I lay back into the seat, gazing out the clouds through the window of my private jet. I do not know how I feel exactly, but what I'm quite sure of is that I won't be afraid of Victor if I have to face him again. I've already been through the worst form of his physical and mental torture. I've seen horrors as a teenager whose half brother was nothing but a heartless sicko. He derives pleasure in inflicting pain on others.
Victor Young was much older — about six years older than I. Mother never knew that Father had a bastard son before marriage, until I turned eleven. On my eleventh birthday, after the party was over, Father brought a seventeen year old boy to our home to start living with us. There was too much quarrel and screams in our house that day that I didn't know what to do so I h
