Chapter 34 #2
I stood up and drove my boot into his kidney, the impact making his entire body convulse. He screamed—a high, keening sound that was barely human—and I felt nothing. No pity. No remorse. No hesitation.
“You want to blame me for your life being shit?” I asked, my voice still that same cold, emotionless tone.
“Fine. Blame me. But understand this: everything that happened to you, everything that happened to your family, it all started with your father’s choices.
With his greed. With his willingness to destroy anyone who stood in his way.
I didn’t ruin your life, Carrington. Your father did.
And you’re just too plain fucking stupid to see it. ”
Stone tried to roll away, tried to crawl toward the door, but I caught him by the ankle and dragged him back.
He was sobbing now, the sound wet and broken, his body trembling with pain and fear.
Good. Let him feel what Brandy felt. Let him understand what it meant to be helpless, to be at someone else’s mercy, to know that death was coming and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
“You took my daughter,” I said, my voice finally rising, finally allowing some of the rage I’d been holding back to seep through.
“You beat her. You terrorized her. You threatened my grandchild. And you thought—you actually fucking thought—that I would let that slide? That I would negotiate? That I would show you mercy?”
I grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off the floor, slamming him against the wall with enough force to crack the plaster.
His eyes were wide now, bulging, his hands clawing at my wrist in a desperate attempt to break free.
But I was stronger. I’d always been stronger.
And I’d spent thirty-three years waiting for this moment.
“I don’t give a shit about your excuses,” I said, my face inches from his, my voice a low, deadly growl. “I don’t give a shit about your pain. I don’t give a shit about anything except making sure you never threaten my family again.”
I released his throat and let him drop to the floor, then drove my fist into his face one more time.
The impact was devastating—I felt his cheekbone shatter under my knuckles, felt the give of flesh and bone, felt the warm spray of blood across my hand.
Stone’s head snapped to the side, his body going limp, and for a moment I thought he was dead.
But he wasn’t. Not yet. His chest was still rising and falling, shallow and labored, his breathing wet and ragged. He was dying, though. I could see it in the way his eyes had lost focus, in the way blood was pooling beneath him, in the way his body had stopped trying to fight back.
I stood over him, my chest heaving, my knuckles split and bleeding and felt...
nothing. No satisfaction. No relief. No sense of justice finally being served.
Just emptiness. Just the cold, hollow realization that this moment—this reckoning I’d been building toward for half my life—didn’t change anything.
Didn’t bring my father back. Didn’t give me back those five years in prison.
Didn’t erase the pain and fear my family had endured.
But it did end the threat. It did ensure that Stone would never hurt anyone I loved ever again. And that was enough.
I crouched down beside him one last time, my voice dropping to something almost gentle. “This is for my father, you son of a bitch,” I said quietly. “For my wife. For my kids. For Brandy. For everyone you and your family ever fucking hurt.”
Then I wrapped my hands around his throat and squeezed.
Stone’s eyes went wide, his hands coming up to claw at mine, but there was no strength left in him.
No fight. Just the desperate, animal instinct to survive even when survival was no longer possible.
I watched the light fade from his eyes, watched his body go still, watched the last breath leave his lungs in a wet, rattling exhale.
And then it was over.
I released his throat and stood up slowly, my entire body aching, my hands trembling slightly from the adrenaline crash. Behind me, I heard movement—Mercy stepping into the room, Smokey and Dutch following. They looked at Stone’s body, then at me, their expressions unreadable.
“It’s done,” I said simply.
Mercy nodded. “Yeah. It’s done.”
Smokey moved forward, crouching beside Stone’s body to check for a pulse even though we all knew there wouldn’t be one. After a moment, he looked up and shook his head. “He’s gone.”
“Good,” Dutch said, his voice carrying the weight of decades of loyalty and understanding. “Fucker had it coming.”
I looked down at my hands—at the blood coating my knuckles, at the split skin and bruised bones—and felt the weight finally lift from my shoulders.
It wasn’t redemption. It wasn’t forgiveness.
It wasn’t even justice, not really. But it was closure.
It was the end of a chapter that had defined too much of my life for too long.
“We need to get out of here,” Mercy said, his voice cutting through my thoughts. “The assault’s winding down, but we need to move before law enforcement shows up.”
I nodded, then turned toward the door. Toward my daughter. Toward the family I’d spent three decades protecting. Toward the life I’d built away from all this violence and chaos and death.
“Let’s go,” I said.
And I walked out of that room without looking back. Without giving Stone’s body another thought. Without carrying the weight of his death on my conscience.
Because some men deserved to die. And Stone Ward had been one of them.
The hallway was littered with bodies—Death Dogs who’d made the mistake of standing between us and Brandy.
I stepped over them without pause, my focus entirely on getting downstairs, on finding my daughter, on making sure she was safe.
Behind me, I could hear Mercy, Smokey, and Dutch following, their boots heavy on the rotting floorboards.
The first floor was chaos. Brothers moving through rooms, securing the perimeter, checking bodies. The smell of gunpowder hung thick in the air, mixing with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid stench of fear. But the gunfire had stopped. The assault was over. We’d won.
I found Brandy outside, sitting in the back of the SUV with Torment beside her, his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders.
She looked up when she saw me, her eyes red and swollen from crying, her face still bruised and battered.
But she was alive. She was safe. And that was all that mattered.
“Dad,” she said, her voice breaking on the word.
I crossed the distance between us; she met me outside of the SUV and I pulled her into my arms, holding her as tightly as I dared without hurting her.
She buried her face against my chest and sobbed—deep, wrenching sobs that shook her entire body.
I held her through it, one hand stroking her hair, the other pressed against her back, and let her cry.
Let her release all the fear and pain and trauma she’d been holding inside.
“It’s over,” I murmured against the top of her head. “It’s over, baby girl. You’re safe now. I promise.”
She nodded against my chest, her fingers clutching at my shirt like she was afraid I’d disappear if she let go. Over her head, I met Torment’s eyes. He looked exhausted, his face pale, his eyes haunted. But there was something else there too. Something that looked like gratitude. Like respect.
Like understanding.
I nodded at him—a silent acknowledgment of what he’d done, of how he’d protected my daughter, of the man he was trying to become.
He nodded back, and in that moment, I knew.
Knew that he would take care of her. Knew that he would fight for her.
Knew that he loved her in a way that transcended obligation or duty or club politics.
And that was enough.
“Let’s go home,” I said quietly.
Brandy pulled back slightly, looking up at me with those eyes that were so much like her mother’s. “Is he...?”
“He’s gone,” I said simply. “He’ll never hurt you again.”
She nodded, then turned back to Torment, who pulled her against his side and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. I stepped back, giving them space, giving them the moment they needed.
Around us, the brothers were loading up, preparing to move out.
Montana was coordinating with Grudge, making sure everyone was accounted for.
Mercy was on the phone with someone—probably Reaper or King, updating them on the situation.
Smokey and Dutch stood near their bikes, watching me with expressions that said they understood exactly what had happened in that room upstairs.
I walked over to them, my hands still aching, my body still thrumming with residual adrenaline. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “For coming. For standing with me.”
“Always, brother,” Smokey said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Always.”
Dutch nodded. “You did what needed to be done. No one’s going to question that.”
I looked back at the farmhouse—at the place where I’d finally ended the threat that had been hanging over my family—and felt something settle inside me. Something that had been restless and angry and afraid for so long I’d forgotten what peace felt like.
But I felt it now.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said.
And we did. We loaded up, rode out, and left that place behind. Left the bodies for someone else to find. Left the violence and the chaos and the blood in the rearview mirror where it belonged.
Because I was done. Done running. Done hiding. Done letting the past define my future.
I had a daughter to protect. A grandchild on the way. A wife waiting for me at home. A life that was worth living, worth fighting for, worth everything I’d sacrificed to build it.
And nothing—not Stone, not the Silver Shadows, not the entire fucking MC world—was going to take that away from me.
Never again.