Chapter 392

Sherwood had been restrained, but the cuffs around his wrists did little to hide the animal beneath.His hands were balled into fists behind his back, veins standing out on knuckles like cords, and his face was a savage mask of rage-ready to rip, to tear. "I should have made that wretched Verena die the day she came back! She ruined everything. If not for her,the Sampson asset would already be mine!"

Luis felt heat spike through him at the insult toward his sister. He opened his mouth to strike back, but Isaac moved first-a dark blur cutting the space between them.

Isaac had been quiet until that moment; now his eyes burned cold, narrowed to a hardness that promised harm.

He stepped forward and the toe of his polished shoe hammered down onto Sherwood's chest.

The impact landed with a dull thud and the sharp hiss of fabric ripping. The two officers holding Sherwood staggered from the force, cuffs screeching against the ground.

Sherwood went airborne like a ragdoll, his back slamming into a rusted container; flakes of orange metal floated down around him.

He curled inward, seized by convulsions, each breath a ragged wheeze-as if death itself were peering in.

A couple of officers exchanged uncertain looks.

The commanding officer's hand tightened on his holster, but he didn't draw.

"Mr. Bennett-this is against protocol..." a young constable began, voice thin with the urge to do the right thing. But the commanding officer clamped a firm hand on his arm and leaned in close with a shake of his head.

"Don't be an idiot. This man's connections will drown this precinct in lawsuits by tomorrow. He hasn't crossed a line we can't paper over-just watch and keep your head down."

Who,in that charged instant,wanted the fallout?

Nobody.Everyone knew Bennett Group's roots were everywhere-political, financial, the kind that made a precinct think twice before acting. A rash move today could mean a storm of legal thunder by morning.

Isaac advanced on Sherwood, his jaw locked in a hard line,menace carved into every angle of his face. "You dare speak of Verena like that?" He reached down and hauled Sherwood upright by the collar until the man had no choice but to look him in the face. "If she hadn't insisted on letting the law do its work, do you think you'd still be breathing? Letting you live was mercy you don't deserve. Insult her again and I'll give you the lesson you seem to need-right here." Isaac ground out the words through teeth.

Sherwood's sweat-matted hair clung to his forehead;his eyes rolled white at the rims, fever-bright.

For a second he stared at Isaac's stern face, then at Luis, muscles twitching beneath his skin. Then he began to laugh-thin, high, and cracking at the edges."Isaac, you think I don't see through you? Luis, don't be fooled by appearances. Isaac didn't come to Ochrerayd for love. He left everything in Shoildon-businesses, interests-to wade into this... mess. Do you honestly think it's only for Verena?"

He found footing with an elbow and propped himself up,gaze ping-ponging between the two. "Mark my words: today it's me with an eye on Sampson Group;tomorrow it could be Isaac. You know about Bennett Group's aggressive acquisitions over the years. They have even swallowed three old financial giants 'conglomerates. And you really believe they have no designs on Sampson Group? Come on, don't be so naive!"

His hoarse laughter ricocheted off the corrugated skeleton of the abandoned steel plant, cut through by the thin keening of police sirens. "Once he smooth-talks Verena, you'll be losing your company next.When the one at your side stabs you, that's when you'll see I told the truth today-"

He never finished. Isaac's shoe slammed into Sherwood's shoulder with a brutal, precise force that sent a gust through the metal container and a heavy thud rolling across the concrete.

Sherwood crumpled, a ragged heap against a slick pool of his own blood. The strobes of the patrol cars lit his distorted features into a ghastly flipbook of pain and rage.

Isaac stood over him, watching him squirm. "Even now,you're trying to turn us against each other?"

A cold, humorless chuckle escaped Isaac. "The Sampson family's affairs aren't my concern. I'm here to deal with scumbags like you. I don't meddle in their private wars-"

He paused, leaned in close until his breath fogged Sherwood's ear. "But before you die, you can start rehearsing how you'll explain those shady ledgers."

Behind Isaac, Luis was a study in composed menace,a long shadow folded around him. The glasses masked the glitter in his gaze, but the chill behind them was a bottomless pool.

He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, and regarded Sherwood with a thin, contemptuous smile.

"The Sampson business is none of your concern.You spent years believing you'd outsmarted everyone. In the end you were performing for an empty house."

For a moment his face softened; Verena's image passed through his eyes. "If Verena wants Sampson Group," he said, measured and almost tender, "I'll hand it to her."

Then the softness snapped back into steel. His gaze cut Sherwood. "As for me? I ask for nothing more than a scrap to keep me fed."

Sherwood's stare snapped between Isaac and Luis, wild and unhinged, veins standing out at his temples.

A brittle laugh tore free-more death rattle than amusement. "So that's it? You two, united?"

He fixed them with a stare that was all hate and a lifetime of grudges, voice rising in hysteria."I regret not finishing you when you were fledglings! I regret not putting Luis down sooner, not keeping lsaac in Shoildon.And Verena-"

His voice shredded into a rasp,eyes bloodshot and wild. "I should have strangled her in a cradle. I should have never let my plans be ruined!"

Isaac barely listened to his ranting. He inclined his head toward the officers waiting in the shadows. "Take him away."

Two officers moved in with practiced efficiency and lifted Sherwood. For a heartbeat, Daren-still trembling from adrenaline-tore free,lunging with a raw, animal roar. "I'm not done! Isaac! Luis! Just you wait-"

But the officers flattened him without drama before he could finish.

He hit the concrete with a clatter and began to ram his skull against the ground, each strike more desperate than the last.

Meanwhile, Sherwood, limp and muttering, was borne past them like a broken marionette. His hair fell in a filthy curtain over his face; even as he was carried,he kept whispering the same brittle word: regret.

Regret for the plans that had unraveled,for the power that slipped through his fingers, for the puppets that had turned their strings on him.

His carefully spun web of schemes lay in shreds, and all he could do was watch from behind iron bars as the wealth and power he once clutched bled away into nothing.

As the officers marched him toward the idling cruiser,Luis' voice floated down, quiet but sharp as ice.

"You'll have plenty of time to regret what you've done in prison."