“Ungrateful brat!” he hissed, releasing Alex’s throat long enough to slap him across the face.  It was the same spot he’d struck earlier, first with his hand, then with the belt… now his hand, again.  It was bound to leave a nasty, dark bruise, but Richard didn’t care.  He usually did, because hurting a face that pretty wasn’t right, and he couldn’t very well let his son go sporting those obvious injuries in public.  Now that he’d decided to keep him at home always, there was less to worry about.  It was still a shame to mar a face that perfect, but it would eventually heal.  “After everything I’ve done for you!  Everything I’ve given you!”  His hand went right back to Alex’s throat and he squeezed hard, ramming hard into his son to vent his anger.  “You’re<i>mine</i>!”<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>Meanwhile, Andreas had finished taking care of another member of the security team he hadn’t planned on meeting up with.  There were more than he’d anticipated.  Did that mean Dick was home?  He sighed and made his way upstairs.  He could hear noises off and on from one area, but he did the wise thing and checked the rest of the upstairs first before heading that way.  It took longer than he’d have liked, and when he peeked in through the doorway, the assassin was wishing he’d have been able to hurry a little more.<br/><br/>Inside was Alex, stripped down and pinned to a pretty bed, the man above him full of rage.  He was transported back several years, remembering that fateful day when he’d angered his master beyond repair.  He’d been tortured and raped for days, starved and deprived of sleep.  At the end, he’d been promised forgiveness… and his master’s own twisted idea of love.<i>Please, Master… no more,</i>he’d begged.  That had only sent the man into another furious tantrum.  That was the day his master tried to kill him.<br/><br/>That’s exactly what he was seeing in that moment, Richard Tramdan fucking his own son even as he strangled him, either not caring whether or not he murdered Alex or not in enough control to stop himself.  Andreas pulled a gun and leveled it on the asshole.<br/><br/>“Get the hell off him, you sick bastard,” he warned.  All the light was out of his eyes, anything that spoke of compassion gone.  Andreas was often accused of being soulless by his colleagues, a demon of some kind, and in that moment he looked the part.