Evil MC's NTR Harem

The taunt was delivered with the precision of a blade. Derek's face twisted in indignation, but his words caught in his throat. Ross didn't give him time to respond.

His gaze shifted to Brandon, who didn't wait for a single word of instruction. He didn't need one. The unspoken bond between master and subordinate was clear: it was time to teach Derek a lesson.

Brandon moved with a predator's grace, his heavy boots thudding ominously against the concrete floor. Derek's bravado crumbled as fear flashed in his eyes, but before he could retreat, it was too late.

Bang!

The first punch landed with a sickening thud, sending Derek sprawling.

"Wait! Please, we can talk about this!" Derek begged, his earlier arrogance replaced with desperation. But Brandon did not listen to his words at all. He instead gifted him with another heavy gift.

Bang!

Another blow cut him off, his plea drowned out by the crack of bone and the dull echo in the room.
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"Talk?" Ross mocked, leaning against the wall with an air of detached amusement.

"You've got nothing to offer me, Derek. But hey, keep begging—it's entertaining."

Bang!

Brandon's fists rained down with brutal precision, each strike calculated but merciless. Derek's cries grew weaker, his resistance fading.

The beating dragged on, the minutes stretching into what felt like an eternity for Derek. Ross watched it all, his cold smile never wavering.

"You should've thought twice before crossing me," Ross murmured, his voice a chilling whisper that sliced through the bloodied silence.

He crouched down to meet Derek's swollen battered bloody face, his tone laced with venom.

"You thought you could steal my woman, just like you've stolen so many others. You've used your family name to charm or coerce, and when that didn't work, you resorted to kidnapping. Tell me, Derek, how many lives have you ruined because you thought you were untouchable?"

Derek whimpered, his shattered jaw unable to form words, but the fear in his blue eyes spoke volumes.

"You're scum," Ross continued, his smirk curling into something darker.

"Nothing more than a parasite who feeds on others. I don't usually concern myself with cleansing filth like you from the world, but you had the audacity to come to me. Right to my doorstep. Call it fate, divine retribution, or just plain bad luck—whatever it is, you'll regret ever laying eyes on Sophia."

Ross rose to his full height, towering over Derek like a vengeful god. He gave a slight nod to Brandon, who needed no further instruction. With silent precision, Brandon resumed his work.

Bang!

The sound of fists meeting flesh echoed through the room, each blow delivered with cold, deliberate cruelty. Derek's cries, once defiant and full of bluster, had diminished to weak, pitiful whimpers.

An hour later, the proud, arrogant Derek was unrecognizable. His once-handsome face, the feature he had used to charm and manipulate, was now a grotesque ruin.

His jaw hung at an unnatural angle, and his cheeks were swollen to twice their size. His lips were split and bloodied, his skin a patchwork of bruises and lacerations.

Every one of his teeth had been shattered or knocked out, Brandon's methodical brutality ensuring no corner of Derek's smug grin remained intact.

His body bore the same punishment—ribs cracked, arms bruised, legs barely able to twitch. Derek's groans of pain were soft, nearly drowned out by the ragged sound of his breathing.

Yet, despite the utter devastation, Derek's piercing blue eyes remained untouched. They shone vividly, undamaged, like cruel reminders of his former self. This, too, was by Ross's design.

"Leave the eyes," Ross had ordered Brandon, his voice calm and unyielding.

"Let him see. Let him remember. And let him cry for what is to come later tonight."

His lungs and nose were similarly spared. Ross didn't want Derek dying here—not yet. Death was too merciful, too final.

Derek needed to live with his shame, his suffering, and the knowledge that this was only the beginning.

Derek slumped onto the blood-soaked mattress, barely conscious but still alive. His body trembled, wracked with pain, and every shallow breath felt like knives slicing through his chest.

He blinked slowly, his uninjured eyes fixing on Ross with a mix of terror and hatred.

Ross leaned over him, his voice low but dripping with malice.

"You think this is over? No, Derek. This is just the beginning. You'll wish I had killed you here and now, but I'm not done with you yet. You're going to pay for every woman you've hurt, for every life you've destroyed—and most of all, for daring to think you could take what's mine."

Derek's throat worked as though he wanted to speak, but the pain silenced him. He could only tremble, his mind racing with thoughts of what Ross might do next.

"Now that I've set you up perfectly for the grand presentation, it's time to prepare for the finale," Ross said, his voice calm and almost cheerful, as though he were planning a party rather than orchestrating a cruel display.

His eyes gleamed with malice as he glanced at Derek, whose groans had become a pathetic background noise.

Brandon, ever the efficient enforcer, moved without a word. His towering frame cast a shadow over Derek's broken body as he retrieved a heavy wooden chair from the corner of the room.

The sound of the chair's legs scraping against the floor echoed ominously, a prelude to the next act in Ross's carefully orchestrated plan.

He turned back to Derek, who was barely conscious, his head lolling to one side. Despite being a tall man—at least six foot five—Derek looked pitiful in his current state.

Brandon lifted him with ease, his powerful arms treating Derek like nothing more than a sack of potatoes.

"Ahhhh…" Derek groaned, his voice weak and rasping, as Brandon dropped him into the chair without an ounce of care or emotion.

His head snapped forward, and he gasped for air as Brandon's grip momentarily tightened around his neck.