Chapter 8
Ava
The room is cold. Damp.
Concrete floor, single bulb overhead, no windows. Just me, a metal chair, and the bastard I’ve been running from for months.
My stepfather.
Richard freaking Smith.
My wrists are zip-tied to the arms of the chair. Ankles too. It bites into my skin every time I move, but I keep pulling anyway. If there’s any give, I’ll find it.
He’s standing near the table, lighting a cigarette with the same cheap silver lighter I remember since forever.
Same sneer too, curled lip and eyes that drip with contempt.
It’s been only six months, but he looks older, fatter, with deep creases in his skin and more gray in his thinning hair.
But the sickness in him? That’s still alive and well.
“You gained weight,” he says, eyeing me up and down with a cruel grin. “Didn’t think that was possible, given how much of a fat little pig you already were.”
The words hit harder than I want to admit.
My stomach twists. I know he’s just trying to tear me down, like always. But part of me? That part deep inside that still looks in mirrors and wonders if anyone could ever really want me? That part listens.
You’re too much.
You take up too much space.
You’re not pretty, you’re just big.
I blink fast, clenching my jaw.
No. No, I’m not doing that. Not anymore.
I’m not that scared girl who used to cry into her pillow, wondering why her stepfather hated her body so much he had to destroy it.
I’m a woman now.
And I’ve been kissed like I mattered.
Held like I was worth something.
Made love to like I was fucking everything.
He takes a drag and blows smoke in my direction.
“I don’t know what kind of delusions you’ve been living in, Ava, but I’m the only one who ever gave a damn about you. Your real daddy left. Your mom died. You think any of those people in your pretty little mountain town actually care?”
I clench my fists. My arms burn from how tightly I’m bound.
“You think that biker of yours is coming?” he scoffs, stepping closer. “No man wants a girl like you. Round and sloppy. Loud-mouthed. Weak. Just like your mother.”
“She was better than you’ll ever be,” I hiss.
That earns me a slap. Fast and hard, cracking my head to the side. I taste blood immediately.
“Watch your mouth.”
I spit onto the floor, red mixing with dust. He doesn’t like that. I can see it in the twist of his face. He reaches forward and grabs my chin, digging his fingers in hard enough to bruise.
“You always had a smart mouth,” he says, lowering his voice. “Always needed discipline.”
He flicks ash near my face, then stands upright again.
“You know what I’m going to do?” he says. “I’m going to start where I left off. Right here.”
He lifts the cigarette and points it toward my arm. My stomach lurches.
He wants to burn me like he’s done it before.
My arms are filled with scars.
His work.
He steps forward, heat nearing my skin. I brace.
“You don’t want to do that,” I whisper, voice shaking but firm.
He laughs. “Why’s that?”
“Because I belong to a biker now,” I say, voice hardening. “He’s part of a club. Damned Saints MC. They’ll tear you apart. You think you’re scary? You’re nothing compared to them.”
His hand wavers.
He doesn’t press the cigarette to my skin. He hesitates.
Good.
“You think you matter that much to him?” he sneers. “You’re just another fuck to men like that. Used and forgotten.”
I grit my teeth.
He takes a step back, circling.
“You always thought you were special,” he says. “But you’re not. You’re just a soft, useless mess. Can’t even keep your legs shut. Whoring around like your mother.”
My stomach twists. The words dig deep, not because I believe them, but because he knows exactly how to aim.
But not today.
Not anymore.
Still, I keep my voice steady. “If you’re so sure I’m nothing, why go through all this trouble to bring me back?”
He pauses.
“I don’t like when things I own run away.”
“I’m not yours,” I spit.
He punches me. Quick. Hard. My lip splits open, warm blood rushing down my chin. The metal chair groans beneath me from the force.
He grabs a rag and wipes his knuckles.
“Keep your mouth shut, or your sister’s next,” he says calmly, like he’s talking about the weather.
My chest caves.
Nadia.
She doesn’t know. She’s still in college. Still safe, hopefully.
I swallow down the blood. “If you touch her—”
“I will,” he interrupts, lighting another cigarette. “Unless you behave. I’ve already sent someone to watch her dorm. All it takes is one phone call.”
I shudder. The fear isn’t just in my bones now, it’s in every cell.
But I can’t let him see it.
I lift my chin, even as blood drips from it. “He’ll come for me. Viper. Mason. He’ll burn your whole damn world down.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” he mutters. “I have contacts. I know everything that is to know about those bikers. Why do you think you were alone in that cabin? I made it happen.”
For a second, ice cuts through my veins.
What if he hurt Mason?
What if he...
No. No, he didn’t. Because Mason is a storm in boots. The god of war in denim and leather. Fire wrapped in flesh. And he’s coming.
He has to be.
Richard turns his back and leaves the room, door slamming shut behind him.
I sit there, panting. Arms burning. Head pounding.
But I’m still here.
He wants to make me feel worthless. Break me like he used to.
But I’m not that girl anymore.
I have people now. Real ones. A man who held me like I mattered. Who looked at me like I was worth everything. Who kissed me like I wasn’t too much, but just enough.
I close my eyes.
Mason.
Please find me.
Please.