Wallstreet God (The House Of Creed Book 1) by D.M. Burns

Author:D.M. Burns [Burns, D.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-09-20T04:00:00+00:00

chapter 20

brogan

Stalking behind Channing silently, I follow my demon brother from another mother with great restraint in every secret stride. I contemplate murdering his massive ass with wild like animalist eagerness.

The impulse to jerk him up off the wet sidewalk, flinging him about abruptly with malice intent behind my every action is profound. The futuristic visual I have, consists of bouncing him off the aging brick buildings until blood covers every inch of his body. Then I’ll finish him off between the nasty ass structures leaving him in a final resting place of a shit covered alleyway. He’s not the only one with future planning and plotting abilities.

Not so surprisingly, Channing doesn’t return to the bar, no. That fucker’s plan was to get close to Brealyn. My controlling and protective instincts are unparallel when it comes to her. For the most part of the night, I’ve been right by her side until now. Try not to judge me too harshly. This shit is new for me.

I’m not at all understanding of my newfound stalking and psychopathic ways. It’s unfamiliar territory. I’ve never given a shit nor felt connected to someone like I do her. Hell, come to think of it, I’ve never been attached to anything other than statistic sheets. No dog. No cat. No pet fishes. Not even a god damn gerbil, nothing.

Rationalizing my mad behavior and or comprehending it is out. I’ll try to break it down later, much later. For now, walking this bastard home is my focus. It’s going to fulfill those other fundamental requirements that I have. Mainly my hostile desire to break his bones if I don’t get my obsessive thoughts under control real quick.

After about thirty minutes, he turns down a well-known elite side street that I’m awfully familiar with. The immaculate street post lighting illuminates and lines each side beautifully. It’s a well-established, more prominent, and privileged side of town that corners up with the housing for the affluent assholes such as myself. It’s exactly where I’ve known him to reside ever since he materialized in my boardroom last week.

When Channing turns and enters the Westinghouse Building, I follow right behind as the doorman nods him in. The asshole doesn’t even acknowledge the elderly man’s existence. His manners are shit. I accidentally stick my foot out watching the bastard trip up and fall flat on his ass. Tile to face action is a beautiful thing, for him.

“Oh, Mr. Creed. Are you okay sir?” The elderly man attempts to help him off the floor while swiping the non-existent wrinkles out of Channing’s coat. I smile deviously while crossing my hands over my chest watching this shit show playout. That asshole is deserving.

“Yes, Frederick. I’m fine. Thank you.” Channing looks behind him and frowns at the tile like it wronged him in some type of way. No, asshole. That was me, you punk-ass bitch. “Have a good evening,” Channing says as he rakes his hand through his hair continuing for the elevator and I fall back into step behind him.

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