Chapter 50 Braedyn #2
The world went a little fuzzy as adrenaline flooded my system. Panic, fear. That voice. I didn’t need to look behind me to see who it was. I knew.
I’d heard it whisper countless pretty lies. I’d heard it sling subtle insults that made me doubt myself. I’d heard it make promises it never meant to keep. And I’d heard it say countless cruel things as he told me he wanted nothing to do with our child.
Vincent.
“Finally, she fucking listens. I guess I should’ve shown you some goddamned force years ago. Maybe you would’ve learned to obey.”
He thought he could scare me, terrify me into following him out the back door so he could hurt me or worse. But he was wrong.
My gaze jumped around the hallway, looking for something, anything.
“What’s the matter, Braedyn? Cat finally got your fucking tongue?”
I saw it then. The fire alarm. If I pulled it, people would come running toward the nearest exit, and at least half would head for this door. It wasn’t a weapon, but it was something.
“Answer me, goddammit.” Vincent pricked the knife into my side. Not deep but enough that I let out a pained yelp. “I guess she can speak. I like the sound of your pain better than your voice anyway.”
“What do you want?” I croaked as I counted the steps to the fire alarm. Ten? Twelve?
“I’ll tell you what I fucking want,” he snarled. “I want you to go out that back door and sign away all your parental rights on that bastard boy.”
Vincent had lost his grip on reality. He thought paperwork at knifepoint would hold up in court? But just the fact that he’d thought it had me worried. Or he could be lying.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said, keeping my voice low and as gentle as possible. “You’ll get in trouble. I have a restraining order—”
His hand fisted in my hair. “I fucking know you have a restraining order. The family lawyer told my parents, and they cut me off, you toxic little cunt.”
I sucked in a pained breath.
“You thought you could leave me? You’re nothing compared to me. I had to teach you a lesson. Remind you I was right there, watching. That you always belonged to me.”
Fear rippled through me in hot waves. This was why he’d left those taunting messages and made those dozens of profiles to stalk me. Because I left?
“But you never learned. You gave birth to that bastard and tried to ruin my life. Well, you’re not getting away with it. We’re going to fix it. You’re going to sign those papers, and my parents will welcome me right back into the fold when I give them their grandson.”
“Hey, Little Badass,” a voice called from behind us.
Crap, crap, crap. Maverick.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want help. I did. But Mav getting caught up in this wouldn’t spell good things.
I didn’t answer; I just kept walking as Vincent kept a hard grip on my shoulder.
“Brae, wait up!” There was no cheerful amusement in his voice now; there was only hardness. A command.
“Keep walking, or I’ll gut him and then you,” Vincent snarled.
“Stop!” Maverick yelled.
Vincent whirled me around, placing me in front of him and pointing the knife directly at my rib cage. “Back off. I know you think you’re playing the hero, hotshot, but you’ll only get her dead. And then how will you feel?”
Vincent knew exactly who Maverick was, down to his job and every button to press. That only added to the panic coursing through me.
Maverick’s eyes always seemed lighter than his brothers’, as if the mischief in them turned the gold brighter somehow. But now? Now, they were a stormy shade, the dark green almost engulfing the gold. “Let. Her. Go.”
Vincent laughed, the sound ugly and cutting. “Now why would I want to do that?”
“Because if you take this any further, that precious, pampered life of yours is gonna get ruined.”
It was then that I realized Mav knew exactly who Vincent was, too. Dex must’ve shown his brother a photo after Vincent showed up. Another line of defense.
Vincent scoffed and pressed the tip of the blade into my skin. “There’s something you should know, smoke eater. The kind of money my family has? It gets me out of anything.”
And that’s what he truly thought. That because of his parents’ wealth, he could do anything he wanted. He could treat human beings like property or trash. None of it mattered.
Fury blazed through me, fueled by heartbreak, humiliation, endless sleepless nights, and questions from my son about why his dad didn’t love him. I let all of that wash through me and remembered the self-defense class I’d taken at my local YMCA in Oakland.
I slammed my foot down on top of Vincent’s. Those pathetic, little loafers didn’t give him any sort of protection. He howled in pain, his body contorting. The blade sliced along my side, and white-hot pain burned, but I didn’t let it stop me.
Whirling to face him, I brought my palm up in a strike that ended with a satisfying crunch. And then Vincent dropped like a marionette with its strings cut.
Maverick raced forward, kicked the knife away, and rolled Vincent to his stomach while yanking his hands behind his back.
“My nose! She broke my fucking nose!” Vincent wailed.
“Apparently, you didn’t learn your lesson at the broken balls,” I snapped.
“Hey, Little Badass. Enough with the trash talk. Call the cops,” Maverick gritted out.
“Okay, okay.” The cops. That was a good idea. Pain flared in my side, and when I touched it, my fingers came away coated in red.
Oh shit.