Chapter 42
CHAPTER 42
MACKENZIE
I wake to a dull, throbbing ache in my head, the kind that refuses to be ignored. It’s like someone’s set off a bomb inside my skull, and the pressure’s making it impossible to think straight. But it’s not just the headache—there’s something else. Something heavy pressing down on me, like a weight I can’t escape. My heart is pounding, but it feels wrong. Uneven. Like it’s struggling to keep up with the rest of me.
I try to move, but my body fights against me, gasping for air as if it’s forgotten how to function properly. Everything is foggy, distant. My limbs feel like they belong to someone else—numb and unresponsive. My mouth is dry, and my throat burns like I’ve swallowed sandpaper.
I don’t know where I am. I don’t know how I got here. The sterile scent of antiseptic fills my nose, too clean, too sharp, but it doesn’t make sense. Where am I?
Slowly, I try to open my eyes, but it’s like fighting through water. The light is too bright, cutting through my eyelids like a blade. I wince, squeezing my eyes shut again, the room spinning around me. For a moment, I think maybe I should just go back to sleep, pretend none of this is happening. But something—someone—keeps me tethered, pulling me back from the darkness.
And then I feel it. A hand. Strong, steady, familiar. I don’t even have to look to know who it is. I can feel his warmth radiating from where our fingers are intertwined, and it’s the only thing that feels real in this sea of confusion. His grip is firm, but there’s something else in it, something more. Desperation, maybe. Fear. The kind of fear that makes my heart twist in my chest.
“Mackenzie?” His voice is low, strained, but there’s an edge to it. I can hear the rawness beneath the words, and it makes something inside me break. He’s been here a while. He’s been waiting, watching me like I’m some fragile thing that could slip away at any moment. I want to tell him I’m okay. That I’m fine. But the words feel like they’re stuck somewhere deep inside me, unable to break free.
I try to speak, but my throat feels like it’s lined with glass, and all that comes out is a rasp. I swallow hard, forcing the words through. “Creed…”
His breath hitches, just slightly, and I can hear the relief that comes with hearing me speak. But it doesn’t last long. The tension doesn’t fade from his voice when he responds. “Yeah, baby, I’m here.” His thumb brushes over my hand like he’s trying to reassure me—and maybe himself, too. It’s too quiet here. Too still. The air feels thick with unspoken words.
I blink a few more times, trying to focus, to pull myself together, but the world feels so damn far away. “Am I…” I cough, my voice too raw to carry the question properly, but I try again. “Am I okay?”
His hand tightens around mine, and I feel the subtle tremor in his fingers. It’s like he’s trying to steady himself, to pull himself back from the edge. I know it’s not easy for him to be here, watching me like this. But I need to hear it. I need him to say it, to tell me that everything’s going to be okay.
“You’re gonna be fine,” he says, his voice rough, but there’s something in it—something forced. “They fixed you up. You’re here, Makenzie. You’re alive.” But even though he says it, there’s a crack in his voice that betrays him. He’s trying to convince himself as much as me, I realize. He’s scared.
I try to process what he’s saying, but it’s like trying to catch smoke with my hands. There’s too much distance between the words and the reality I can’t quite grasp. “Fixed me up?” I repeat, almost in a daze. My mind is trying to catch up, but the fragments of memory keep slipping through my fingers. Gunshots. Blood. Pain. A void. And then… nothing. Everything fades into nothingness.
He shifts, moving closer, and I can feel the heat of his body near mine. “You took a bullet, baby. Right in the lung. It was bad. But they were able to fix it. You lost a lot of blood but the doctor says you’re going to be fine.”
The words don’t make sense. I can’t reconcile them with what I remember. All I can feel right now is the steady pulse of life under my skin, the beat of my heart.
I stare at him, the haze in my mind starting to lift a little, just enough for me to focus on him. “I… I don’t remember.” The words sound foreign coming from my mouth, like they belong to someone else.
Creed’s eyes soften, and I see something raw, something vulnerable in them that he doesn’t often let me see. He doesn’t say anything at first, just presses his forehead to mine, his breath shaky against my skin. And for a second, it feels like we’re the only two people left in the world.
“You don’t need to remember everything right now,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with emotion. “You’re here. You’re alive. That’s all that matters. I’m not going anywhere.”
I try to hold onto that—his words, his presence—but my mind is still spinning. His hand is in mine, steady, unwavering. And for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel something that’s real.
“Gabriella,” I manage to croak out. It all comes back to me. Amelia had my daughter. She shot me.
“She’s safe. You’re both safe.”
Creed’s hand tightens on mine, his thumb brushing across my skin as if he’s trying to hold onto me, to keep me from slipping through his fingers.
“I never should have dragged her into this,” he says quietly, his voice cracking. “I should’ve kept you both safe.”
I shake my head, my vision blurring with tears. The guilt is eating him alive, I can see it in the way he looks at me. But I don’t need him to blame himself. Not when he’s done everything he could to save our daughter.
“You were there,” I repeat, more firmly this time. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
His eyes search mine for a moment, like he’s trying to find something in me. Maybe hope. Maybe reassurance. Then he exhales, a shaky breath escaping his lips, and he presses a kiss to my forehead.
“You’re gonna be okay, baby,” he whispers. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I won’t let you go.”
His words settle over me like a blanket, heavy but comforting, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I allow myself to believe them. His presence is the anchor I need, the steady beat that keeps me from floating away. But the thought of seeing Gabriella, of seeing my daughter after everything that’s happened—it’s overwhelming. But I need to know that she’s okay, that the chaos we’ve caused hasn’t tainted her.
“I need to see her,” I whisper, my voice still weak, raw. My throat hurts from the effort of speaking, but the words are stronger than my pain. “Can I see her, Gabriella?”
Creed’s gaze flickers to the door, where I know Gabriella is waiting, possibly with her adoptive mother Mia, maybe with more questions than I have answers for. The guilt washes over me again—this little girl, so innocent, caught up in a mess that I never wanted for her.
“You’re sure you’re up for it?” His voice is soft, full of concern.
“I need to,” I answer, my voice breaking a little on the last word.
Creed’s hand tightens around mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles, grounding me. It’s like he’s trying to remind me that I’m not alone in this, that we’ll figure it out together. I need that reassurance, even if I’m not sure how to move forward from here.
As Creed moves to open the door, I feel my heart race again. I can hear the soft shuffle of footsteps approaching, Gabriella’s voice asking if I’m awake, if I’m okay. And I know, no matter what happens, no matter how broken I feel, she needs to see me fight, even if I’m barely holding it together.
When Gabriella steps through the door, her face lights up, but I can see the anxiety in her eyes.
“Are you okay?”
I smile, or at least I try to. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
“Gabriella…”
“And you’re my other mom? The one that gave me away?”
I nod. The words slice through me, sharper than any wound I’ve endured. My breath catches, my body tenses, but I don’t let go of her gaze. She’s just a little girl, innocent in all of this, but her words carry a weight heavier than she should ever have to bear.
I swallow hard, feeling Creed’s steady presence beside me.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I am.”
Gabriella stares at me, her skinny fingers clenching and unclenching at her sides. There’s a war in her eyes—confusion, sadness, maybe even a hint of anger. And she has every right to feel all of it.
“Why?” The question is soft, hesitant, but it knocks the breath from my lungs all the same.
I’ve imagined this moment a thousand times—what I would say, how I would explain, how I’d make her understand. But nothing could have prepared me for this. For the way she looks at me like she’s trying to decide if I’m someone worth knowing. Worth trusting.
My throat tightens, and I force myself to sit up just a little, even though my body protests. Creed immediately moves, placing his hand behind my back to support me, but I barely register it. All I see is her.
“I thought I was doing what was best for you,” I say, my voice breaking. “I was young. I—I couldn’t be the kind of mom you needed. And I wanted you to have a life that was... safe. Stable. A life I didn’t think I could give you. A life I know your mom and dad have given you.”
Her brows furrow, lips pressing into a small frown. “Did you want me?”
A sharp pain lances through my heart, so sudden I feel like I might stop breathing altogether.
More than anything. More than life itself. But I don’t know if she’s ready to hear that.
I nod, my voice nothing more than a whisper. “Yes. Always. I just knew there were people who needed you more, who could be the kind of parents I could not be.”
She shifts on her feet, glancing toward Mia, who stands quietly near the door, her eyes glassy. When Gabriella looks back at me, I see something else flicker in her eyes.
Hesitation. Hope.
And then, she moves closer.
I hold my breath as she reaches out, her tiny fingers brushing over my hand, her touch tentative, unsure. It’s the smallest connection, but it shatters something inside me.
I bring my hand up slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wants to. But she doesn’t.
I cup her cheek, my thumb brushing against the soft skin beneath her eye.
“I never stopped loving you,” I whisper. “Not for a second.”
Her lower lip trembles, her big gray eyes searching mine like she’s trying to decide if she can believe me.
Then, after what feels like an eternity, she steps forward, pressing her small body against me in the gentlest of hugs.
A choked sob slips past my lips as I wrap my arms around her, holding her as tight as my body allows.
Creed’s hand presses against my back, solid and warm.
And for the first time in a long, long time, I feel like maybe—just maybe—I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Gabriella pulls away, “I think I’d like to get to know you, Mackenzie Yates.”
I smile, “I’d like that, too.”
CREED
I stand in the pathway staring up at the familiar front porch and door I used to walk through without knocking. I take a deep breath and take the stairs two at a time until I’m raising my hands to knock.
The door swings open and Veronica stands with her hands on her hips. “Creed Torres, you were not about to knock at my front door. Come on in here.”
My friend’s wife’s face breaks into a smile as she wraps her arms around me and it is like no time has passed.
“Is Ty home?”
“Yeah, he’s out back. Get inside.”
I step inside, and the scent of home-cooked food wraps around me like a memory I didn’t know I missed. The house looks the same—warm, lived-in, filled with the kind of comfort that only comes from years of love and family.
Veronica closes the door behind me and gives me another once-over, her sharp eyes scanning like she can see past the layers I’ve built over the years. “You look like hell, Torres.”
I huff out a laugh, rubbing a hand over my face. “Been a long couple of days.”
She tilts her head, studying me. “Long couple of years.”
I don’t argue. She’s not wrong.
She jerks her chin toward the back door. “Go on. He’s been wondering when you’d finally show up here.”
I nod and head toward the backyard, my steps slowing the closer I get. Tyler was my closest friend, my right hand, the one person who’s never let me down. And yet, it’s been too long since I stood here, waiting to see him. The last time he came to the club, I treated him like an outsider.
When I step onto the back patio, I find him exactly how I remember—beer in hand, boots propped up on the edge of the deck, watching the sun dip below the trees like he doesn’t have a single worry in the world.
“You gonna stand there all day or sit your ass down?”
A grin tugs at my lips. “Were you always this hospitable?”
He glances over, and I see something that looks like relief cross his features. “Only for assholes who don’t heed my warnings.”
I exhale and drop into the chair beside him. For a moment, neither of us speaks. The quiet stretches between us, but it’s not uncomfortable.
Then, Tyler takes a slow sip of his beer before finally turning to me. “So, what brings you here, Creed.”
And just like that, the weight in my chest doubles. Because where the hell do I even start?
“It’s about Linc,” I start.
He shakes his head. “Yeah. I heard about the accident.”
I guess that is one way of looking at it. “It wasn’t an accident,” I say honestly. “Linc and I got messed up in some shit we never should have, and it cost him his life.”
“I appreciate the honesty, man,” Ty says, reaching in his cooler box and handing me a beer.
I take it, crack it open and take a long drink.
“Linc and I are cousins, but we were always worlds apart. We were both in the system, but he made his choices. May his soul rest in peace.”
I am not at that point yet. I almost lost my daughter because of his betrayal.
“But that is not why you’re here.”
“I’m thinking about starting something, restoring cars and flipping them. All above board.”
“Sounds good,” Ty says, his eyes lighting up. “You miss the grease?”
“Something like that. And look, I know you got your own shop going, maybe we could partner up in some way. I could use your shop for the mechanical side.”
Tyler leans back in his chair, rubbing his jaw as he considers my words. The cicadas hum in the background, the evening stretching out around us, but all I can focus on is the way he’s watching me—calculating, measuring.
“Restoring and flipping, huh?” He swirls the beer bottle in his hand before taking another sip. “Sounds like a solid idea. But I gotta ask—why now? What’s got you wanting to settle into something like that?”
I exhale slowly, staring at the condensation on my bottle before answering. “Because I need something that isn’t built on blood and regret.”
Ty doesn’t react right away. He just watches me, like he’s weighing my words against everything he knows about me. Finally, he nods. “That’s fair.”
I glance over at him. “So, you in?”
He chuckles. “Shit, Creed. You already know I am.”
Relief unfurls in my chest, but I keep my expression neutral. “Alright,” I say, taking another drink. “Then let’s do this.”
Ty grins, clinking his beer against mine. “Welcome back to the world of the living, man. Now, are you staying for supper?”
I smirk, shaking my head. “Depends. Veronica still cooks like she’s feeding an army?”
Tyler chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “You already know it. She’s been making noise about you not showing up, so you better believe there’s a plate with your name on it.”
I glance toward the house, where warm light spills through the windows, laughter faintly carrying from inside. It’s been a long time since I sat around a table with friends—too long. And after everything that’s happened, the idea of a home-cooked meal, of being around people who aren’t looking over their shoulders every second, doesn’t sound so bad.
“Yeah,” I say finally. “I’ll stay.”
Ty claps me on the back. “Good. But don’t think for a second you’re getting out of dish duty.”
I snort. “Still a hard-ass, huh?”
“Damn right,” he grins. “Now, come on. Before Veronica drags you in herself.”
I push myself up from the chair and follow him inside, the smell of spices and roasted meat hitting me instantly. It’s familiar. Comforting.
And I feel a sense of home, I haven’t felt in a while.
MACKENZIE
My heels click on the concrete as I make my way down the narrow hallway in the chapel cellars. At the end of the passage, in a cell dimly lit by a single overhead bulb that flickers, casting eerie shadows along the damp stone walls, sits Amelia. The air is thick with the scent of mildew and candle wax, an odd combination that sends a chill down my spine.
Her once-pristine clothes are wrinkled, her hair slightly disheveled, but her posture remains regal, unbent. She lifts her head as I approach, her sharp gaze locking onto mine. There’s no fear in her eyes, no desperation—only quiet defiance.
I grip the bars, the cold metal biting into my palms. “Tell them where Diego is.” My voice is low, controlled, but beneath it, there’s an urgency I can’t mask.
She exhales slowly, folding her hands in her lap. “Mackenzie. You survived.” Her words are a punch in my gut.
“Yes, I survived. Now, you need to do what we ask, or I can’t say the same for you.”
“You know I can’t tell you anything.”
Frustration claws at my chest. “How long do you think you can hold out?”
A ghost of a smile plays on her lips. “As long as it takes.”
I shake my head, stepping closer. “And if we decide you’re not worth keeping alive? What then?”
For the first time, something flickers in her eyes—something almost vulnerable—but it’s gone just as quickly. She leans forward, her voice barely above a whisper. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t wake up every day wondering if it’ll be my last? But I owe Diego this.”
My jaw clenches. Loyalty. It’s always fucking loyalty with people like us. To a man, to an idea, to a cause.
“But is it worth losing it?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she reaches out, her fingers brushing mine through the bars. “Tell me, Mackenzie… if it were Creed, would you betray him to save yourself?”
I laugh, “So, it’s love then? You and Diego?”
“It’s survival,” she murmurs, leaning back against the cold stone wall.
I step into the cell, and one of my men locks it behind me, but she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move. Her eyes stay locked on mine, unwavering, daring me to do whatever I came here to do.
I reach into my coat pocket, wrapping my fingers around the cold metal of the knife I brought with me. Not because I planned on killing her—but because she needs to understand something. No one is coming to save her. And I need that truth to sink in.
Slowly, deliberately, I slide the blade free, letting the dim light catch along its edge. I don’t miss the way her shoulders stiffen, the way her throat bobs just slightly as she swallows. Oh, she’s good at hiding it, at pretending she’s unbreakable. But I see through her.
“Tell me where he is,” I say again, my voice smooth, controlled. I press the tip of the blade against her forearm, just enough to bite into her skin without breaking it. A warning. A promise.
She exhales slowly, a humorless smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You think a little knife is going to make me talk, Mackenzie?”
“No,” I murmur, dragging the blade upward, tracing an invisible line. “But pain has a way of reminding people of their priorities.”
Before she can respond, I flip the blade in my grip and slam the handle against her ribs. Hard.
She grunts, her body jerking sideways, but she doesn’t cry out. I tilt my head, watching as she straightens again, as she lifts her chin like she didn’t just feel that. I step closer, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head back so she’s forced to meet my eyes.
“You are going to tell me where he is,” I whisper, pressing the blade against her cheek now, tracing the curve of her jaw. “Or I’ll make sure you never speak another word again.”
She breathes through her nose, her nostrils flaring slightly, but she still doesn’t break. “And then what? You’ll let me go if I talk?” She lets out a low chuckle, her voice hoarse. “You think I’m that gullible?”
“Maybe. But I don’t care about your survival, Mother . I care about getting Diego Santiago.”
My grip tightens in her hair as I lean in, my lips barely a breath away from her ear. “So talk.”
She’s silent for a long moment, and then—very slowly—she smiles. Blood paints the corner of her mouth where she must have bitten the inside of her cheek. She turns her head slightly, just enough that the edge of my blade nicks her skin.
“Do your worst, Mackenzie,” she whispers.
My blood heats, anger curling in my gut like a storm ready to break.
She thinks I won’t go through with it.
She thinks I won’t make her bleed.
She’s about to find out just how wrong she is.
“Mackenzie! Enough!”
Jenson’s voice cuts through the haze of my rage, sharp and commanding, but I don’t move. My fingers stay tangled in Amelia’s hair, my blade pressed just hard enough against her cheek that a thin bead of blood trails down her skin. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t beg—just keeps watching me with that damn knowing look, like she’s daring me to prove just how far I’ll go.
I could do it.
I could carve the truth out of her.
But I feel Jenson’s presence behind me, his hand on my shoulder, grounding me when all I want to do is tear her apart.
“Not like this,” he says, voice low. “She’s not worth it.”
I let out a slow, shaking breath, forcing myself to loosen my grip, to let go. The anger still simmers under my skin, but I take a step back, watching as Amelia exhales slowly, her body relaxing just a fraction now that I’ve pulled away.
Jenson moves between us, his broad frame blocking me from her. “We have other ways to get what we need,” he tells me, before shifting his gaze to her. “And she knows it.”
Amelia wipes the blood from her cheek with the back of her hand, smearing it across her skin like war paint. She smiles—smug, victorious. “That’s the Mackenzie I know,” she murmurs, tilting her head. “Still looking for a fight. Still trying to be the monster I made you into.”
I step forward again, but Jenson stops me with a look.
“Walk away,” he mutters.
I want to argue, to make her pay for every second she’s stolen from me, but I know Jenson’s right. Torturing her will only drag me deeper into the darkness, and I’m already balancing on the edge.
I inhale sharply, turn on my heel, and stride toward the door. But before I leave, I glance over my shoulder, meeting Amelia’s eyes one last time.
“This isn’t over,” I tell her.
And I mean it.