Page 113 of Bought By the Ruthless Pakhan

His lips trembled. He wanted to say something, but the words piled up in his throat. Nothing came out.

I raised the pipe and brought it down on his forehead.

It wasn't a hard blow. But he crumpled like someone had pulled his bones out. He slid down the wall, the back of his head scraping against the concrete. Dust smeared into his graying hair.

He looked up at me. The light in his eyes was fading, bit by bit.

His hand still rested on the floor. His last words came out in a low murmur. "I'm your father..."

I stood over him, unmoved.

"No. You were never a father."

His gaze slid away from my face, drifted up to some point on the ceiling he'd never reach again. Then he stopped moving.

The hallway lights kept flickering. The noise downstairs had died down.

The gunfire had stopped. In its place came footsteps and clipped commands.

I straightened, set the pipe down against the wall, and turned toward the open door at the end of the hall.

The first floor was being cleared—men in dark clothing were hauling bodies up off the floor, dragging them toward the exit.

They saw me coming and stepped aside. No one stopped me.

I walked out through the steel door. It was already light outside. The clouds after the rain were slowly breaking apart, revealing a clean, washed-out strip of blue underneath.

The wind blew in from somewhere far away, cool, carrying the smell of dirt and grass.

I stood in the doorway, looking out at the open lot in front of me. Light filtered through the clouds, spreading inch by inch across the steps.

But the light was too bright. I couldn't keep my eyes open.

My knees buckled. My whole body started to slide down.

The edges of my vision were narrowing, like someone was slowly closing a window.

Someone caught me. A pair of hands locked firmly around my back.

I leaned into him. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath the fabric—steady, strong.

He turned me around and lifted me into his arms. A coat settled over me.

Dark gray fabric covered my bare shoulders and arms. The hem draped down, hiding the raw marks the zip ties had left on my wrists.

His stride was long, each step firm and deliberate. The wind was blocked by his shoulder. He didn't speak. He just kept walking, toward the black car parked at the far edge of the lot.

I was gently placed in the back seat. His palm cradled the back of my head as he laid it down on the cushion.

The coat was tucked in again, folded along the curve of my shoulder.

The sound of the car door closing was muffled, like it came from somewhere far away. The engine rumbled low. The car pulled forward smoothly.

Sunlight filtered through the window and fell across my eyelids, warm, pale gold, shifting slightly as the car turned.

A hand covered mine where it lay along the edge of the seat. He didn't squeeze. Just rested it there.

I felt my breathing deepen, slow, like my body had finally accepted some signal of safety.