Chapter 9 - Tank #2
I smile "You'd be surprised what your ex-wife is capable of when she's not terrified of being beaten for breathing wrong."
His face contorts with fury. "You don't know shit about my marriage. About what that bitch deserves."
"I know you broke her ribs last month," I say, taking another step forward, the gun now inches from my chest. "I know you put bruises on your five-year-old daughter's arm three days ago.
I know you pushed Amelia down the stairs and caused her to miscarry your child, then told the doctors she tripped. "
Each accusation lands like a punch, his eyes widening with the realization that Amelia has told me everything. That his secrets aren't secrets anymore.
"Lying whore," he hisses, desperation creeping into his voice. "She's always making shit up, playing the victim."
"We both know that's not true," I say calmly. "We both know exactly what you are, Mitchell. A coward who beats women and children to feel powerful. A piece of shit hiding behind a badge."
"I'm warning you," he says, pressing the gun against my chest now. "Back the fuck off. I'm taking my family home, and if you try to stop me, I will fucking end you."
I move faster than he can react, my hand closing around his wrist, twisting until the gun clatters to the floor. He throws a punch with his free hand, but it's clumsy, telegraphed. I dodge it easily before driving my fist into his gut, doubling him over.
"You're not taking anyone anywhere," I tell him as he gasps for breath. "You're never going to see Amelia or Anna again. You're never going to call them, text them, or look for them. As far as you're concerned, they ceased to exist the moment you put your hands on them."
He lunges for the fallen gun, but I'm quicker, kicking it across the room before grabbing him by the throat and slamming him against the wall hard enough to crack the cheap plasterboard.
"Listen carefully, because I'm only saying this once," I growl, tightening my grip just enough to make his eyes bulge.
"If you ever come near Amelia or Anna again, if you ever try to contact them, if you so much as speak their names, I will end you.
Not quickly, not cleanly. I will take you apart piece by piece until there's nothing left to find. Do you understand me?"
He claws at my hand, face reddening as he struggles for air. I ease my grip just enough to let him speak.
"You can't... do this," he chokes out. "I'm a cop. I have rights. I'll have you arrested for assault."
I laugh, the sound devoid of humor. "Go ahead. Try it. Tell the Blackwater Falls police that you were attacked while illegally tracking your ex-wife across state lines, in violation of the restraining order she has against you. See how that works out."
"There's no restraining order," he gasps.
"There will be by tomorrow," I assure him. "Along with documentation of all the abuse Amelia suffered at your hands. Medical records. Witness statements. Everything she was too afraid to use before because you threatened her."
His eyes widen with panic. "That would destroy my career."
"That's the idea," I confirm. "But you have a choice.
Leave now. Go back to Riverbrook. Never contact Amelia or Anna again.
Stay away from Blackwater Falls for the rest of your miserable life.
Do that, and maybe, maybe, I don't send that evidence to your chief, to Internal Affairs, to the local news.
And this is just the beginning," I tell him.
"You'd be amazed what people will tell you about a dirty cop once they know they're protected.
How many others have you hurt, Mitchell?
How many other women? How many suspects? How clean is your record, really?"
He swallows hard, the fight draining from him as he realizes the precariousness of his position. "What do you want?"
"I told you. Leave. Never come back. Never contact them again."
"And my daughter? I have rights—"
I slam him against the wall again, harder this time. "You lost any rights to that little girl when you put bruises on her arm. When you made her afraid of her own father."
His face crumples, and for a moment, I almost see genuine remorse. But it's quickly replaced by calculation, the wheels turning behind his eyes as he looks for an angle, a way out.
"How do I know you'll keep your word? That you won't send that evidence anyway once I'm gone?"
"You don't," I say simply. "You'll have to trust me. Just like Amelia had to trust you when you promised you'd never hurt her again. How did that work out for her?"
The comparison hits home, his face twisting with something like shame before hardening into resentment.
"Fine," he spits. "They're not worth this shit anyway. The bitch and her brat can rot in this backwards town with you and your biker trash."
The casual cruelty of his words, the dismissal of the woman and child he claimed to love just minutes ago, confirms everything I needed to know about Derek Mitchell. He doesn't love Amelia or Anna. He never did. They were possessions to him, nothing more.
I release him, stepping back. "You have one hour to get out of Blackwater Falls. If you're still here after that, all bets are off."
He straightens his shirt, trying to reclaim some dignity. "This isn't over. You think you've won, but you have no idea who you're fucking with."
"No, Mitchell. You have no idea who you're fucking with. One more thing."
Before he can react, I turn and drive my fist into his face with every ounce of strength I possess. There's a satisfying crunch as his nose breaks, blood spraying across the cheap motel bedspread.
"That's for Amelia," I tell him as he howls in pain, hands clutching his face. "Consider yourself lucky it's all you're getting."
I leave him bleeding and cursing, stepping back into the pre-dawn chill. Rage and Shadow are waiting exactly where I left them, tension visible in their stances.
"It's handled," I tell them, my voice calmer than I feel. "He'll be gone within the hour."
"You sure about that?" Rage asks skeptically. "Guys like him don't usually give up so easily."
"He's a coward at heart," I say. "And cowards always choose self-preservation when it comes down to it."
Shadow notices my bruised knuckles. "You good, VP?"
"Better than I've been in a long time," I answer honestly. And it's true. The confrontation with Mitchell has cleared something in me, resolved a tension I didn't even know I was carrying.
"I'm heading back to the cabin," I tell them. "You two stay here, make sure he leaves town. Then go back to the clubhouse, get some rest."
They nod, and I start toward the SUV, eager to return to Amelia, to tell her it's over, to see the relief on her face when she realizes she's truly free.
As I drive through the awakening town, the first rays of sunrise painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, I find myself thinking about what happens next. About the future, a concept I haven't given much thought to in years, living as I have from one day to the next, one fight to the next.
But now, suddenly, I'm thinking about tomorrow. And the day after. And all the days that might follow with Amelia and Anna in them.
It should terrify me, this sudden shift in perspective. This vulnerability. But instead, it feels like waking up after a long, dark night. Like coming home after years of wandering.
Maybe we are rescuing each other, just like she said. Maybe that's what love is supposed to be. Not the twisted control Mitchell called love, but this. Two broken people finding the missing pieces of themselves in each other.
The thought should send me running for the hills. Instead, I press harder on the accelerator, eager to get back to the cabin, to the woman who's somehow managed to crack through the ice around my heart in less than a day.
To the future I never thought I'd want but now can't imagine living without.