My Sworn Brother Was Tortured,But I Am the God of Thunder!

"Mortals... they're truly terrifying..."

Tears spilled from my eyes before I could stop them.

I was the Thunder Lord, for heaven's sake. A hot-tempered god with a reputation across all Nine Heavens. And I'd let my sworn brother suffer like this in the mortal world.

"Don't be scared. I'm taking you home."

I eased the tubes from his back as gently as I could, then pressed a wad of sterile gauze hard against the wound.

I'd barely gotten him upright when a stampede of footsteps erupted outside the door.

"Nobody move!"

Quinton Harding, the eldest son of the Harding family, stood in the doorway flanked by a wall of armed bodyguards.

He wore a tailored suit, and behind those gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes radiated the cold arrogance of a man who'd never been told no.

The moment he saw me propping Thomas up, his brow knotted into a vicious scowl.

"Reginald Dunn? A thug from some two-bit gang dares break into my family's estate?"

"Do you have any idea what you've done? One phone call. That's all it takes to wipe every last one of your crew off the map."

I let out a cold laugh and passed Thomas to Bruno behind me.

"Bruno, get him to the car. There's a first-aid kit inside."

Bruno took Thomas under his arm and started toward the exit, but Quinton's bodyguards closed ranks and blocked them solid.

Quinton kept his hands in his pockets, voice dripping with contempt. "Put him down. He belongs to the Harding family. If he dies, he dies under our roof."

"I don't care what kind of stunt you're pulling, Reginald. Take your lowlife crew and get out. Now."

Before I could respond, Vivian, who'd been lying on the hospital bed, suddenly broke into pitiful sobs.

He kicked off the covers and ran barefoot to Quinton's side, latching onto his arm.

"Quinton, please don't blame Reggie. This is all my fault!"

"I shouldn't have gotten sick. I shouldn't have needed Thomas's bone marrow... If Reggie insists on taking him, then just let me die!"

He stood there in an oversized white hospital gown, eyes red and swollen, swaying like he might collapse at any second.

Quinton immediately pulled him close, his glare cutting back to me twice as sharp.

"You hear that, Reginald? Vivian is this kind and selfless, and your so-called brother is that selfish? It's just a little bone marrow. Instead of giving back, he goes running to gangsters to trash our home!"

Irene snapped out of her shock and jabbed a finger in my face, shrieking.

"Where is that ungrateful little animal? We spent twenty years searching for him! We fed him, clothed him, and now that we ask him to repay even a fraction of what this family gave him, he plays dead!"

"Nobody takes him out of here until we've gotten every last drop of marrow we need!"

I looked at this shameless family and laughed. The kind of laugh that comes when fury circles all the way back around to amusement.

"Repay you?"

I stepped forward and raised my hand.

CRACK.

The slap connected flush across Vivian's two-faced mouth. I put everything I had behind it.

Vivian launched off his feet, sailed a good six feet, and slammed into the hospital bed. His lip split on impact, blood streaming down his chin.

"Ahhh! My face!" He clutched his cheek and screamed.

Dead silence.

Quinton's eyes went wide, as if his brain couldn't process that someone had just struck a man on his turf.

"You're dead, Reginald!" Quinton roared and lunged at me.

I raised one foot and drove it straight into his kneecap.

The crack of bone was crisp and clean. The mighty firstborn of the Harding dynasty dropped to his knees in front of me.

"You want to talk rules?" I grabbed a fistful of his hair and wrenched his head back so he had no choice but to look me in the eye.

"Let me teach you how rules work where I come from."

I backhanded him across the face. Half a tooth spun through the air and clattered to the floor.