Chapter Fourteen
Hollis
The bed dipped under my weight, the springs groaning like they were sharing in my dread. I’d played this moment over and over in my head, each scenario more nightmarish than the last. Talking to Riot, The Butcher of Raven’s Vale, about our child and my fears -- shit, it was like wrapping my neck with a noose.
“Spit it out, Hollis.” Riot leaned against the wall, arms folded as he stared at me.
His shadow stretched across the floorboards, reaching for me like the fingers of death. I craned my neck to look up at him, feeling like prey cornered by a predator too used to the taste of blood. Actually, that was pretty accurate.
“Riot,” I started, hating how my voice trembled, “we need to talk. It’s important.”
“Important?” He loomed closer, his eyes two shards of ice. “Last I checked, you don’t decide what’s important.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, hard as a damn gravestone. “Believe me, this is.”
I sucked in a lungful of air, finding a shred of steel in my resolve. “Like the doctor said, I’m pregnant, Riot. And I’m scared shitless about how you’ll deal with a baby who’s crying.”
His reaction was immediate -- a gut punch of raw fury. His face contorted into something dark and terrible. It was like looking death in the face. His hands curled into fists, knuckles bone-white.
“Shut up.” The command was sharp and left no room for argument. But he stayed rooted, listening. There was an edge there, a razor-thin line between curiosity and contempt as he took in my shaking form. Maybe I could still make him listen, to understand. I knew it was risky. After all, he didn’t know a thing about human emotions.
I sat there, trembling from the inside out, bracing myself against the storm I saw brewing in his eyes. His fists were tight, but his eyes -- narrowed into unforgiving slits -- were fixed on me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t piece together.
“Riot, it’s more than just the crying. It’s… what if they end up like me? Bruised. Broken.” I paused, trying to figure out how to say everything I needed to say without making him angry. “Your kid doesn’t deserve to live in hell. I want to give them a better life than either of us had.”
For a moment, the room felt so still I was scared to even breathe. The man before me, “The Butcher” of Raven’s Vale, seemed to teeter on the edge of comprehension and chaos. A shiver crawled up my spine, knowing I was dancing with the devil.
“Say it again,” he said, low and dangerous, yet there was something beneath the surface. Confusion? Uncertainty?
“Your child, Riot,” I said, my voice hitching as I forced each word out. “I can’t stand to see them suffer, not like I do, not under your rule. I want them to be happy.”
His anger, the kind that fueled the nightmares of the entire town, flickered. Just for a second, it dimmed in his eyes, replaced by a shadow of something else. Maybe it was the thought of his own blood, vulnerable and innocent, that pierced the armor of his rage.
“Damnit, Hollis,” he muttered, almost to himself. His ironclad posture slackened as he paced, the predator within wrestling with a foreign contemplation. “You think I don’t know the risk?”
For a heartbeat, I saw it -- the glimpse of a man buried under the monster, struggling to break free. And in that fractured second, I dared to hope. It wouldn’t be overnight. Possibly not even over several years, but bit by bit I thought Riot might be able to become more human.
I bit into my trembling lip, the taste of iron blooming against my tongue. “There’s got to be a way.”
As he continued to pace, I wondered what I could possibly do to keep our child safe. Then it hit me. I thought of Riot’s room where he kept his journals stored. No one could go in there except him, or unless he let them in.
“A safe room,” I muttered.
Riot halted mid-pace. He turned to me, and I wasn’t sure what I saw in his eyes just then.
“Safe room?” he echoed, the words dripping with disdain, yet tinged with curiosity.
“Yeah,” I pushed on, feeling the weight of his gaze. “A place… for the kid. If things get too wild, if you or your brothers lose it, there’d be somewhere to hide. Somewhere… untouchable.”
Something shifted behind those eyes that had witnessed death more intimately than love. The harsh lines of Riot’s face softened, as if my words had hit home, carving through the hardness of his exterior. A flicker of understanding sparked to life where only darkness had resided.
“Untouchable,” he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue as if tasting a foreign concept. It wasn’t tenderness that filled his voice, but rather a grim recognition of necessity. His head tilted slightly, the movement predatory yet oddly protective.
“Damnit, Hollis,” Riot said, and for an instant, I could swear the beast of a man before me was weighing my life and the unborn’s against his own twisted desires. “You think a room would keep the shadows at bay? Think four walls and a door would keep me or the others out if we really wanted in there?”
“Maybe not,” I admitted. “But it might give us a fighting chance.”
His silence left a chill in the room. But his eyes… they held a gleam that wasn’t there before -- a reluctant admission that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t spewing nonsense.
“All right.” It was the closest thing to consent I’d ever gotten from him. And hell, it felt like victory, even in this Godforsaken place. The simple fact he’d admitted our child might need protection from him, Crash, and Kane was a step in the right direction.
“Fine,” he said. “We’ll build your damn sanctuary. Not sure what good it will do, but I’ll figure something out. Maybe a way to reinforce the door or something.”
“Good.” Relief flooded me, swift and overwhelming. The safe room would be a fortress within a fortress, a place where innocence might be shielded from the monstrous reality beyond its walls. I knew it wasn’t perfect. Might not even work, but I had to at least try. I wanted our child to have something we never did -- a loving and safe environment.
“Remember, Hollis. I’m still in control. This changes nothing.”
“Of course,” I whispered. Except it really did change things and proved that Riot was slowly changing too. I didn’t think he’d ever be a normal person. There was a part of him that would always need the kill, the hunt. He thrived on bloodshed, and there was no way to remove that piece of him. Not without losing all of him. But if I could just find the smallest hint of humanity in him, and grow it a little, then living here wouldn’t be so bad. I might love him, but it didn’t mean I wanted to risk the safety of our child.
I knew the notion of security was a cruel joke here, in the belly of the beast. But it was a joke I had to play along with, for the sake of the life growing inside me -- a life that deserved more than the shadows and screams that filled our twisted world. Their daddy might be a monster, a cold hard killer, but it didn’t mean they couldn’t be raised with love.
“Then it’s settled. We fortify a room… for the brat.” He shifted and folded his arms again, but I saw the vulnerability on his face. He’d felt something, and he didn’t like it. Or maybe he just didn’t understand it. Either way, it was a step in the right direction.
“Thank you.” I watched him, this man, this monster, who could tear lives apart with his bare hands. And yet, in this single, rare moment, he had chosen to build rather than destroy.
“Save it. Just remember, no matter where you hide, I am always here. Even if you run into that room with our kid, you’ll still have to come back out.”
I nodded, silent, my mind racing with the logistics of our morbid nursery. The safe room was a concession, a small piece of ground gained in a war I was destined to lose. Yet, it was a victory nonetheless -- one I clung to amid the chaos.
“Get some rest,” he ordered, without looking back. “You’ll need it.”
As his footsteps receded, the dread and hope within me waged their silent war. The safe room would be a haven, a sliver of light in the endless darkness that was life with Riot Tredway. It was a bitter pill, sweetened by the faintest hope that maybe, just maybe, survival was possible in this house of horrors.
* * *
Riot’s hand clasped around mine, callused and commanding, as he tugged me from the bed several hours later. The softness had vanished, replaced by the iron grip of The Butcher, his name a whispered death sentence in Raven’s Vale. We moved through the mansion, his steps thunderous, mine a hesitant scuttle beside him.
“Where?” His voice sounded more like the growl of a beast.
“Basement,” I muttered. “Reinforced. Hidden.”
Of course, there was the risk I wouldn’t be able to get there in time. Something closer would have been better, but I wasn’t sure it would be as safe.
He grunted, a nonverbal acknowledgment, as we descended the staircase. Each step felt like a descent into purgatory -- a place between salvation and damnation, where our baby could be spared or swallowed whole by Riot’s darkness.
“Soundproof,” I added. It would be necessary. A crying baby would possibly fuel their anger, and I might not be able to quiet the child.
“Smart.” He snorted, almost amused, and I caught the briefest flicker of approval in his cold gaze. It was fleeting, but it was there.
“Cameras,” I continued. “So you can see, make sure we’re safe.”
Once he’d calmed down, I knew he’d wonder about us locked away in that room. And this would give him a way of checking on us.
“Fine,” he said in a clipped tone.
As we reached the bowels of the house, the air grew mustier, the shadows thicker. This would be the sanctuary for my unborn child, a macabre womb crafted by their father’s twisted hands.
“Enough to keep the child out of harm’s way?” I asked, my eyes scanning the dark corners, envisioning a crib amidst the gloom. Something would have to be done to brighten the place. And it certainly needed a good scrubbing.
“Out of theirs too.” He glanced at my still flat belly. “Ours. I can’t promise what will happen if I’m enraged enough. This was a good call, Hollis.”
“Can’t protect them from everything,” I mused aloud, my mind a whirlwind of doubts. Would this small act of compromise be enough to shield our child from the depravity that lurked beyond these walls, within their own father?
“We can try,” Riot replied, the closest thing to tenderness I’d ever heard from him. It was rough, frayed at the edges, but it bore the weight of a promise.
“Yes, we can try.” In Riot’s world, he’d never experienced a soft touch or known kindness. He had no idea how to love anyone. But this time, maybe -- just maybe -- he would be capable of building something instead of tearing it apart.
“Tomorrow. I’ll have some materials delivered in the morning. We can start working on it then.”
* * *
The chill of the unlit corridor seeped into my bones as Riot and I stood there, side by side. I felt his heat, a stark contrast to the cold that pressed in around us, and it was a twisted comfort. The very man who could end lives with his bare hands was now the shield between our child and a world hungry for blood.
“Ready for this?” he asked. “It won’t be easy, and if I ask Crash and Kane for help, I can’t promise they won’t build in a way to access the room.”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I muttered back, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribcage. I glanced up at him, catching the steely resolve in his gaze.
“Let’s get to work, then,” he said.
“Work” meant tearing down walls and building new ones -- fortifying a room where innocence could dwell, untouched by the chaos that reigned outside. A sanctuary amidst the storm of violence that was Riot’s empire.
I watched his face, searching for a hint of the man beneath the monster. There was a hardness there that spoke of countless sins, but also… something else. A glimmer of understanding, maybe. It was enough to make me believe that, despite the blood on his hands, he could still carve out a space for something pure.
“Promise me,” I whispered, the words slipping out like a prayer.
“Anything,” he replied, his voice rough as gravel.
“Promise me they’ll never know the horrors you inflict on those around you. That they’ll think their daddy is just a tough guy with a big heart.”
“Swear it on my life,” he vowed, and I knew he meant every syllable. “At least, until they’re old enough for someone else to tell them any different. I can only control this town to a certain point.”
Our eyes locked, and in that moment, we were bound by more than the obsession and fear that had first bound us together. We were bound by a shared determination to protect the innocent life growing inside me -- a beacon of light in the all-encompassing dark. I had a feeling this child was going to change things. Not only for me, but for Riot as well. Possibly even for Crash and Kane.
None of them would ever be normal. I wouldn’t ask it of them. But perhaps I could soften their edges a little.
“Then let’s begin,” I said, steeling myself for the path ahead. Standing there with Riot, the notorious psychopath with a merciless reputation, I somehow found the courage to face whatever came next. Together, we turned toward the future sanctuary, ready to forge a haven from the havoc, a safe room where love and madness could, against all odds, coexist.
It wouldn’t be finished today or even tomorrow. It would take time, but together, I thought we might be capable of just about anything. This might seem like a small concession to most, but to me, I knew it was the biggest thing Riot had ever agreed to.