"Please, this shipping company has been my family’s business for four generations. I can’t lose it," a man in his thirties pleaded, tears streaming down his face as he knelt in Dalton’s office.
"Sign," Dalton demanded impatiently, disregarding the man’s tears. He found him pathetic; he had never witnessed a grown man cry so helplessly.
"My father will die of grief if I lose it. Have rcy on ," the man pleaded, his voice rising in desperation.
"I am waiting for your signature, Mr. Banks," Dalton said, tapping the transfer docunt on the desk with a pen resting on top of it.
"Please, please," Mr. Banks kept pleading.
"Then I will do it the hard way," Dalton said, fixing a hard stare on Mr. Banks. "With one phone call, I can have one of your cargo shipnts, scheduled to arrive at the port in thirty minutes, raided by the cops, and narcotics will be found."
Mr. Banks’s face went pale as he jumped to his feet. "Drugs? How? We never ship illegal items!" Then it dawned on him. "You planted those drugs!" He pounded his fist on the desk.
"Yes, I did," Dalton admitted, unfazed. "Put your signature on the transfer docunt, or..." He picked up his phone. "Just one phone call and you could be facing a five-year term in prison for drug trafficking."
Mr. Banks stared at the transfer docunt, then at Dalton’s phone. His jaw clenched. "You will not get away with this!" he scread. "You bastard! You will pay for this! I will make you pay!"
Dalton found his threats amusing; they always say this but are never brave enough to carry out their revenge against him. "I’m offering you a fair price for your shipping company because of your father’s good reputation. So people get half of the price. Shut up, be grateful, and sign the damn docunt."
The power slithering in Dalton’s voice caused Mr. Banks to fall silent. He sighed in defeat, picked up the pen with a trembling hand, and signed the transfer docunt.
Thinking he had caught Dalton off guard, Mr. Banks threw the pen at Dalton, aiming for his eye. However, Dalton was as quick as a lightning bolt; he dodged, and the pen narrowly missed him, hitting the wall behind instead.
"You could have walked away free and unscathed, but it seems you want to experience my wrath," Dalton said calmly, though his eyes were filled with fury. Mr. Banks beca terrified and backed away, only to bump into two bulky security guards who had just walked in.
"Just in ti," Dalton says to the security guards. "Beat him up enough to make him bedridden for a month," he commands. The security guards heed his words and begin hitting Mr. Banks.
Dalton’s cold eyes watched as they kicked and beat Mr. Banks to a pulp while he leisurely gulped down a bottle of bourbon. Mr. Banks scread, begging for rcy, but the security n increased their brutality. They did not stop hitting him even as his face beca a bloody ss and the bones in his body fractured.
"Stop," Dalton beckons at the security n, making them halt. "Break his right hand; I want to hear his bones crack," Dalton instructed ruthlessly, retaliating against Mr. Banks for using his right hand to throw that pen that nearly blinded one of his eyes.
"Okay, boss." One of the security guards twisted Mr. Banks’s hand until it snapped. Dalton’s cold eyes glead with delight as Mr. Banks shrieked in agony.
"Bring him closer," Dalton commanded.
The security guard roughly dragged him toward Dalton’s desk.
Dalton inspected Mr. Banks’ broken hand; his wrist appeared bent in a deford way. There was an open wound through which his white bones peeked out from under his skin. It was a grueso sight.
"Good job, toss him out,"
Mr. Banks’ battered body was dragged out of the office.
Dalton could have been more ruthless with him, such as gouging out his eyes instead of breaking his hand. However, for the sake of his father, he chose to be lenient.
Dalton cracked his stiff fingers before picking up the transfer docunt and admiring it. He always gets what he wants.
A knock sounded at the door. "Dalton," a soft feminine voice said from the other side.
Dalton’s ruthless eyes softened and glowed. "Maya," he said her na with affection.
"Co in."
Maya strutted in with a smile glittering up her face. "I brought you lunch," she said, an insulated food delivery bag hanging over her left shoulder.
Dalton was not listening; he was busy scrutinizing the contours of her beautiful face.
"Where should I put it?" she asked; it seed she was repeating the question since he was not paying attention.
"Follow ," Dalton said as he put away the transfer docunt and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling glass window that overlooked the busy street. He pulled a small round table from a corner along with two chairs and positioned them in the middle of the window.
Maya set the insulated food delivery bag on the table, opened it, and took out a Bento box. She lifted the lid, revealing Smashed Cucumber Salad with Spicy Feta and Olives.
"Do you need to leave imdiately?" Dalton asked.
"Nope, I have an hour of free ti because I arrived at 11 a.m. instead of noon." It’s Friday, and Dalton has early morning etings every Friday. He skipped breakfast, so Maya had to bring him lunch early.
"Good," Dalton pulled a chair for her. Maya stares at him with confusion.
"You are eating with ," he said insistently.
"I brought only one set of cutlery," she waves them at him.
"It doesn’t matter; just keep company," Dalton said, his tone sounding pleading and needy. He just wants to spend ti with her.
"Fine," she said as she sat down, and Dalton took a seat opposite her.
"Nice view; it’s lovely," Maya complinted as she gazed out the window.
When she turned her head, she found Dalton holding a forkful of salad, waiting for her.
Maya laughed. "Are you serious? You want to feed ?"
Dalton nods, pointing the fork at her lips.
"It’s unprofessional," Maya protests.
"Our relationship is far from professional, Maya."
Her cheeks flush, and Dalton wishes he could brush his thumb over her skin, just to feel its softness beneath the blush.
"Okay, so we are friends then" she said shyly.
Dalton nodded slightly. "If you say so, then we will be."
"But friends don’t feed each other like that," she pointed out, frowning.
"Our friendship is exceptional," Dalton replied. "Open your mouth, Maya." he said softly.
Maya curved in, parting her lips as Dalton inserted the food into her mouth.
The way she chewed slowly, savoring each bite, appeared so seductive to him. He felt a strong desire to lean in and kiss her plump lips.
He is not going to deny he has feelings for her. He wants her; has wanted her ever since the first ti he carried her in his arms. At that mont, he knew in his heart that she was his to protect.
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