Chapter 53
Iwalk ahead, and the boys fall in behind me.
Adam watches me from the corner of his eye, measuring me, waiting to see if I’ll fold under pressure.
I know what he plans to do to my father, and the truth sits heavy inside me, because I stopped caring about that man.
If Adam pulls the trigger, I won’t mourn.
I won’t let him see me doubt him, even if it means turning my back on blood and everything that’s supposed to tie me to this house.
Adam is the only one who ever stood between me and the things that tried to crush me. He never asked for loyalty, and that’s exactly why he owns it.
He’s taught me how to hold my chin high when I wanted to disappear, how to walk into danger without shaking, how to survive when survival meant becoming harder than I ever wanted to be.
I wanted him the second I saw him, and the feeling never softened into something safe or clean. It turned sharp and possessive in ways that make me feel alive.
I would burn everything down before I let anyone touch him, before I let anyone take him away from me. If the world decides he’s a monster, then I’ll stand next to him and show them I’m worse.
Going against my father with only the four of us is suicide, and I’m fully aware of that. These three bastards are unhinged, reckless, and comfortable with violence.
Still, I trust the other two in a way that feels close to what I feel for Adam—at least when it comes to this. I know they’ll stand their ground and protect him, and right now, that’s enough for me.
We reach the entrance, and he knocks casually.
“Hello-oo,” he calls out in a mocking tone, flipping the knife in his hand. “Is anybody home?”
After a moment, the door opens.
“Manson, darling,” the man says with a slow, sinister smirk. “Look at that. A blast from the past. You really committed to that death. Almost respectable.”
He doesn’t look dangerous at first. Average height, average build, somewhere around fifty. I don’t know him.
Behind him stand my father’s men, their guns already raised and steady. Colton is there, too.
Adam tilts his head, and an amused smile pulls at his mouth. The knife spins once between his fingers again, before he catches it by the blade.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. I ‘m disappointed in you, Alaric,” he says, bored of the conversation before it even starts.
He takes a step closer to the doorway, his shoulder brushing the frame. His eyes drag over Alaric from head to toe.
“All those years pretending you had standards,” he continues, rolling his neck once. “Pretending you hunted men like him because you believed in something.”
His gaze flicks to the guns behind Alaric, then back to his face, completely unimpressed.
“And now look at you. Waiting at his door like a dog waiting for its master to throw it a bone.”
He lifts the knife, pointing it lazily toward Alaric’s chest, then taps the flat of it against his own lips like he’s thinking.
“Tell me something. Does he pat your head after you fetch, or do you just kneel without being told?”
He lets out a dry laugh that sounds forced, then slowly crosses his arms.
“Classic old Manson,” he says, voice thick with mockery. “Always running that mouth. Always thinking you’re the smartest bastard in the room.”
He shifts his weight, looking Adam up and down.
“Funny hearing you talk about rules. You never cared about sides. You just liked killing people who thought they mattered.”
“What can I say?” Adam shrugs. “They were annoying. And, unlike you, I have standards.”
Alaric rolls his eyes, but Adam continues. “Now, be a doll and get the fuck out of my way. I have a fucker to butcher.”
“How cute,” Alaric mocks. “In fact, he’s been waiting for you.”
Adam steps closer, eyes locked on Alaric. He stays planted in place, blocking the path without moving a muscle.
“Right,” Adam mutters, dragging his finger along the blade. “You forget how fast you start pissing yourself when I’m holding a knife. I can smell that scared shit from here.” He slams the knife into the door frame and leaves it there.
“You don’t run anything here, Bane. My dogs will make sure of that.”
Adam chuckles and begins handing over his weapons, pulling them off himself one by one. Nobody bothers checking the one strapped to his thigh.
Arrogance makes people sloppy.
Then, he turns to us, grinning like something’s loose in his head. He jerks his chin toward Alaric’s men, already bored, telling us to hand the weapons over.
My eyes dart between the three boys, but when I see how easily they give up their guns, knives, grenades, and brass knuckles, I do the same with my knife.
Adam, lastly, hands over his bloodied machete.
“Good boy,” Alaric mocks. “Now … You know the way.”
He walks in first, and the rest of the men pull back their gun hammers. Adam goes in right after, that twisted smile glued to his face while he stares each one of them straight in the eye. I follow next, and then Cain and Judas. Everyone comes right after us, some carrying our weapons.
The house hasn’t changed much since I left. Same depression in the walls, same chaotic silence, same fear in the staff’s eyes.
We walk through the wide and long corridors that lead deeper, past doors I know are locked from the outside.
They lead us straight to the main dining hall, with that long table that could sit twenty people. It’s already set like he’s been waiting for us to show up and eat together like one big, fucked-up family.
Like this isn’t a setup.
Levi and the rest of the men who held our weapons toss them on the ground and parade around with what they took from us.
“Mitchel!” Father claps his hands once. “Such a disappointment to have you back. Unfortunately still alive.”
“Miss me that bad, old man? I might start blushing.”
He hasn’t changed at all. Some twisted part of me still hoped he’d missed me. I’d kept this stupid, buried hope that maybe he regretted treating me like shit my entire life or trying to sell me. Maybe he regretted cutting me open just to plant a tracking device inside me.
But he didn’t. Not even a little.
People don’t change. They just get better at hiding what they are. And my piece of shit of a father was never the type to hide it.
“I’ve got to thank you for dragging my daughter back here,” Father says, not even looking up, just sawing into his steak. “You just saved me the trouble of wasting time on something that barely matters.”
Figlio di puttana! Son of a bitch!
“You know, ever since you dug out my little tracker, keeping tabs on her has been a real inconvenience,” he says, folding his hands on the table, that disgusting, satisfied smile stuck on his face. “But you walked her straight back into my house, and that makes tonight very productive.”
I take a step forward, my teeth already clenched. “I’m going to kill you myself.”
Father widens his eyes in mock surprise. “Bold. Did you at least give her a treat every time she tried to be brave?” he asks Adam.
Heat crawls up my spine so fast it makes my hands shake.
This … violent, choking rage that makes my jaw ache from how hard I’m grinding my teeth.
I can feel my pulse in my throat, in my wrists, behind my eyes.
All I want to do is launch myself across the table and tear his face apart with my bare hands.
After all, maybe I am the damage he left behind. He just needs to see what he’s created.
Adam hums quietly, eyes on Father and Alaric. “I still don’t understand how you two became a couple. That’s a stupid plot twist, by the way.”
Father gives a small nod to his men. Two of them grab Adam from behind and wrench his arms back hard.
One of them slams a boot into the back of his knees and forces him down. He hits the ground with a rough grunt.
At the same time, four others grab Cain and Judas and shove them down too. It’s clear they don’t see me as a threat, so no one comes for me. That might work in my favor.
Adam grins.
“You better hold me tight, because the second I get loose, I’m tearing through every useless fuck in this room.” He leans forward, eyes locked on my father’s. “And I’m starting with the one who thinks he’s in charge.”
“To answer your question, people talk if you know who to threaten, who to kill,” Alaric says, slow and smug, enjoying hearing himself.
“Poor Michael’s family. Two kids, really sweet.
He cried the second I said their names. I didn’t even need to touch them.
” He chuckles sharply. “He gave you up the moment he got scared. Started whining and begging, like a little bitch.” He rolls his eyes.
“Pathetic fucking coward. He went to find them in the ditch.”
Fucking bastard.
“Fabio always knew where the hell you were, but he didn’t care, as long as the money kept flowing and his throne stayed warm.” He drags a hand over his mouth. “I tracked him down and offered him more killers, trained to tear problems apart without whining.”
His grin turns nasty.
“He threw money at me and opened his doors, because working with me was a lot safer than ending up buried under his own fucking empire.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “That sounds like a lot of effort for someone you don’t respect.”
He smirks, eyes full of amusement as he shrugs. “More killers in one place means control, power, and enough hands to bury problems. You were never special, cupcake. You were just expensive.”
Father exhales, like he’s already bored with the conversation. “Alaric’s pathetic little leech—Michael, wasn’t his name? He couldn’t wait to sell you out. He handed over every detail about you and your undercover work.”
Silence falls upon us all.
Fucking pieces of shit. They threaten families, kill innocent people, kill kids. It shouldn’t surprise me anymore, but it still does. It still makes me sick.
“I’ve heard about you,” Cain suddenly says. “Ran from Italy a few years back and started clawing at the underworld, doing whatever dirty, desperate shit you had to just to feel important. Power, money, fear—you chased all of it and still ended up a small man playing dress-up in a big chair.”
My heart jumps once. Father grows uneasy, clenching his jaw, trying to stay calm.
“I wonder if that’s the version of your pathetic empire your people know,” Cain continues.
“All that noise and you’re just hiding behind fear like a coward,” Judas says.
Father says nothing at first. He just stares at us with a vacant stare.
“Fear,” he repeats, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “Strange how it keeps people alive long enough to be useful. Keeps them obedient. Keeps them right where I want them.”
He flicks two fingers, barely looking, and his men move instantly.
“I tried getting fear out of your little pet the usual way,” he continues, still bored. “Pain. Isolation. Turns out he’s more stubborn than he looks.”
His men drag a man forward. His arms are yanked back and tied tight across his chest and waist. A fabric bag is shoved over his head.
Father watches him with clear enjoyment.
“Maybe this will finally get a reaction out of you,” he says, lips curling. “I do enjoy when you start to break.”
He gestures lazily for the bag to be removed. His man removes it in a sharp motion, revealing the man behind it.
“Wes,” I breathe, the word ripping out of me before I can stop it.
“Ahh, there it is,” Father says, amused, like he finally got the reaction he wanted.
Wes is alive.
He’s alive …
This sick bastard cut off his hand just to play with him. To weaken him. To bait us out like animals.
“You should be proud of your little vermin, Manson. His resilience is almost annoying.” He lights up a cigar and inhales it. “Let’s see if that can drag some real fear out of you.”
The man holding Wes tightens his grip on him, making him grunt.
Adam stays perfectly still, but I see it. I see the change crawl under his skin. I see the violence in him start taking over.
Wes’s locks fall messily across his bruised, battered face. He looks thinner than before. Worn down and exhausted.
“And why would Leslie need to drag fear out of us, again?” Adam says, his brows pulling together.
“Oh, my mistake. I thought you two were close,” Father says, waving two fingers.
His men jam their guns against Wes’s head.
“Wait, no!” I snap. “I’ll come back.”
“What the fuck did you just say?” Adam growls, turning toward me, something dark flashing across his face.
Adam cares about Wes. I’ve seen it. I saw what it did to him when he thought Father had killed him. He hides it under all that violence and madness, but it’s there. He’s brutal, he’s dangerous, but he doesn’t leave his people behind.
Wes shakes his head hard, trying to tell me to shut up, to stop, to not do this.
I step forward, anyway. “Wes’s life for mine.”