CHAPTER 113: FURY

TRIGGER WARNING: VIOLENCE

Cassidy looks at him closely, her gaze steady. "You’ve changed a lot."

"A lot?" Zeke raises a brow, curious.

She nods slowly. "Yeah. Now you smile more. You laugh. You feel... lighter. It’s so different from the you I used to know."

Zeke chuckles, a little unsure. "Really? And how exactly was I before, in your eyes?"

Cassidy holds his gaze for a moment, her voice calm but honest. "You used to be closed off. Stoic. Like someone who had everything under control but never really let anyone in."

Zeke’s expression softens, a trace of guilt flashing in his eyes. "That bad, huh?"

Cassidy nods slightly, her voice quiet but sincere. "Yeah. That bad."

For a moment, silence lingers—then, unexpectedly, they both laugh.

After their laughter fades, Cassidy says softly, "I honestly never thought we’d be like this. Sitting together, even laughing together."

Zeke nods in agreement. "It’s all because of Claire," he says.

"Yeah. You’re right."

Zeke says, "It’s not just me who’s changed. You have too. You’re more open now, more expressive, softer, and more understanding."

Cassidy smiles faintly. "Becoming a mother changes a lot. And Claire, she helped me grow into someone better."

Zeke nods in understanding.

He then glances at his watch and says softly, "I should get going. You should rest."

"Okay." As usual, Cassidy walks him to the door. "Drive safe," she says, waving her hand in a casual goodbye.

Zeke gives her a small nod, his gaze lingering for a moment before he turns and walks away.

***

As Zeke steps out of Cassidy’s apartment building, Nolan suddenly approaches him with a tense look.

"Blake has found the driver, the one who hit Madam’s car."

Zeke’s face turns ice cold, his voice low and sharp. "Lead the way."

Nolan nods and walks swiftly toward his vehicle. A black SUV from Zeke’s security team moves to the front. Zeke gets into his own car, which is now sandwiched between two of his bodyguard vehicles, one leading, one trailing. Nolan drives ahead, guiding the convoy through the city.

They arrive at an old, run-down house hidden deep in the woods. The air feels heavy, thick with tension. Zeke steps out of his car and quickly follows Nolan toward the house. His steps are fast and focused. The other bodyguards stay alert, positioned around the perimeter like shadows ready to strike.

Inside, the scent of damp wood and sweat lingers. Blake stands near the doorway and straightens as soon as he sees Zeke.

"Boss," Blake greets with a respectful nod.

Zeke doesn’t waste time. "What did he say?"

Blake shifts uncomfortably. "He hasn’t talked yet, sir."

Zeke’s expression darkens instantly. His voice drops, simmering with anger. "You couldn’t get him to talk?"

Blake lowers his gaze, ashamed. "We pushed him hard. He still wouldn’t say a word... ended up biting his own tongue. He’s bleeding, but alive."

Zeke’s eyes blaze as his fury explodes. He slams his palm against the wall and growls through gritted teeth.

The impact scrapes his skin, his palm bleeds, red streaks running down his fingers. But he doesn’t flinch.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? You had one job!"

His voice rises, filled with anger.

"He ran over Cassidy and Claire and you let him bite his damn tongue?!" he shouts, eyes burning. "Are you kidding me?! Useless doesn’t even begin to cover it!"

His glare is blistering, venom lacing every word.

"You fix this. I don’t care how. I want answers and I want them now."

"Yes, sir. I understand."

Blake doesn’t try to defend himself, Zeke’s fury says it all. Without another word, he turns and walks out, already barking orders to the men outside, his steps quick and driven.

A few moments later, several men arrive, carrying a large drum of water and rolling it inside the old house.

Blake gives a curt nod. "Bring him in."

Two of the men drag the hit-and-run suspect forward. His head is covered with a black hood, his hands bound tight behind his back. Without a word, they force him to his knees beside the drum.

"Do it," Blake orders coldly.

Without hesitation, the men grip the suspect’s shoulders and shove his head into the water. His body jerks violently as he struggles, his neck straining, head thrashing side to side, desperate to break free. The muffled sound of choking and splashing fills the room, but no one moves to help. The air grows heavier with each passing second.

They yank his head out just as his body starts to go limp, water spilling from the edge of the hood as he gasps and coughs violently, sucking in air like a man drowning on dry land.

But they don’t wait long.

After only a few seconds, they shove his head back into the water. The same violent struggle returns, legs kicking, shoulders jerking, lungs desperate for air.

Then they pull him out again. He gasps and chokes, the wet hood clinging to his face, hiding his expression.

Again. And again.

Until the fight starts to drain from his body. His kicks slow. His strength fades. When they finally drag him out the last time, he slumps forward, coughing up water, trembling uncontrollably.

"I-I’ll... ta... talk..." he gasps, his voice weak and broken. The words come out messy and unclear because of his injured tongue, but they still understand what he means.

"I’ll... tell you... everything..."

He’s breathing hard, dripping wet, eyes wide with fear.

Blake, his face stone cold, says flatly, "Talk."

The man coughs, still gasping for breath, and mutters through his half-bitten tongue, "Detective... Adam Baker. He’s the one who told me... to do it."

Blake’s brow furrows. Zeke’s expression shifts, something dark and twisted flashes across his face.

Zeke turns sharply toward Blake. "What have you got on Baker?"

Blake hesitates, his jaw tight. "Nothing. His phone history’s clean. So is his bank account. Messages, calls, everything’s been wiped. We’ve had him followed. He hasn’t slipped. Not once."

Zeke’s gaze turns deadly. "Then dig deeper," he snaps. "Rip his life apart if you have to."

Blake hesitates for a moment before speaking, "He’s not just anyone. He’s a detective. If we go too far, it could backfire."

Zeke turns to him slowly, his voice cold and razor sharp. "Who signs your paycheck, Blake? The government, or me?"

Blake stays silent.

Zeke steps closer, his tone dropping even lower. "If you understand your job, then do it. No questions. No second guessing." He glares. "I don’t pay you to think. I pay you to get results."

Blake sighs and gives a silent nod, knowing better than to argue.

Without another word, Zeke storms out of the old house, Nolan trailing behind him.

He climbs into his car and slams the door shut. The engine starts with a loud growl. Zeke steps on the gas and speeds off, the tires kicking up dust as he drives away.

His jaw is tight, his hands gripping the wheel hard. He doesn’t say a word. He just drives, fast and angry, trying to calm the storm inside him.

***