Just My Hockey Roommate’s Filthy Desires by Esther Pen novel Chapter 310

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Chapter 310

GABRIEL’S POV

The rain had tapered off into a thick, grimy fog that hung low over the stagnant, oily waters of the riverbank, swallowing the concrete pillars of the old shipping piers whole.

I stood in the cold, windowless shadows of an abandoned textile warehouse on the far eastern edge of the industrial district. Before me sat a multi–screen tactical rig, set up haphazardly over two heavy wooden shipping crates.

The primary monitors flickered with live, high–definition security feeds, intercepting high–frequency traffic from the city’s private municipal networks, cellular towers, and automated traffic grids.

On the leftmost screen, a satellite tracking feed focused squarely on the grand entrance of the Sterling estate. A three–car armored motorcade was pulling out through the tall wrought–iron gates, splitting into two distinct routes once they reached the main avenue.

One convoy headed north toward the elite private academy where Amelia was enrolled; the other swung west toward the financial district, delivering Aria to her late father’s corporate building.

A faint, bitter laugh escaped my throat, echoing against the damp corrugated iron walls.

“Look at him,” I muttered to the empty room, watching the lead vehicle carrying Brandon’s security detail on the thermal monitor.

“The legendary Phantom Don, reduced to running school bus routes and escort details for a woman and a child that is not even his. He thinks putting three inches of armored glass and kevlar between them and the world will save him from what is coming.”

The heavy wooden door at the rear of the warehouse creaked loudly, scraping against the damp concrete floor and kicking up a cloud of stagnant dust.

Julian Vance stepped inside, shaking the cold drizzle from the dark collar of his stained wool jacket. He looked utterly pathetic. The once–arrogant, pristine heir to the Vance fortune was now a hollow, broken shell of a

man.

His expensive suit was rumpled and dirt–stained, his posture slouched in permanent defeat, and his dark eyes bloodshot from cheap liquor and desperate nights spent hiding in low–end taverns.

“You took your sweet time getting here,” I said, my voice cold, raspy, and completely devoid of warmth as I kept my gaze fixed on the glowing tactical monitors.

Julian flinched at my tone, pulling his wet jacket tighter around his narrow chest as he walked slowly over to the crates, his shoes squeaking against the wet cement.

“The streets are crawling with police cars and Sterling’s private security patrols. I had to take three different alleyways and two double–backs just to make sure I wasn’t being followed.”

“If you were followed, you wouldn’t be standing here talking to me,” I replied, turning my head slowly to look at him, letting the harsh light of the monitors illuminate the long, pale surgical scar running down my neck.

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My Hockey Roommate’s Filthy Desires

“You would already have a bullet in the back of your skull courtesy of Marcus or Dominic.”

Julian swallowed hard, his throat moving nervously as his hands trembled slightly. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a worn silver flask, unscrewing the cap with shaking fingers.

He took a long, desperate swig before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes darting around the dark, cavernous warehouse.

“Why did you call me here?” Julian asked, his voice laced with an edge of defensive paranoia and rising fear. “I gave you the internal access codes for the Vance Group’s old black–market ledger like you asked. I don’t have anything left to offer, Gabriel. My father is ruined, Leonie is behind bars in a maximum–security facility, and Brandon has taken every single piece of property that was supposed to be mine.”

“Not everything,” I murmured softly, taking a slow, deliberate step toward him until my shadow fell completely over his slouched frame.

“Aria is still breathing. She is sitting in her executive suite right now, running her father’s company and building an empire on the very ground your family used to control. And every night, she goes home to the man who put your father in a cell and stripped your name of its power.”

Julian’s eyes flashed with a sudden, toxic rage, his knuckles turning stark white as he gripped the silver flask so tightly the metal groaned. “Don’t talk about her.”

“Why not?” I taunted, letting a slow, manipulative smile touch my scarred face. “Because it burns to know that she chose him over you? Because you know that as long as Brandon Sterling draws breath, you will always be a forgotten ghost scraping for scraps in the gutter while he plays the heroic patriarch?”

“She was supposed to be mine,” Julian spat out, his voice cracking with a horrifying mixture of desperation, entitlement, and unhinged pride. “If Brandon hadn’t stepped in with his billions and his private army of killers, Aria would still be with me. She belongs with me. She was always meant to be mine.”

“I can give her back to you, Julian,” I lied smoothly, leaning in close until my voice was barely more than a persuasive, venomous whisper in the quiet space.

“I don’t care about Aria. I don’t care about her father’s company, or her reputation, or her future. I want Brandon Sterling broken. I want him to watch every single thing he built crumble into bloody ashes before I finally put a bullet between his eyes.”

Julian searched my face, his fractured mind torn between his lingering, delusional obsession with Aria and the raw, suffocating terror of crossing Brandon again. “What do you want me to do?”

“Your father’s company built the supply chain infrastructure and digital network for Aria’s father years ago,” I said, turning back to the primary terminal and bringing up a high–resolution, multi–layered blueprint of her corporate headquarters.

“You still know the backdoors to their secure secondary servers. You know the vendor access codes, the delivery schedules, the security rotas, and the sub–basement maintenance routes. Give me those master protocols.”

“If I give you those, you’re going to strike her building,” Julian said, his breathing hitching as a momentary flicker of hesitation touched his eyes. “I won’t let you hurt her. I told you, I want her back, not dead.”

My Hockey Roommate’s Filthy Desires

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