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He'd begin the process to take Carl Drew Stanton out of the club, and he'd do it as painfully for the other man as possible.
And one of these days, he swore, he'd show that son of a bitch how it felt to be backhanded across the face. And he'd add a punch just for the sheer pleasure of it. If he weren't careful, once he got started on the spineless little bastard he might not stop.
Drew Stanton had backhanded his pretty, delicate wife, and Chase wanted to kill him for it. The club had rules against this. No club member abused his wife, period, neither sexually nor physically. Those women were the basis for their greatest pleasure, for their satisfaction. They were not to be harmed.
And Drew had dared to hit his wife.
His teeth clenched as anger surged inside him, dark and savage. An anger he fought to keep contained, simply because there were other emotions, just as intense, just as dark, that came with it.
As he left the penthouse he drew in a hard, savage breath and promised himself he was going to stay as far away from that woman as possible. Because she made him want, and what he wanted, he knew, she could never give him.
He watched, and he considered what he saw. Chase Falladay wasn't a man known for his weaknesses, and he wasn't a man known for his stupidity. He had proved that many times, over and over again. He was a man who would be very hard to destroy.
Destroying Chase was imperative. Bringing him to his knees, forcing him to suffer. That was all that mattered.
But where was the best place to strike?
At the brother, perhaps? The brother was no better. Cameron Falladay was as much a bl