Taming Her Billionaire Boss

"Please, please, I'm telling the truth," his plea was interrupted by a squelching punch across his battered face. Tied to a rolling chair, he tumbled to the cold floor, splodged in his own blood. "Help!" he yelled. "Somebody help!"

Sighing, Michael lifted the wounded man from the ground and righted him in his former position under the dim yellow light in the dungeon.

He squatted beside him, "It's no use crying, baby. We're twenty miles away from the City. You either tell me what you know, or daddy will be late for his daughter's birthday."

Shell-shocked, he lifted his head to meet Michael's smirk. Blood trickled down his nostrils and the side of his face to his white dress shirt browned and dyed in red by contact. His left eyes were swollen and completely covered with the other imbound on the same route. Aside suffering a broken lip, he'd have to wear dental implants for the rest of his life.

"I dare you to touch my daughter," he snarled, shooting Michael darts with his gaze. His steams would have humbled a lesser man, but Michael was anything but. "Leave my family out of this, fucker!"

Michael stood to full height and strolled to the pile of torture instruments arranged on a dusty table. "You have a good daughter, Malcolm. I like her too," he lifted a drilling machine, examined it, and dropped it back with a clatter. "It'll be a shame to waste an innocent life, don't you think?"

"Your deal is with me, not her," he begged. "Spare my daughter. She's all I have."

"This is what I hate," Michael groaned, and rolled his eyes. "Anyone that walks into this room will call me the bad guy." He looked from one tool to the other, varying in size and usage. His lips curved into a crooked smirk. The pair of knuckledusters would do just fine. "I'm trying to purify the society of bad blood. Samir, Viktor, Duncan, and the likes of them have held us by the jugular. It's high time someone stood up to them."

"And that person is you?" In spite of himself, Malcolm's shoulders shook with laughter. "You might have brought down Samir and Duncan so easily, but Khalid is a smarter bastard. He's been in the business longer than they ever conceived the idea to cock a fucking pistol. Khalid is no child's play, boy; his power and influence is beyond the shores of Empire City. Those who tried to bring him down in the past are not alive to tell the tale of what they suffered, so you get to hear it from me. He's the old crafty fox who will always be seven steps ahead of you. Back out of this madness now, and I'll forget this malady ever happened."

It was Michael's turn to laugh. He gripped the edges of the table, doubling over in laughter. "I like the fact that you don't know what I'm capable of. Everybody knows me, and at the same time, no one knows me. A fashion icon by day, a vigilante by night."

Malcolm gulped down the lump in his throat, constricting his wind pipe. "I'm warning you. Release me while you still can."

"Paulina, right?" Michael dismissed his threats with a shrug. Empty threats hold no sway. "She has her mother's hair, but anytime I look into her pretty brown eyes, I see you in them."

Malcolm jerked furiously, cussing like a sailor in the heart of a belligerent storm. If he was afraid before, he was fucking terrified now. "Touch my daughter, and you'll be sorry you did."

Michael tested the knuckle duster on the brick wall, making Malcolm flinch, seeing the crack it left on the wall. "If I wanted to harm your daughter, I'd have done it a long time ago. Unlike you and your sick boss, I still have a conscience."

"What do you want from me?" Malcolm wheezed. "I've told you I don't know anything about his whereabouts."

Backing him, Michael cranked his neck, releasing the air pockets trapped at the back of his neck. The hell with this neck pain!

Pedro would not let him hear the end of it when he finds out the pain is back.

"That's what they say when they have a lot to say," Michael growled. Tightening his fists around the cold metal. His back hunched in a predatory manner. "You have two options to end this. One, tell me where the fuck Khalid and live. Two, tell me where Khalid lives and I might let you see your daughter again before I pull the pin on you."

"I swear, I don't know where he is," he wept, his shoulders shaking from exhaustion and fear of the inevitable. "Khalid is a cunning fox. He only tells you what he wants you to know."

Facing Malcolm, Michael sighed. He'd pummeled rounds and rounds of punches into the bastard, but he wouldn't spill. His loyalty was commendable, so also was Michael's torture skills. There are many ways to kill a rat.

He took slow steps to his front, and stopped directly below the light. In a snug black tee and black pants, Michael was the epitome of dread; the scary story told to force kids to sleep. The overhead light cast a deathly dense shadow on him, shielding his cold hooded blue eyes from the legal world.

"Where is Khalid?!" he yelled, sending a metal fist flying across his face, breaking the skin and the bone under. "Where the hell is he?"

"I don't know!" Malcolm wailed, relapsing into bouts of tears.

What Michael hated the most was lies. Malcolm could save them both the trouble, but he wouldn't budge. The ball was in his fucking court!

"Then you leave me with no choice." Michael dipped his hands into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Blood streaked the screen, but Michael was the least bothered. He dialed a number and brought the device to his ears. On the second ring, a hollow voice responded with a 'yes, boss'. "Kill his daughter."

"Wait! Wait! Wait!" He spurted aggressively. "Fucking wait, you bastard."

"Hold on a second, will you?"Michael lowered the phone and returned his focus to Malcolm. "Speak!"

"He's in Singapore."

Brows knotted, Michael pressed. "What is he doing in Singapore?"

"To close a drug deal with one of his business associates. That's all I know, I swear."

Michael accessed him and relaxed. Parking half of his butt on the table. "Now, that wasn't difficult, was it? I like the easy way, but you loyalists are fucking annoying. See how bad your fine face is ruined," Michael feigned sympathy, shaking his head. "You could have avoided the bashing, you know? I doubt your wife, Jessica, would be able to look you twice in the face. If she's repulsed, tell her to meet me where we first met. I've not officially thanked her for playing her part in bringing you in."

Malcolm's fuse blew out of proportion. "That bitch! I'll kill her myself!"

Michael turned on his heel, whistling nonchalantly to the entrance. "Don't blame her. She said you don't hit the right spot. I did you a favor, Little Dick."

"Who are you?" Malcolm squirmed. "Why are you doing this?"

Michael halted. His jaws clenched as the horrid vivid memory of twelve years ago flitted into his memory. "Khalid Vaughan ripped my world apart, and it's my job to bring him down."

There was silence, then Malcolm broke into a humourless laugh. "Are you out of your fucking mind? You think Khalid is someone you can- you can just kill like a regular bastard? Interpol, FBI, MI6, and many other secret agencies have tried and failed to lay a finger on his shadow, and you think you have what it takes to even come close to him? How bold of you."

Michael snorted. "How bold of you to think I'm anything like them." He pulled out a Sig from behind him and aimed it at Malcolm's head. "He's not untouchable."

Bam!