Revenge

CHAPTER ONE

Night time was falling fast as I stand on the balcony to my Fathers' estate. Despite my age, I was still attached to him and wasn't allowed my own residence, only my own wing in his homes which consisted of a large bedroom, living quarters, bathroom and Office. Despite it only being me that occupied the space, it was too big. I shouldn't moan though, it was my refuge and I had privacy. It's not dark enough yet for the stars to come out, but enough for the lights that pave the gravel drive to be on and cast shadows. It all looks lonely and dreary, like me although I am surrounded by people.

With hands on the cold metal railings I bow my head and close my eyes, thinking about the reason I live this horrible life. Some would say suck it up, I have a secure job and good money; more than necessary, while others' would say run, get far away. I've considered the later, but that comes at a cost; probably my life. There is no running. I was born 22 years ago for this and worked all my life for it. There is no freedom for me, only death which I refuse. I live for one sole purpose and that's Samuel McIntyre. I may not have seen him for the best part of 4 years, but I know he's out there and that's enough for me.

"Dominique" my Father calls from the room, making me turn to face the cause of my nightmare.

Standing around 6 foot, a few inches shorter than me and sharing the same strong build were the only similarities between us, apart from the strong nose. Looking at us, you wouldn't think Father and Son unless told so. His hair was a light, greying brown and receding, where mine was pure black. His face was oval with cold grey blue eyes, where my deep brown eyes sat in a square face and my lips were fuller. Our complexions were different too; I had a natural tan that came from my Mother's side I always assume. I never knew her, her only purpose in my life was to carry me and give birth. I often wondered about that and whether she'd want and love me, everything my Father didn't. The only thing he wanted from me was someone to follow in his footsteps.

With hands in the dark grey pants to my three piece suit, I lean against the plastic door frame and looked at the said man who I rarely refer to as 'Father', choosing to use his given name. I don't bother to grace him with an answer, only my emotionless stare which he catches as he finishes off buttoning up his Navy suit jacket.

"We're leaving now" the demand in his favoured Danish, the language of his heritage. I hate it, preferring to speak English, or Spanish when speaking to the staffs.

My only response is to follow him out the room and to the car waiting outside. He's used to this behaviour from me, so he doesn't question it. Our usual interactions are business based or disagreements. As a young child I loved my Father and tried to capture his attention like kids do. By the time I was a teenager I knew it was futile and had started to rebel. In the end I gave up and got pleasure from doing what I could to piss him off and make his life hell. It wasn't a phase I grew out of; it was part of life.

I sit opposite my Father at the round, low glass table that's surrounded by black leather cushioned seating and between a few business associates of the Organisation. I listen to them discuss business and the latest results in dealing with drug dealers, traffickers and a corrupt Police Official and what comes next, but I remain relatively silent. I'm only there to sit in the shadows, my input is never important. The only importance I have is dealing with what they command me and doing it as quickly and discreetly as possible.

We sit in the VIP area, separated from others for privacy in one of my Fathers' famous strip clubs. We have a good view of the male and female dancers doing their stuff around poles. It's a side line business to keep legit taxes paid and the focus off of our real business. My side line business is property; acquiring run down places and turning them into affordable apartments.