Broken (Manhattan Ruthless Book 1)
Chapter 47

I stare up at my older brother, barely able to comprehend what he just said. “You went to see her?”

“I delivered her the letter like you asked.”

“I thought you were going to fucking mail it, Elijah. What the fuck?”

He sighs, running a hand over his thick beard and taking a seat opposite me. “I’m sorry if I overstepped, but I had to look her in the eye. After what she did …” He blows out a breath. “She hurt all of us, you know. I trusted her too. I thought she was …” He stops talking, and I’m grateful for no further reminders of what she was to me—to all of us.

But my heart constricts in my chest at the thought of him seeing her when I can’t. Or won’t, says a voice in my head, but I ignore it. “How was she?”

He avoids my gaze, the way he does when I’m not going to like what he has to say.

“How was she, Elijah?”

He sighs. “Bryce was there when I got there.”

Fucking knew it. I snort. “They planning their next move, were they?”

“No, Nathan. He …” He shakes his head. “He hit her.”

A flash of anger has my blood boiling in my veins. My hands ball into fists. “He fucking what?”

“I saw him going into the apartment building, so I followed him. They were in the hallway. He called her a stupid bitch, and she said she hoped he’d go to prison for what he did to you. And he hit her.”

Someone must have sucked the air from my office because I can’t fucking breathe. I finally drag in a shaky inhale and will my racing heart to calm the fuck down. “He hit her?”

“Yeah. Right across the face.”

A vision of him with his hands on her has that boiling rage about ready to burst out of me. “Is she okay? Did you break his fucking arm?”

“I told him to get the hell out of there. I figured you wouldn’t want me kicking his ass while you’re still figuring out what to do with him.”

“That was before he hit my fucking wife, Elijah!”

He runs his tongue over his teeth, assessing me. We both know what I just called her, but neither of us are going to address that right now. And so fucking what if I called her my wife? It means nothing. Technically, she still is.

He clears his throat. “For what it’s worth—”

I snarl. “Don’t.”

But he finishes his thought anyway. “I don’t think she had any part in it.”

I bang my fist on the desk. “She still fucking lied to me. She married me for my money.” My heart splits in two. I could probably forgive both those things, but … “She made me think that I fucking meant something to her.” I can’t forgive that. Not ever.

Elijah nods sympathetically. “I know, brother.”

I put my head in my hands, wishing more than anything that I could forget everything about Mel and how much I still love her.

“This won’t take long,” I tell Teddy before I climb out of the idling car.

I stride through the building, adrenaline and anger pumping through my veins as I make my way to the top-floor offices of Edison Holdings.

I stride past the receptionist and walk straight into that smug fuck’s office, ignoring the two people who run after me, shouting that he’s on a call. Bryce looks up when I walk in, his tan face paling. I slam the door closed behind me and turn the lock, taking perverse satisfaction in making him tremble.

Stalking to his desk, I take the phone from his hand and end the call before tossing his cell phone on the floor.

“That w-was—”

“I don’t give a fuck who it was, you piece of shit.”

He straightens his jacket. “What do you want, Nathan? I thought we came to an agreement.”

The anger that’s been simmering in my veins since my conversation with Elijah earlier today boils over, and I launch myself over the desk, grabbing him by his throat and shaking him like a rag doll. “You don’t have any sort of agreement with me, fuckface.”

His mouth opens and closes, his lips trembling. I throw him back into his chair and pace the length of his office. I will fucking kill him with my bare hands if I don’t get a handle on my temper, and even I couldn’t get myself off a murder charge with a half-dozen witnesses outside.

I dampen my rage and adrenaline with cooling lungfuls of air. And when I can look at him without tearing his head off, I sit down in front of his desk. He eyes me warily, his twitching fingers wrapped tightly around the arms of his chair.

I glare at his smug, entitled face and wonder how the fuck a good man like Luke Edison raised a piece-of-shit son like this one. “You know the people I work with, right, Bryce?”

He nods, his eyes wide and skin paler than chalk.

“You must also know that I could make someone as insignificant and pathetic as you disappear and not get my hands the slightest bit dirty. I’ve done it before.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Yes.”

I lean forward, placing my hands on his desk and glaring at him. “But for you, Bryce, I would gladly get my hands dirty.”

He darts his eyes around the room like he’s hoping someone might burst in and rescue him.

“If you ever touch a hair on her head again, I will make you my exception. There is nowhere you can run that I won’t replace you. And I will replace you, Bryce, and I will crush every bone in your body to dust.”

He stares at me, opening and closing his mouth like he’s fucking mute. I grab his tie and pull him toward me. “Do you fucking understand me?”

“Y-yes,” he sputters.

My eyes drift to the antique letter opener on his desk. Picking it up, I let go of his tie and grab his right hand instead, splaying it out on the desk in front of me.

“N-no.” He shakes his head. “Please.”

Ignoring his pathetic sniveling, I drive the sharp edge straight through his hand, pinning him to his desk. His mouth opens on a strangled scream, and I put a finger to my lips. “You don’t want anyone coming in here, Bryce, because then I’d have to tell them all how you embezzled their pensions and all of your family’s money. How you spent it all on whores and cards. And you don’t want that, now do you?”

He presses his lips together and shakes his head as tears run down his cheeks. I tap the side of his face. “That’s a good boy. Now stay the fuck away from my wife.”