16. Angrophobia

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♡Chapter dedicated to ifourssion

"Don't react, the damage is done. The police are coming too slow now.
I would have died.
I would have loved you all my life." Ryan Star

Rage was not a new emotion for Greg Whitaker

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Rage was not a new emotion for Greg Whitaker.

He had felt it before. An intense, boiling hatred that coursed through his veins, making him see flashes of red.

The last time he had felt this way, it was directed at his very own flesh and blood. His brother, who had abused Greg's kindness and hurt Aaron. Greg had only wanted to help Nihil, who had lost his job and had nowhere to go. Nihil had betrayed him in the worst way possible.

Back then, Greg had used his fists to release his anger, taking his rage out on the person who would dare harm his child. He used his brother as a punching bag.

This time, his fury was focused on more than just one person. Michael Ray Stevens. Anna Baker. The entire list of employees at Hillhurst Pharmaceuticals.

He would kill them all if he had to. The way he had wanted to kill Nihil before Helen pulled him off. If it would bring his son home, he would tear the entire company to shreds with his bare hands.

He didn't realise he had ripped the newspaper in half until he glanced down at the crumpled pieces in his shaking hands. Anna Baker's smiling face leered up at him, a red flag to a raging bull. As though she was challenging him to come and find her.

And he would.

He would use his anger as a weapon, pointing it at anyone who dared to get in his way.

Helen was still asleep upstairs, oblivious to the bombshell that had arrived on their doorstep this morning, courtesy of the Redstone Register. He had insisted she take a sleeping pill last night, desperate for her to escape their awful reality for a while. Greg had not slept a wink, instead keeping vigil in the lounge. He had paced across it so many times that he was surprised he had not worn a hole in their antique rug.

He didn't bother waking her up. Or leaving a note. In fact, he was grateful that she wasn't there to try and talk him out of what he was about to do.

He dropped the pieces of newspaper on the floor, stepping over them on his way to the door. Stopping only to grab his car keys from the side table, he slammed the door closed behind him.

It took him two attempts to put his keys in the ignition and start the car. He had to get a grip on his shaking hands. Pressing his foot on the accelerator, he reversed out of their driveway too fast, sending one of their trashcans flying. He didn't stop. He didn't look back. He just kept going, racing as though he could outrun death.

The smell of burning rubber trailed him like perfume and it was only as he arrived in the parking lot of Hillhurst Pharmaceuticals that he realised he had left his handbrake on the entire way. He didn't care, didn't even bother closing the door behind him as he ran up the steps and through the entrance.

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