Chapter 27
Stone
Pain.
That was the first thing I felt when I came to. A sharp, burning pain in my shoulder that radiated down my arm and across my chest. I tried to move and immediately regretted it.
“Fuck,” I groaned, my voice hoarse.
“Stone!”
Indie’s voice. I forced my eyes open, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. The room came into focus slowly. White walls with medical equipment. The faint smell of antiseptic.
The makeshift hospital room at the warehouse.
Indie was sitting in a chair next to the bed, her eyes red and swollen like she’d been crying for hours. The second our eyes met, she was on her feet, rushing to my side.
“Oh my God, you’re awake,” she said, her voice shaking. “Are you okay? Do you need anything? Does it hurt? Should I get the doctor?”
I stared at her beautiful face, taking in the bruises on her neck and the split in her lip. I felt something twist in my chest.
Guilt. Raw, suffocating guilt.
“Water,” I said, my throat dry as hell.
Indie nodded quickly and rushed over to the mini fridge in the corner of the room. She grabbed a bottle of water, twisted the cap off, and brought it back to me.
I took it from her and drank half the bottle in one go. The cold water soothed my throat, but it didn’t do shit for the pain in my shoulder. Or the guilt eating me alive.
I set the bottle down on the table next to the bed and looked at Indie.
She was wearing the same clothes from when I last saw her, but they were wrinkled and stained with blood. Her shoes were scuffed, and her ponytail had come undone, dark curls spilling messily around her face. Her jewelry was gone, ripped from her neck and wrists.
She looked exhausted. She looked traumatized. And it was all my fault.
“Come here,” I said, my voice low.
Indie didn’t hesitate. She climbed onto the bed and threw her arms around my neck, hugging me so tight I could barely breathe, but I didn’t care. I wrapped my good arm around her waist and pulled her closer, ignoring the pain that shot through my shoulder.
“I was so scared,” she whispered against my neck. “I thought I lost you.”
I closed my eyes and pressed my face into her hair.
“I’m right here. I ain’t going nowhere,” I said quietly.
Indie let out a shaky breath, her body trembling against mine.
We stayed like that for a long moment. Just holding each other, just breathing together. Then I pulled back, my hand moving to her face.
I tilted her chin up so I could see her clearly. The bruises on her neck were dark purple and finger-shaped. My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might crack.
“Are you okay?” I asked, my voice tight. “What he do to you?”
Indie’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back.
“They knocked me out in the van,” she said quietly. “When I woke up, I was tied to a chair. Wes... he choked me. And he hit me in the face.”
She touched her split lip gingerly, wincing.
I felt my blood start to boil. I felt that familiar rage building in my chest, but it wasn’t just rage. It was guilt. Overwhelming, crushing guilt.
“I’m so fuckin’ sorry, baby,” I said, my voice breaking. “That should’ve never happened. I failed you. I failed our child.”
Indie’s eyes widened, and she shook her head vehemently.
“No,” she said firmly. “You didn’t fail us. You saved us. If you didn’t find me, Wes would’ve done much worse.”
I wanted to believe her. I wanted to let myself off the hook, but I couldn’t, because the truth was, I had failed her. I’d let my guard down. I’d let a traitor get close enough to take her. I’d let her get hurt, let her get scared, and I’d never forgive myself for that.
I ignored the pain in my shoulder and pulled Indie into my chest, wrapping both arms around her. I kissed the top of her head over and over again.
“I love you,” I said against her hair. “I love you so fuckin’ much, baby.”
“I love you too,” Indie whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
I held her tighter, breathing in her scent. I was trying to convince myself that she was here. That she was safe. That I hadn’t lost her.
The door to the room opened, and I looked up to see Kenzo walking in. Relief crossed his face when he saw me awake.
“Yo, you good?” he asked, walking over to the bed.
I nodded. “Yeah. I’m straight.”
Kenzo’s eyes flicked to Indie, then back to me.
“Doc said the bullet went clean through,” he said. “No major damage. You just gotta rest and let it heal.”
I didn’t give a fuck about resting. I had other shit to handle.
“Wes,” I said, my voice cold. “Is he alive?”
Kenzo nodded slowly. “Yeah. We got his bitch ass. We just waiting on you.”
A dark smile spread across my face.
“Good,” I said.
Indie pulled back and looked at me, her eyes wide. She knew what that meant. Knew what I was about to do. But she didn’t say anything. She didn’t try to stop me because she knew that nigga deserved everything he had coming.
I sat up in the bed, wincing as pain shot through my shoulder.
“Stone, you need to rest,” Indie said, her voice worried.
I gave her a look. It was the kind of look that said I wasn’t about to argue with her on this. She rolled her eyes but didn’t push it.
Kenzo cleared his throat. “I can drive Indie back to the estate,” he offered. “Make sure she gets home safe.”
Indie’s head snapped toward me. “I don’t want to leave you.”
I reached out and cupped her face in my hand.
“You need to get home to Ishmael,” I said firmly. “And you need to be in a safe, relaxed environment after what you just went through.”
My tone made it clear this wasn’t up for discussion. Indie stared at me for a long moment, her jaw tight. But she knew better than to argue with me when I used that voice.
“Fine,” she said quietly.
I pulled her down and kissed her slow and deep, pouring everything I felt into that kiss. When I pulled back, I looked into her eyes.
“I’ll be home soon,” I said.
Indie nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She hugged me one more time, then climbed off the bed and followed Kenzo to the door. Before she left, she looked back at me.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you too, baby,” I said.
And then she was gone.
I sat there for a minute, letting the silence settle around me. Letting the rage build. Then I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Pain shot through my shoulder, but I ignored it. I’d been through worse.
I walked over to the chair where someone had left a clean black t-shirt and a pair of jeans. I got dressed slowly, gritting my teeth against the pain.
When I was done, I walked out of the room and into the warehouse.
The main floor was mostly empty, just a few of my soldiers standing guard.
They nodded at me as I passed, their faces respectful.
I walked through the warehouse, my footsteps echoing on the concrete floor, and then I reached the back room.
Antoine and Deacon were standing outside the door, armed and alert. When they saw me, they straightened up.
“Boss,” Antoine said.
I nodded at them. “Leave.”
They didn’t hesitate or ask questions. They just turned and walked away.
I pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room was small and windowless. A single lightbulb hung from the ceiling, casting harsh shadows on the walls.
In the center of the room, tied to a chair, was Wes. He looked like shit. His face was pale and covered in sweat. Blood had soaked through the makeshift bandage on his side where I’d shot him. He was barely hanging on, but he had enough life left in him for me to make him suffer.
When he saw me, his eyes widened, and then he glared. “Fuck you, Stone,” he spat, his voice weak.
I walked toward him slowly, my hands in my pockets.
“Nah, nigga. Fuck you. You should’ve never fucked with Indie,” I said, my voice cold. “And you definitely should’ve never fucked with my unborn child.”
Wes’s eyes went wide.
“What?” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
I smirked.
“Yeah, nigga,” I said. “She’s pregnant. You put my baby in danger.”
I saw the realization hit him. Saw the fear flash across his face. Because he knew that this wasn’t just about him kidnapping the woman I loved. This was about him threatening my family. And for that, he had to suffer.
I looked around the room.
It was fully equipped. Knives. Pliers. A blowtorch. A hacksaw. Everything I needed. I walked over to the table and picked up a pair of pliers.
Wes started hyperventilating.
“Stone, man, please,” he begged, his voice shaking. “Just kill me. Just fuckin’ kill me.”
I looked at him and smiled. A cold, cruel smile.
“Nah,” I said. “You said you was gon’ cut off Indie’s fingers, right? So that’s where I’ma start.”
Wes’s eyes filled with tears.
“Please, man,” he sobbed. “Please don’t do this.”
I didn’t respond. I just walked over to him and grabbed his right hand. He tried to pull away, but he was weak and the ropes held him in place. I positioned the pliers around his index finger, and then I squeezed.
Wes screamed.
A bloodcurdling, animalistic scream that echoed off the walls.
But I didn’t stop.
I kept squeezing until I felt the bone crack, and then I twisted. The finger came off with a sickening pop. Blood poured from the wound, pooling on the floor.
Wes was sobbing now, his whole body shaking, but I wasn’t done. I moved to the next finger. And the next. And the next. By the time I was done, all five fingers on his right hand were gone. His hand was a mangled, bloody mess.
Wes had passed out halfway through, but I kept going. Kept removing his fingers one by one. Because he deserved it. Deserved every second of pain.
When I was done, I stepped back and looked at him. He was barely breathing. His face was pale, his body was limp. He didn’t have long. But I wasn’t satisfied. I walked over to the table and grabbed a gun.
I walked back to Wes and raised the gun, and then I fired. The first shot hit him in the chest. The second in the stomach. The third in the face. I kept firing. Over and over again until the gun was empty and Wes’s body was riddled with bullets. Until his face was unrecognizable.
I stood there for a moment, staring at what was left of him. And I felt... nothing.
No satisfaction.
No relief.
Just emptiness.
Because no amount of torture could undo what he’d done. It couldn’t erase the fear Indie had felt or take back the bruises on her neck. It couldn’t change the fact that I’d failed to protect her.
I dropped the gun on the floor and walked out of the room.
Antoine and Deacon were waiting outside.
“Get rid of the body,” I said, my voice flat.
They nodded and went inside.
I walked through the warehouse and out to the parking lot. One of my cars was parked near the entrance. I climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
My shoulder was throbbing and my whole body was exhausted, but I pushed through it. I needed to get home. Needed to be with Indie. I needed to hold her and make sure she was okay.
I pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street.
The drive back to the estate was long, but I didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. I just kept driving.
Because there was only one place I needed to be, and that was by Indie’s side.