"Tomorrow I'm going to the courthouse with Shirley. She's far more obedient and forgiving than you'll ever be. She's more fit to be Mrs. Sanchez!"
"You like using your hands so much? Then I'll destroy them. Someone get over here and smash her fingers, one by one. Let's see if she ever dares touch Shirley again!"
I was pinned to the floor. Two heavy boots crushed down on my arms, locking them in place.
Shirley tossed aside the towel she'd been drying her face with and flashed me a victor's smile.
George walked over with a small iron hammer, lined it up with my fingers, and raised it high.
Just as the hammer was about to come crashing down, the banquet hall doors exploded inward with a deafening boom.
Denys Mason's face emerged into view—chiseled, striking, almost otherworldly in its perfection.
Behind him stood over a hundred former mercenaries in tight formation, disciplined and lethal. Every single one of them wore the Mason family's signature crest pinned to their lapels.
In the next instant, every person in the room shot to their feet, gasping in unison.
"Mr. Mason—what brings you here?!"
