ground.

"Hey!" she screamed in horror, trying to pull her arm back, but my grip was locked around her wrist like a steel cuff. "Are you insane?! Let go of me! Do you know who my father is?!"

"I don’t give a fuck who your father is," I said, my voice eerily calm, barely louder than a whisper, yet carrying enough venom to freeze the air between us.

I tightened my grip by a fraction of an inch, just enough to make the bones in her wrist grind together.

Jennifer let out a sharp, genuine gasp of pain, her smug facade completely shattering as tears of shock welled up in her eyes.

"Ow! Stop! Noah, you’re hurting me!" she cried out, squirming desperately, but she couldn’t move an inch against my strength.

"Listen to me very carefully, Jennifer," I murmured, leaning down so my eyes were level with hers. "I have about four minutes before my personal intelligence team pings the exact location of that SUV. I don’t actually need you. You are completely irrelevant to me."

She stared at me, her chest heaving in panicked breaths as she realized I wasn’t playing a game.

"The only reason I’m standing here talking to you instead of snapping your wrist in half right now," I continued, staring deep into her wide, terrified pupils, "is because I’m impatient. Where did George Jenson tell his men to take Micah?"

"I... I don’t know what you’re talking about!" she stammered, her voice shaking violently. "I just heard rumors from some of the guys on campus! That’s all it was! Just rumors!"

"Wrong answer," I said coldly.

I twisted her wrist another millimeter.

She let out a high-pitched whimper, dropping to one knee on the asphalt as pain shot up her forearm. "Stop! Please, stop! I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you everything!"

"Talk," I commanded, staring down at her with absolute indifference.

"It’s... it’s the old athletic complex!" she sobbed, holding her bruised wrist with her free hand. "The unfinished building behind the Jenson University sports field! The one they abandoned during the winter renovation! George said they were going to lure you and Damon there to force you to forfeit the finals!"

"Is George there right now?"

"No!" she cried, shaking her head frantically. "George is still in the hospital with his hands bandaged! It’s just his teammates! Four of them! They said... they said they were going to hold the kid hostage on the upper floors until you signed the agreement!"

A dark satisfaction hummed in my chest, rapidly swallowed by hatred.

An unfinished concrete building. Upper floors.

They took my sweet, terrified brother and dragged him to a dirty construction site just to settle a petty athletic score.

I released her wrist abruptly, letting her collapse against the pavement. She pulled her bruised arm against her chest, weeping loudly as she looked up at me like I was a monster that had crawled out of the dark.

I didn’t spare her another glance. I reached into my jacket, pulled out a clean handkerchief, and wiped my fingers thoroughly before tossing the cloth down onto her spilled purse.

My phone vibrated sharply in my hand.

I looked down at the screen. A message from my butler had just arrived, displaying a live satellite tracking map with a blinking red beacon.

Target vehicle stationary at Jenson University Athletic Extension site. Sector 4, Unfinished Wing.

Right on time.

I turned around and walked briskly over to Damon’s red sports car, tapping hard on his tinted window.

Damon rolled it down instantly, his eyes frantic and wide with unspoken questions. "What did she say? Did she talk?"

"Jenson campus. The abandoned athletic expansion site behind their arena," I said.

Damon’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with a vicious, predatory fury that mirrored my own. He shifted the car into gear, revving the engine until it let out an aggressive roar.

"I’ll follow your lead," Damon said, his knuckles gripping the steering wheel tight enough to crack the leather. "Let’s go get our boy back."

"Damon," I called out, stopping him before he could pull out of the bay.

He looked back at me, his brow furrowed. "What?"

I held his gaze, letting him see the pitch-black void waiting behind my eyes.

"When we get there," I said softly, every word laced with a quiet, irreversible promise, "don’t leave a single one of them breathing."