"Marcus Bradley," I answer, using my real name. I want him to know who I am. "Jenny's brother. The one you've been asking about."
Recognition flickers across his face, followed by a sneer. "So, the bitch went running to her big brother after all. Should have known. Where's my wife and daughter?"
"Not your wife anymore," I correct him. "And Anna's not your concern from now on."
He laughs, an ugly sound that raises the hair on the back of my neck. "That's not how this works. That's my family. Mine. And I'm taking them home."
"No," I say simply. "You're not."
His finger twitches on the trigger. "I'm a cop, asshole. You know what happens to people who threaten cops? They disappear. Bodies never found. And no one asks questions."
I've faced men with guns before. Men with much steadier hands and clearer eyes than Derek Mitchell. I take a step forward, calling his bluff.
"You going to shoot me, Mitchell? Right here in a motel room in Blackwater Falls? Then what? My brothers are outside. They hear a shot, they're coming in. And there are a lot more of them than there are of you."
Uncertainty creeps into his expression. "Brothers?"
"Savage Riders MC," I clarify, watching his face pale slightly. Good. Our reputation precedes us. "This is our town. Our territory. And Amelia and Anna are under our protection now."
"Bullshit," he spits, but I can see the first crack in his confidence. "Amelia wouldn't get involved with biker trash. She's too proper, too careful."
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?"
