Chapter 30 #2
The words crashed over me like a tidal wave, drowning me in their implications.
My father. Dominic Ward. A legacy. The rightful president.
Imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit.
Nearly killing a man in revenge. And me.
Me. A legacy. “You’re lying,” I said again, but the words were hollow now.
Empty. Because deep down, in a place I didn’t want to acknowledge, I knew he was telling the truth.
I could see it in his eyes. Could feel it in the way the pieces were clicking into place, forming a picture I’d never wanted to see.
My father had run from this world. Had hidden from it.
Had built a new life, a normal life, to protect us from the violence and chaos he’d left behind. And I’d walked right back into it.
“I don’t believe you,” I said, my voice stronger now, fueled by desperation and denial. “You’re just trying to—”
I didn’t finish the sentence. Because I saw it. An opening. One of the Death Dogs had moved away from the door—just a few feet, just enough to create a gap. And in that gap, I saw freedom. I saw escape. I saw a chance. I didn’t think. I just moved.
I scrambled to my feet and ran, my legs pumping, my arms still wrapped protectively around my abdomen.
The farmhouse floor was rotting and uneven, gaps in the wood exposing the dirt below, and I nearly fell twice, but I kept going.
Kept running. Kept pushing toward that door, toward freedom, toward—
Laughter. The sound stopped me cold, my feet skidding on the wood. Stone Ward was laughing. A deep, genuine laugh that echoed through the dilapidated farmhouse like thunder.
“Did you really think I’d let you run?” he called out, his voice filled with amusement. “Did you really think I wouldn’t see that coming?”
I spun around, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst out of my chest. Stone was standing exactly where I’d left him, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression one of pure, sadistic enjoyment.
The Death Dogs around him were laughing too, some of them doubled over, like this was the funniest thing they’d seen in years.
“I let you run,” Stone said, his smile widening. “I wanted to see if you’d be stupid enough to try.”
Before I could react, before I could even process what he was saying, two sets of hands grabbed me from behind.
I screamed, thrashing wildly, but they were too strong.
They dragged me back across the rotting farmhouse floor, my feet scraping uselessly against the wood, and threw me down at Stone’s feet.
I hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the wind out of me.
Pain exploded through my body—my shoulder, my hip, my ribs—and I gasped, curling into a ball, trying to protect my baby from the violence I knew was coming.
“This,” Stone said, his voice dropping to something cold and deadly, “is what happens when a stupid club whore disobeys me.”
He grabbed me by the hair and hauled me to my knees, forcing me to look up at him.
His face was inches from mine, his eyes cold and empty and utterly devoid of mercy.
“Your father thinks he can keep running,” Stone said softly.
“He thinks he can hide from his past, from his responsibilities, from the blood he owes. But he can’t.
And you’re going to be the one who brings him out of hiding. ”
“Please,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Please, I-I’m pregnant—”
And then he let go of my hair and stepped back. For one brief, stupid moment, I thought he was going to let me go. Thought maybe he’d made his point, delivered his message, and now he’d—
His fist connected with my ribs. The pain was immediate and overwhelming, a white-hot explosion that stole my breath and my vision and my ability to think. I doubled over, gasping, my arms instinctively curling tighter around my abdomen, trying to shield my baby from the violence.
“When your father comes for you,” Stone said, his voice calm and conversational, like he was discussing the weather, “he’s going to die. Just like his father did. Just like everyone who tries to escape the Silver Shadows.”
Another blow. This one to my back, between my shoulder blades.
I collapsed forward, my hands hitting the wood, barely catching myself before my face did the same.
“But first,” Stone continued, circling me slowly, “I’m going to make sure he knows exactly what happens to people who run.
What happens to people who think they can turn their backs on the club and walk away clean. ”
A kick to my thigh. Sharp and brutal. I cried out, the sound torn from my throat before I could stop it. The Death Dogs were laughing again. Cheering. Shouting encouragement like this was some kind of sport.
“Come on, Stone! Make her scream!”
“Bet she breaks in five minutes!”
“Nah, she’s tougher than she looks. Ten minutes, easy.”
Stone’s boot connected with my side, and I felt something crack. Not break, but crack. A rib, maybe. The pain was so intense I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but curl tighter around my stomach and pray that my baby was okay. Please, God, please let my baby be okay.
“Your father should have stayed in prison,” Stone said, punctuating each word with another blow. Fist to my shoulder. Kick to my back. Hand grabbing my hair and slamming my head against the wood. “Should have taken his punishment like a man instead of running like a pussy.”
Blood filled my mouth. I’d bitten my tongue, or maybe my lip. I couldn’t tell. Everything was pain and fear and the desperate, overwhelming need to protect the life growing inside me. “But he didn’t,” Stone continued. “He ran. And now you’re going to pay the price.”
Another kick. This one to my lower back, just above my hip.
I screamed, the sound raw and broken, and heard the Death Dogs cheer louder.
Stone crouched down beside me, his face level with mine.
I could barely see him through the tears and the blood and the pain, but I could feel his presence.
Cold. Merciless. Enjoying every second of this.