"Tell me everything," he says. "And then we're going to the clubhouse. Because this? This ends now."
I tell him. Every word. Every touch. Every threat.
And when I'm done, I see something in my husband's eyes that I've never seen before.
Murder.
He's going to kill Virgil.
And part of me—the dark part, the broken part—wants him to.
But right now, all I can do is let him carry me to the truck and hold me while I fall apart.
No more secrets. No more running.
It's time to fight back.
CHAPTER TEN
Bloodhound
I don't remember the drive back to the clubhouse.
One minute I'm carrying Vanna to the truck, her body shaking against mine, blood on her lips and terror in her eyes.
The next, I'm pulling through the gates, the compound rising up around us like a fortress.
The whole ride, she didn't speak.
Just sat curled against the passenger door, arms wrapped around her stomach, staring at nothing.
I kept my hand on her thigh, needing to touch her, needing to remind myself she was still here.
Still breathing. Still alive.
But my mind was somewhere else.
My mind was in that alley, imagining what I would do to Virgil when I found him.
The things I would do with my hands.
The sounds he would make before I let him die.
I park the truck and kill the engine.
For a moment, we just sit there in silence.
The compound is quiet around us, the January cold seeping through the windows, our breath fogging in the air.
"Van." My voice comes out rough. "We need to get you inside. Get you looked at."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine." I reach over and gently turn her face toward me.
In the fading light, I can see the damage clearly now.
The swelling on her left cheek where he hit her.
