41. Rowan
41
ROWAN
My father’s men never saw me as a real threat. That was always their mistake.
The zip ties cut into my wrists as I test their strength for the third time, careful to keep my movements small. Two guards flank the office door, and another stands by the barred window. All three pointedly avoid looking at me directly—Cypher’s standing orders. Look but don’t touch. The princess is untouchable.
Except when she betrays the family. Then all bets are off.
“She’s not talking,” the guard by the window mutters. “Boss won’t like that.”
“Boss can ask her himself when he gets here,” the bigger guard answers. “Our job is just to keep her from running again.”
I stare at the floor, playing the part they expect—the scared daughter, the failed runaway. But inside, calculations run nonstop. Three guards. One door. A barred window. Zip ties I could break if I had leverage.
My father taught me well, despite himself. Every Sunday from age twelve to seventeen meant combat training with the prospects. Lock-picking lessons from the VP’s wife. How to escape restraints from the former Army Ranger who ran security. All so I could protect myself if a rival club ever grabbed me.
Ironic that I’d use those lessons against his own men.
I shift slightly, easing pressure on my wrists while scanning the room again. A metal desk bolted to the floor. Two wooden chairs. Filing cabinets empty and rusting. This must have been the mill foreman’s office once.
Voices filter from below—more Vipers arriving. They’re consolidating, preparing for whatever comes next. My father isn’t one to retreat, even outnumbered. He’ll make a stand here, use me as leverage against the brothers and against the town.
“You should’ve stayed put, princess,” the guard by the window says, breaking the silence. “Boss tore apart three states looking for you.”
I glance up, meeting his gaze for the first time. Dennis. One of the newer patches. He was kind to me once, sneaking me cigarettes when Dad locked me in my room after a failed escape attempt at nineteen.
“How’d he find me?” I ask, my voice deliberately small.
Dennis shrugs. “Started tracking your sister once she stopped answering his calls. College campus security’s a joke.”
Emma. My chest tightens. “Where is she?”
“Around.” He turns back to the window. “Backup’s here.”
More boots on the stairs. My time is running out.
I scan the guards again, looking for weaknesses. The big one favors his left knee—an old motorcycle accident left him with a steel pin. The one by the door has a holster that’s too loose.
Dennis keeps checking his phone, distracted.
The door bangs open, and all three straighten as my father fills the frame.
Cypher. The snake. The monster I called Dad for twenty-four years.
“Leave us,” he orders, and the guards file out without a word.
For a long moment, he just looks at me, his face unreadable. I’ve always resembled my mother more than him, but we have the same eyes—cold, calculating, seeing more than we let on.
“I trained you better than this,” he says finally, circling the desk to stand over me. “Running to the same men who tried to destroy us? That’s not just stupid, Leona. That’s betrayal.”
I say nothing. Words are weapons with my father, and he’s always been better armed.
“Three of them.” He shakes his head. “Were you trying to hurt me, or just slut it up across the country?”
My jaw clenches. “You don’t own me.”
“I made you.” He slams his hand on the desk, the sound like a gunshot in the small room. “Everything you are, everything you know—that’s my investment. My legacy.”
“Your property,” I correct bitterly. “That’s all I’ve ever been to you.”
“You’re my blood.” His voice drops, something almost like hurt flickering across his face. “My heir. I was preparing you to lead, to be greater than I ever was.”
“By making me deliver drugs in cake boxes? By teaching me to kill? That’s not preparing me to lead. That’s grooming your replacement.”
His eyes narrow. “You think you’re so much better than me now? Living with those murderers, spreading your legs for the same men who killed your family?”
“They’re more family to me than you ever were,” I spit, the words burning as they leave my throat. “I didn’t know about the connection until last night, but if I had known the first day I stepped foot in this town, I’d have started fucking them right away!”
The slap comes fast, snapping my head to the side. I taste blood where my teeth cut into my cheek.
“Family.” He spits the word like it’s poison. “Those Kane brothers are dead men walking. By morning, there won’t be enough left of them to bury.”
The calm certainty in his voice sends ice through my veins. “You’re in their territory, Dad. They’re not alone,” I warn. “The whole town stands with them.”
“This hick town?” He laughs. “I’ve crushed cities, Leona. What’s one more speck on the map?”
A booming crash shakes the building, dust raining from the ceiling. My father’s head snaps toward the window.
“What the fuck?” He strides over to where Dennis stood moments ago, peering out at whatever caused the explosion.
This is my chance. I twist violently in the chair, using the momentum to slam the zip tie against the edge of the desk. The plastic digs into my skin, but I feel it weaken. One more try.
Another explosion rocks the warehouse, closer this time. Shouts filter up from below, men scrambling, orders being yelled. My father yanks a radio from his belt.
“Report!” he barks. “What the fuck is happening down there?”
The distorted reply is lost beneath a third explosion that shatters the office window, glass spraying across the room. My father ducks, cursing.
I throw myself backward, chair and all, using my full body weight against the desk edge. I wince in pain when I remember there’s a life growing inside me.
The zip tie snaps, pain lancing through my wrists as circulation returns. I scramble to my feet, grabbing the splintered chair leg as a weapon.
My father turns, registering my freedom a second too late. The chair leg connects with his knee, buckling it. He stumbles, reaching for his gun, but I move faster.
Elbow to solar plexus.
Palm strike to chin, snapping his head back.
Knee to groin when he doubles over.
Each move executed perfectly, just as he taught me.
His gun clatters to the floor. I dive for it, fingers closing around the grip as the door bursts open. Dennis and the big guard rush in, assessing the situation in an instant. Their hands move to their waistbands.
I don’t hesitate. Two shots, center mass, just like Dad taught me. They drop before they can clear their weapons.
My father lunges from behind, arm wrapping around my throat in a chokehold. I twist, trying to break his grip, but he’s stronger.
“I gave you everything,” he hisses in my ear as spots dance before my eyes. “And this is how you repay me?”
The gun is useless with his arm pinning mine. But there’s another weapon—another lesson he taught me.
I go limp, dead weight in his arms. His grip loosens for just an instant, surprise overriding training. I drive my head back, connecting with his nose. The crunch and his howl tell me I hit my mark.
His hold breaks. I stumble forward, spinning to face him, gun raised.
Blood streams from his broken nose, his eyes wild with fury and something else—grudging pride.
“You always were a fast learner,” he says, wiping blood with the back of his hand. “Better than Emma ever was.”
“Where is she?” I demand, keeping the gun steady despite my racing heart.
“Safe enough. Insurance policy.” He smiles through the blood. “Lower the gun, Leona. We both know you won’t shoot your own father.”
He’s right. Despite everything, despite the bruises and the fear and the life he forced on me, I can’t pull the trigger. He’s a monster, but he’s my monster. My blood.
But I don’t need to kill him to win.
I aim lower and fire, the bullet tearing through his thigh. He roars in pain, collapsing to the floor.
“That’s for Emma,” I tell him, moving toward the door. “And the name is Rowan now.”
Gunfire echoes from the main floor below, punctuated by shouts and running feet.
I slip into the hallway, gun ready, moving as Dad taught me—cover to cover, checking corners, staying low.
Two Vipers round the stairwell. I drop the first with a shot to the knee, duck the return fire, and take out the second with a bullet to the shoulder. Non-lethal, but effective.
These men were my family once. I won’t kill them if I don’t have to.
Smoke fills the main floor as I reach the stairs. Through the haze, I spot familiar figures—Teller’s crew engaging with Vipers on the far side, Brick directing the assault from behind a forklift. Controlled chaos, a carefully orchestrated attack.
A Viper rushes me from the side. I pivot, using his momentum to send him crashing down the stairs before continuing my descent.
Blood drips from a cut on my forehead, soaking my shirt as I reach the main floor. I take cover behind a concrete pillar, assessing what’s before me.
Three Vipers corner a Black Wolves member near the loading bay. I pick off two with careful shots, giving him the opening to take down the third. He nods in thanks before disappearing into the smoke.
More explosions rock the building’s far side. I move toward the center of the fighting, gun raised, looking for a path out—or a Kane brother to find.
Maddox appears through the smoke like an avenging angel, taking down a Viper with a vicious right hook. His eyes sweep the warehouse, searching, desperate. Searching for me.
“Maddox!” I call, my voice nearly lost in the cacophony.
He spins, eyes going wide as he spots me. Relief, shock, and something fiercer flash across his face as he takes in my bloodied appearance, the gun in my hand.
Then he’s running toward me, cutting through the battle like it’s nothing. I meet him halfway, nearly colliding in our rush to reach each other.
“You’re hurt,” he growls, fingers brushing my bloodied forehead.
“Not my blood. Not mostly.” I glance around. “Where’s my sister?”
“She’s safe. One of the Cross brothers’ people got her out.” His eyes scan my face. “You good to move?”
My sister is safe. One less thing to worry about. “Look, I’m really sorry about all?—”
“No, princess,” he cuts me off. “We’ll deal with that later. Let’s end this first.” He presses a quick, fierce kiss to my lips before turning back toward the fight.
I follow, gun ready, a smile tugging at my lips despite the chaos surrounding us. My father never understood what he created in me—a survivor, a fighter, a woman who would burn the world down to protect what she loves.