“What you gave me was pain,” I say flatly. “All you taught me was survival. What you made me was something I’m still trying to undo.”
For a second, I see the man who used to carry me on his shoulders at county fairs. But even that memory feels stolen now. It belongs to a girl who died in a house full of broken locks and empty promises. His head drops.
I turn toward Malachi. He hasn’t moved. His jaw is locked, arms crossed tight over his chest, still holding himself back.
“You already did this,” I murmur. He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to. The broken man in front of me is the answer. “You beat him.”
Malachi’s eyes meet mine. “He was gonna sell you. I couldn’t let that lie. Not even for a second.”
My throat closes. The weight of that sinks in. He hadn’t done it to avenge me. He’d done it to protect me. And not for gratitude. Just because I mattered.
A lump swells in my throat. I look back at Chuck, really look at him, and for the first time in my life, I feel nothing.
No fear. No grief. No twisted longing for the father he never was. Just… emptiness.
“You’re going to die in this room,” I say. “But first, I want you to hear this.” He lifts his head, one eye already swelling. “I’m not yours anymore. I never was. You made sure of that. Every time you hit me, every time you lied, every time you let someone else take the fall to protect your reputation. You killed me a long time ago.”
He smirks through bloodied teeth. “You think they’re gonna protect you? These animals?”
I look back at Malachi. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t blink. Just stands there with his arms crossed, the storm in him coiled and waiting.
“They already did,” I reply. Then I lean down, face inches from my father’s. “And you know what’s funny? After everything? After all the pain, all the control, all the fear…” I smile. “You still ended up the one tied to a chair.” And me? I’m standing. Free.
“I needed the money,” he snaps, bitterness seeping through. “Do you know what it’s like to have nothing? She left me. Your mother took everything and disappeared. You cut me off. What was I supposed to do?”
“Not sell your daughter,” I say. “That would’ve been a good start.” His mouth opens, closes. “I would’ve helped you. Even after everything, I still would’ve found a way. But you didn’t ask. You just saw me as a ticket out.”
I step closer until I can see the tremble in his jaw. “You don’t deserve to say my name.”
He sneers, wounded pride flaring. “You don’t have the guts to do it. You came in here to scream and cry, but you won’t pull that trigger.”
I stare at him. Not with hate. With pity. “I’m not here to kill you, Chuck,” I murmur. “I’m here to bury you.” And I turn away.
His laugh follows me. Mocking. Desperate. “That’s right. Walk away, just like she did. You’re nothing without me.”
I don’t even flinch. But Malachi does. The door hasn’t even shut behind me when the shot rings out. Just one. Clean. Final. No screams. No struggle. No mess.
I stand in the hallway, staring at the cinderblock wall. The others wait nearby—Ruby, Frankie, Sloane, East, Nash. No one speaks.
After a few seconds, Malachi steps out. His expression is unreadable. The gun already holstered. His movements are calm, precise. Firing a shot for me comes as naturally as drawing breath.
I look at him. He doesn’t explain. Doesn’t justify. He just meets my eyes and says, “You shouldn’t have to carry that.”
And that? That breaks me in a different way. Something inside me cracks. Not the pain. Not the grief. The weight of someone choosing to protect me, without asking for anything in return.
I swallow hard, then nod. “Thank you.”
He doesn’t say you’re welcome. He just moves closer, not touching, just standing near enough that if I start to fall, he can catch me. Maybe, just maybe… I’m ready to let him.
Chapter 37
Malachi
Shedoesn’tflinchwhenthe shot rings out. Doesn’t turn. Doesn’t cry. Just stands there in the hallway, holding the weight of her whole damn life on her shoulders. For once, she isn’t buckling. Her shoulders don’t twitch. Not even a blink. Her silhouette is carved from grief and grit, backlit by flickering overhead lights, smoke still curling in the air, a ghost that hasn’t left yet.
I holster the gun slowly. Steady. No one says a word when I step out. Not Nash. Not East. Not the women holding the line behind her. Frankie has her arms crossed, jaw tight. Ruby’s eyes burn, but she doesn’t say anything. Sloane looks ready to tear a wall down if Candace so much as sways. The tension is thick—metallic in the air, sweat on skin. I can hear the distant buzz of a neon light, the soft shift of gravel under boots. No one dares move. They’re all watching her.
But she doesn’t sway. She just looks at me. Not a monster. Not a hero. Eyes fixed on mine, green and unflinching, hitting harder than the recoil still humming in my palms. No fear of what I’ve just done. Nothing uncertain. Only expectation. Maybe even need.
