Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Hex
The first thing I saw was my daughter.
Brandy. My baby girl. Bruised, battered, her face swollen on one side, dried blood at the corner of her mouth.
Her arms were wrapped protectively around her stomach—around my grandchild—and her eyes were wide with terror and pain and something else.
Something that looked like hope when she saw me standing in that doorway.
The second thing I saw was Stone Ward.
My nephew. Titan’s only living son. The last remnant of the man who’d murdered my father and stolen everything that should have been mine.
He stood behind Brandy with a gun pressed to her temple, his face twisted into a sneer that was so much like his father’s it made my blood run cold.
The resemblance was uncanny—the same cruel mouth, the same dead eyes, the same arrogance that came from believing the world owed you something just because of who your father was.
“Cousin,” Stone said, his voice dripping with mock affection. “So good of you to finally show up. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about your little girl.”
I didn’t respond. Didn’t move. I just stood there in the doorway, my shotgun lowered but ready, my eyes locked on his.
Behind me, I could feel Torment’s presence—the younger man’s rage barely contained, his breathing harsh and ragged.
I held up one hand, a silent command to wait.
To hold position. To let me handle this.
Because this was mine. This moment. This reckoning. It had been building for thirty-three years, and I’d be damned if anyone else took it from me.
“You know,” Stone continued, pressing the gun harder against Brandy’s temple until she whimpered. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time. Ever since you damn near killed me.”
Brandy’s eyes met mine, and I saw the question there.
The confusion. She didn’t understand what he was talking about.
Didn’t know that I’d beaten Stone within an inch of his life all those years ago, that I’d left him broken and bleeding on the clubhouse floor while his brothers watched.
That I’d walked away from the Silver Shadows with blood on my hands and murder in my heart.
But she would understand soon enough.
“Let her go,” I said quietly, my voice carrying across the room with the weight of absolute certainty. “This is between you and me, Stone. Always has been. She’s got nothing to do with it.”
“Nothing to do with it?” Stone laughed, the sound harsh and bitter. “She’s got everything to do with it. She’s your daughter. Your blood. The one thing in this world you actually give a shit about. And now she’s mine. Just like everything else should have been mine.”
I saw it then—the moment Brandy made her decision. Her eyes hardened, her jaw set, and her body shifted slightly, preparing. She’d been a club whore for five years. She’d learned how to survive in a world of violent men. She’d learned how to fight back when fighting back was the only option left.
And she was my daughter. Which meant she had my blood running through her veins. My instincts. My refusal to go down without a fight.
Stone was still talking, still ranting about injustice and betrayal and all the ways I’d ruined his life, when Brandy drove her fist backward into his dick with brutal precision. The kind of precision that came from practice, from necessity, from knowing exactly where to hit to make a man drop.
Stone’s eyes went wide, his mouth opening in a soundless gasp of agony.
The gun wavered, his grip loosening as his body doubled over instinctively, trying to protect itself from the pain radiating through his core.
Brandy twisted away from him, stumbling forward, her hands still wrapped around her stomach.
And then Torment was there.
He burst through the doorway behind me like a man possessed, his eyes wild, his face a mask of barely controlled violence.
He took in the scene in a single glance—Brandy free, Stone doubled over, the gun falling from his hand and clattering to the floor—and moved without hesitation.
He crossed the room in three long strides, caught Brandy as she stumbled, and pulled her against his chest with a desperation that was almost painful to witness.
“I’ve got you,” he was saying, his voice rough and broken. “I’ve got you, baby. You’re safe. You’re safe now.”
Brandy was crying, her face buried against his chest, her body shaking with sobs that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her. Torment looked at me over her head, his eyes asking a silent question. I nodded toward the door.
“Get her the fuck out of here,” I said simply. “Now!”
He didn’t argue. Didn’t hesitate. He just scooped Brandy up into his arms like she weighed nothing and moved toward the exit, his body positioned to shield her from any threat.
As he passed me, Brandy reached out, her hand catching mine for just a moment.
Her fingers squeezed, a silent thank you, a silent I love you, a silent goodbye to the violence she knew was about to happen.
And then they were gone, disappearing down the hallway, leaving me alone with Stone.
Well. Not entirely alone.
Mercy appeared in the doorway, his gun drawn, his expression grim.
Behind him, I could see Smokey and Dutch, their faces hard and weathered, their eyes knowing.
They understood what was about to happen.
They’d been there when I’d beaten the shit out of Stone the first time.
They’d been there when I’d walked away from the club. They’d been there through all of it.
And they were here now. Witnesses. Brothers. The only family I’d ever really had besides Hannah and my kids.
“This piece of shit is mine,” I said, my voice carrying the weight of thirty-three years of rage and pain and loss.
Mercy nodded slowly, then stepped back, positioning himself in the doorway. Not leaving. Not interfering. Just... watching. Making sure no one else interrupted what needed to happen.
Stone straightened slowly, his face etched with pain and fury.
His hand moved toward his waistband, reaching for another weapon, but I was faster.
I crossed the distance between us in two steps and drove my fist into his face with enough force to snap his head back.
The impact sent a jolt of satisfaction through me, the kind of visceral pleasure that came from finally—finally—being able to hit back at the people who’d taken everything from me.
Stone staggered backward, blood exploding from his nose, his eyes watering.
He tried to raise his hands to defend himself, but I was already moving, already striking again.
My fist connected with his ribs—once, twice, three times—each blow landing with a meaty thud that echoed through the room.
I felt something crack under my knuckles, felt the give of bone breaking, and the satisfaction deepened.
“You want to blame me?” I said, my voice cold and flat as I drove another punch into his gut, doubling him over. “You want to make this my fault? Fine. Let’s talk about fault, Carrington. Let’s talk about your father.”
I grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head up, forcing him to look at me. His face was already swelling, blood streaming from his nose and mouth, his eyes glazed with pain. But he was still conscious. Still aware. Still able to hear every word I was about to say.
“Your father,” I continued, my voice never rising above that same cold, controlled tone, “murdered my father. His own brother. Shot him in the back and made it look like a rival club hit. All so he could take control of the Silver Shadows. All so he could be president. You want to talk about family being destroyed? About lives being ruined? That’s where it started, Stone.
With your father’s ambition and his willingness to kill his own blood to get what he wanted. ”
I released his hair and drove my knee into his stomach, feeling the air rush out of him in a pained wheeze. He collapsed to his knees, gasping, trying to suck in breath that wouldn’t come. I circled him slowly, methodically, like a predator stalking wounded prey.
“And then,” I said, my voice still that same terrible calm, “you fucking set me up. You, and that fucking pussy-whipped brother of yours, orchestrated a federal agent’s death and made sure I took the fall for it.
Sent me to prison for life. Took five years of my life away from me. Five years I’ll never get back.”
Stone tried to speak, tried to say something, but all that came out was a wet, gurgling sound. Blood was pooling in his mouth, making it hard for him to form words. I didn’t care. I wasn’t interested in what he had to say. I was done listening.
“When I got out,” I continued, driving my boot into his side and feeling more ribs crack under the impact, “I went to the clubhouse. I walked right in, and I beat your fucking ass within an inch of your life. With my bare hands. In front of all my brothers. In front of everyone who’d stood by and let you fucking destroy me.
And you know what? It felt good. It felt right.
Because that’s what you deserved. That’s what you all deserved. ”
Stone was on the floor now, curled into a fetal position, his arms wrapped around his head in a futile attempt to protect himself.
But I wasn’t aiming for his head. Not yet.
I wanted him to feel every blow. Wanted him to understand, in the most visceral way possible, what it meant to cross me. What it meant to threaten my family.
“Your brother Remington?” I said, crouching down beside him, my voice dropping to something almost conversational.
“He died because he was stupid enough to align himself with the fucking Death Dogs. Because he chose greed over loyalty, over doing what was right. That’s not on me, Carrington.
That’s on him. That’s on all of you. You sick greedy fucks. ”