He Found My Secret Revenge

The sound of Chad's expensive watch band creaking under the pressure was sickeningly loud in the quiet parking lot.

Earl didn't move his body. He just squeezed. His hand engulfed Chad's wrist completely, his knuckles white, the tendons in his forearm standing out like steel cables.

"Ah! Fuck! Let go!" Chad's knees buckled. He dropped to the pavement, forced down by the sheer, crushing pressure on his joint. "Do you know who I am?"

Earl stared at him. His expression was bored. Detached. As if he were holding a bag of trash, not a Vice President.

"I don't care," Earl said.

"You-you brute!" Tiffany shrieked. She swung her handbag-a quilted Chanel-at Earl. It hit his shoulder with a dull thud.

Earl didn't even blink. He didn't flinch. He didn't acknowledge her existence. He just kept crushing Chad's wrist.

"Earl," Faith whispered.

The sound of her voice seemed to pierce through the red haze surrounding him.

She tugged on the back of his coat. "Earl, stop. Please. You'll break it. And the PR nightmare isn't worth it."

Earl looked down at her. The violence in his eyes receded, replaced by a flicker of calculation. He looked back at Chad, sneered, and released him with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

Chad collapsed against the side of his Porsche, cradling his hand. He was gasping for air, his face a mottled red. He looked up, furious, ready to scream a lawsuit.

Then he saw the face of the man who had crushed him.

Chad's face went from red to a sickly, paste white in a millisecond. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

"Mr... Mr. Hampton?" Chad whispered, his voice trembling.

Earl reached into his pocket. He didn't pull out a card. He pulled out a sleek, black titanium phone. He tapped the screen twice.

"Miller," Earl said, his voice dropping the temperature in the parking lot by another ten degrees. "You're the VP of Logistics, correct?"

"Yes... yes, sir," Chad stammered, trying to stand up but failing.

"Not anymore," Earl said. "You're terminated. Effective immediately. For conduct unbecoming of a Hampton executive. And for touching my... associate."

Chad gaped. "But... Sir, I didn't know... She's just..."

"Leave," Earl commanded.

Chad didn't argue. He scrambled into the driver's seat of the Porsche, shoving a bewildered Tiffany into the passenger side. The engine roared, and the red car peeled out of the lot as if the devil himself were snapping at its tires.

Earl turned his back on them completely. He looked at Faith.

"Your car is dead," he said.

Faith looked at the Corolla. The bumper was hanging off. Fluid was leaking onto the ground. "It's... it might start."

"The radiator is cracked," Earl said. "Leave it. I'll have it towed to a shop I know."

"Earl, I can't-"

"Get in the car."

He gestured to the vehicle parked in the shadows behind him. It wasn't a truck. It was a blacked-out Cadillac Escalade, armored plating visible around the window frames, the kind of vehicle used by heads of state.

Faith looked at the SUV. She looked at the empty spot where Chad had been.

Then she looked at Earl. He was solid. He was safe. Or at least, he was a known danger compared to the chaos of her life.

"Okay," she said.

She climbed into the passenger seat of the Escalade. It was high up. The leather smelled of sandalwood and tobacco. The door closed with a solid, reassuring thunk, sealing out the wind and the voices.

Earl walked around the front. He moved with a slight limp, a reminder of the shrapnel she had just pulled out of him, but his face betrayed nothing.

Then he got in.

The engine roared to life. A deep, refined purr.

Earl pulled out of the spot.

Faith let out a breath she felt like she'd been holding for twenty minutes. Her hands were shaking in her lap.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "But you shouldn't have done that. Chad is... vindictive. He knows people on the Board."

Earl's hands were relaxed on the steering wheel. "I am the Board, Faith."

"Not if they vote you out. You know the rumors. They say your grip is slipping."

Earl reached over. He took her hand. His palm was warm, rough, and enormous. He engulfed her cold fingers.

"Faith," he said. He glanced at her, his eyes serious. "Nobody is going to fire me. And nobody is going to touch you. Not while I'm breathing."

"You can't promise that. You have enemies, Earl. That shrapnel in your leg proves it."

"I can," he said. "I promise."

He turned the SUV onto the main avenue.

"Where are we going?" Faith asked.

"You need food," Earl said. "And we need to talk. Somewhere where you can't run away. We have contract terms to discuss."

Faith looked out the window at the passing city lights. She should be terrified. She was in a billionaire's armored car, a man who had just fired a VP with his bare hands.

But as his thumb brushed over her knuckles, she didn't feel fear.

She felt a terrifying sense of inevitability.

And that terrified her more than anything.