33. Hudson
HUDSON
I hand Eva the burner phone and watch her stare at it for a second before dialing her father’s number.
The call connects almost immediately.
“Who is this?” a rough voice answers.
Eva swallows once. “It’s me, Dad.”
Silence.
Then, his voice sharper now.
“Eva?”
Her fingers tighten slightly around the phone.
“Can you come get me?”
* * *
An hour later, we’re parked outside a dying strip mall on the edge of the city.
Neutral territory.
Public enough to discourage immediate violence.
It isn’t safe. Just a little safer.
Baron Roybal climbs out of the back of a black Town Car the second it pulls into the lot.
Eva had changed into loose joggers and an oversized T-shirt, her red hair pulled into a messy ponytail, makeup scrubbed clean from her face.
The goal is to make her look like a victim.
Her breathing starts to quicken beside me.
“I want to vomit,” she whispers.
I reach across the center console and gently squeeze her knee.
“Hey.” I wait until she looks at me. “Breathe.”
Her blue eyes lock onto mine.
“Just play along,” I say quietly. “You can do this. It’ll be over soon.”
As soon as I say the words, they feel like a lie.
Because I know none of this will end anytime soon.
It takes everything I have to let her open the passenger door.
I have to fight the urge to put a bullet through Roybal’s skull right here in the parking lot.
Eva crosses the cracked asphalt toward him slowly.
Baron pulls her into a hug the second she reaches him.
My stomach churns violently.
Watching him pretend to care makes me sick.
As if he was actually worried.
As if he spent every second searching for her.
Bullshit.
If he really cared, he would have come for her.
He would have burned that house down and made sure everyone inside paid for it.
“You son of a bitch,” I snarl, my grip tightening on the wheel.
Roybal doesn’t even glance toward my car.
His hand settles firmly against Eva’s lower back as he guides her toward the back seat like he already owns her again.
The door shuts.
The Town Car pulls away.
I wait.
One second.
Two.
Ten.
I half expect gunfire, a tail, or some kind of trap.
Nothing happens.
The parking lot stays quiet.
The taste of restraint sits bitter in my throat as I watch Eva disappear into the night.
* * *
The mansion rises out of the darkness like it’s been waiting for me.
Every window glows.
Too bright.
Too awake.
Like the house already knows what’s coming.
Inside, the silence feels wrong.
No guards stop me.
No one even looks at me.
That’s the first thing that puts me on edge.
I move through the halls, boots echoing on polished floors, heading straight forMartin’s office.
No surprise to find him there.
He sits behind his desk wearing reading glasses, flipping through paperwork like this is any other night.
“Evening, Hudson,” he says mildly. “I heard you were back in town.”
Then he finally looks up.
His eyes go immediately to the gun in my hand.
“Uncle,” I say, lifting the weapon toward his head.
Martin doesn’t even flinch.
“I have to admit, you’re very good at hiding.” He slowly removes his glasses. “And your brother…” A faint smirk touches his mouth. “Impressively quiet.”
My finger tightens on the trigger.
“But,” Martin continues, setting the paperwork aside, “you were spotted crossing back into the state yesterday. I’m told you returned the girl before coming here.”
He leans back in his chair like we’re having a casual conversation.
“I don’t think you’re going to shoot me,” he says.
A sneer curls his mouth.
“You wanted to kill her, didn’t you? Told me you wanted to be the one. And then you didn’t.” His head tilts. “So what changed?”
Martin sighs softly, almost disappointed.
“You fell in love with her?” He shakes his head once. “What a fucking cliché.”
I don’t answer.
He doesn’t deserve it.
Then he lazily gestures toward the gun.
“You just walked in here carrying that?” he asks. “No one stopped you? Weird, huh?”
Cold starts spreading slowly through my stomach.
Martin watches me realize it.
“If I wanted you disarmed, Hudson, you never would’ve made it past the gate.”
The office suddenly feels too quiet.
Too controlled.
“But guns aren’t what control people,” he continues softly.
His eyes flick toward the doorway behind me.
Calm.
Certain.
“Fear does.”
A chill crawls up my spine.
“Watching someone you love die?”Martin says. “That stays with you forever.”
And suddenly, it hits me.
I understand.
He wanted me to come in here armed.
Wanted me to believe I still had power.
My stomach drops.
I turn quickly.
The world tilts sideways.
One ofMartin’s loyalists stands in the doorway with a knife pressed against Lucian’s throat.
My heart fucking stops.
Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck.
Lucian’s eyes lock onto mine, wide with fear he’s trying desperately to hide.
Martin clucks his tongue softly behind me.
“I caught this one rolling a Ducati toward the back gate,” he says. “Trying to sneak off, I suppose. Probably hoping to find big brother.”
“Hud.”
Lucian’s voice cracks slightly. He’s genuinely scared right now, and I am paralyzed by it.
The blade shifts against his throat when he swallows, opening a thin line of blood beneath the edge.
“I wasn’t running,” He says, trying to steady his breathing. “I was leaving your fucking house.”
“Lucian,” I warn sharply.
But he keeps going.
His eyes leave mine and settle directly onMartin.
“You’re out of control,” he says. “Everybody sees it.”
Martin doesn’t move.
Doesn’t blink.
“You’re not leading anymore,” Lucian continues, voice uneven but louder now. “You’re just hurting people because you can.”
“Enough,” I snap.
But it’s too late.
Lucian lifts his chin slightly, even with the knife biting deeper into his skin.
“You’re weak.”
The word cuts through the room like a gunshot.
Silence follows.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
Martin says nothing for so long that my pulse starts hammering harder.
Then, slowly, he exhales.
“You know,” he says almost thoughtfully, “I had a feeling.”
My grip tightens around the gun.
Martin steps out from behind the desk at last.
“A feeling that something wasn’t right in my house.” His stare flicks between the two of us. “Loose ends. Quiet whispers. Little inconsistencies.”
Cold sweat crawls down my spine.
He stops a few feet from Lucian.
“I trusted you,” he says softly. “Raised you from a baby. Fed you. Protected you.”
Lucian doesn’t back down.
“Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “And look what you turned into.”
Martin smiles.
He isn’t amused.
He isn’t kind.
It’s worse.
He’s disappointed.
“Club members don’t respect you anymore,” Lucian says quietly. “They’re just scared of you.”
Martin’s expression darkens.
Lucian swallows hard.
“Funny thing about betrayal,” Martin says softly, almost conversational now. “It never comes from your enemies.”
A beat passes.
“It comes from the ones you let close.”
My pulse starts hammering hard.
“You’ve been talking to him,” Martin continues, nodding toward me. “Feeding him information. Letting that girl move around my house like I’m already dead.”
Lucian says nothing.
Doesn’t deny or confirm it.
But it doesn’t matter.
Martin has already decided.
“Martin,” I say, stepping forward. “This isn’t what you think?—”
“Don’t.”
The word rings sharply through the room.
His attention snaps back to Lucian.
“Betrayers,” he says quietly, “don’t get second chances.”
A cold feeling slides slowly down my spine.
“They don’t get mercy.”
“Martin,” I try again, voice tighter now. “You need to listen to me.”
“They don’t get to walk away.”
Lucian’s breathing has turned uneven now, but when his eyes find mine again, there’s no panic in them.
No apology.
Like he already knows how this ends.
Fear claws violently up my throat.
“Martin,” I say, forcing myself to stay calm. “There’s something wrong with you.”
That finally gets his attention.
His gaze cuts toward me slowly.
“Torturing women?” I continue carefully. “Raping them?” My stomach twists around the words. “That wasn’t business. It wasn’t leverage. You just liked hurting people.”
The office goes deathly still.
“You weren’t like this before,” I say. “Not with women. Not with your own people.”
Martin’s face hardens.
But he still hasn’t moved.
Hasn’t given an order.
So I keep going.
“You need to step down,” I say quietly. “Retire. Walk away before this gets worse.” I glance toward Lucian briefly before looking back at him. “We can keep this peaceful. There doesn’t have to be bloodshed tonight.”
“Says the man standing there with a gun pointed at my head,” Martin says softly.
Something ugly twists across his face.
“I took you in. Gave you a home. Built you into something worth a damn.”
Each word lands more heavily.
Each word lands heavier than the last.
“You play hockey because I allowed it.” His eyes burn into mine. “You exist because of me. And now you’re standing here telling me to disappear quietly?” He laughs once under his breath. “Like some old man ready for a retirement home?”
“I’m telling you,” I growl, “because if you don’t?—”
“I know.”
He cuts me off
A cold smile curls across his mouth.
“You’ll shoot me.”
And then, suddenly,
He nods.
Everything detonates at once.
The knife flashes against Lucian’s throat.
“No—!”
Time doesn’t slow down at all.
It just breaks apart.
I move instinctively.
I raise my gun.
Two shots crack through the office fast enough to blur together.
The guard drops first.
The knife jerks from his hand as blood sprays across the doorway, and Lucian stumbles sideways, crashing hard against the wall.
A third shot.
Martin.
Clean between the eyes.
The back of his skull snaps against the bookshelf behind him.
For one horrible second, he stays standing.
Then the smile disappears from his face forever as his body collapses backward onto the floor.
For half a second, I think maybe?—
I got them.
I got them both.
I fixed it.
Then Lucian chokes
A wet, awful sound.
Blood is pouring through his fingers.
The knife had already cut deep across his throat before the guard dropped.
“Lucian—”
The gun falls from my hand as I drop to my knees beside him.
“Hey. Hey. Hey,” I choke out. “Stay with me.”
My hands clamp over the wound instinctively, trying to hold him together, but blood keeps forcing its way out in thick, hot streams.
No.
No, no, no.
I’ve seen this before.
Suddenly, I’m eleven years old again, kneeling on the floor beside my mother while her life slips through my hands, no matter how hard I try to stop it.
I couldn’t save her.
And now, I can’t save him either.
“Stay with me,” I choke out. “Please. Stay with me, kid.”
Lucian’s eyes find mine.
Already fading.
“I tried,” he whispers.
The words nearly split me open.
“You did,” I say immediately, voice breaking apart. “You did everything right.”
Blood coats my hands.
My shirt.
His skin.
There’s so much fucking blood.
“I love you,” he breathes.
A broken sound tears out of me.
I pull him closer against my chest, trying to keep pressure against the wound while panic tears through me so violently I can barely breathe.
“I love you too,” I say desperately. “I love you. You hear me? None of this was your fault.”
His fingers twitch weakly against my shirt.
“This is on me,” I choke out. “I left you here. Fuck, I left you here.”
“Hud—”
“I’m sorry,” I say over him, tears blurring my vision so badly I can barely see his face anymore. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
His breathing stutters wetly.
Then, somehow, he manages?—
“You came back.”
It breaks something open inside my chest.
I bow over him, forehead pressing against his.
“I did,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
“I knew you would.”
A sob tears out of me.
“You’re the best thing in my life,” I tell him. “You hear me? The best thing.”
His chest jerks once. Twice.
Then stops.
No.
No—
I stare at him for a second that feels endless. My whole body refuses to make sense of what my eyes are seeing.
Lucian is gone.
And I couldn’t save him.
I broke completely after that.
Tears and snot mix while I drag in ragged breaths that don’t feel big enough to keep me alive.
I can’t protect anyone I love.
Not my mother.
Not Eva.
Not him.
Eventually, I force myself to move.
My arms slide beneath Lucian carefully, lifting him against my chest.
Dead weight.
The realization nearly buckles my knees.
I carry him out of the office.
The hallway beyond is lined with men.
They’ve been there the whole time.
Watching.
Some I recognize.
Some I don’t.
No one steps forward.
No one reaches for a weapon.
No one tries to stop me.
They look at Lucian, at the blood bath on him.
Then they look at me.
Waiting.
Because Martin ruled this club with fear.
But everybody here knew who got sent in when things needed to disappear.
Martin made threats.
Hudson Cross finished them.
And deep down, every man standing in this hallway already knew which kind of leader kept people alive longer.
At the far end of the corridor, Donnelly still stands where I left him.
Arms crossed.
Watching everything.
I walk straight toward him with Lucian in my arms.
He doesn’t move to stop me.
His eyes drop briefly to Lucian’s face.
A flicker of respect.
Of grief.
“Kid didn’t deserve that,” he says quietly.
My throat tightens, too hard to answer.
Donnelly’s eyes lift back to mine.
“Is it done?”
I nod.
He exhales. Then he turns slightly to the room.
“Clean it up.”
Everything moves.
Fast. Efficient.
“Where are you taking him?” he asks.
“Out of here.”
“Good,” he says. “He shouldn’t stay in this place.”
We reach the front door.
Cold night air crashes into me the second it opens.
For a moment, I just stand there holding Lucian against my chest.
Like, if I don’t move or walk out that door, maybe none of this becomes real.
Behind me, Donnelly speaks again.
Quieter this time.
“He was a good kid.”
That one hits harder than anything else tonight.
My chest caves inward around it.
“You planning to lead?” he asks after a long pause.
I finally look back at him, the man who stepped aside instead of fighting me for the room upstairs.
“I didn’t do this for the chair.”
“I know.”
Somewhere deeper in the house, a door slams.
“That’s exactly why they’ll follow you.”
Silence stretches.
Behind me, the house is already shifting aroundMartin’s death and reorganizing itself.
I look down at Lucian.
Then back up at Donnelly.
“I’ll be back.”
He nods once.
I turn, carry my brother down the steps, and don’t look back.