“Yes, you do. You’re just too much of a coward to make the hard choice.”
The slap comes so fast, I don’t see it coming. My head snaps to the side, cheek exploding with pain. We both pause, him staring at his hand like it belongs to someone else, me touching my face in shock.
He’s never hit me before. Not once in nineteen years.
“Bonnie—” His voice cracks. “I didn’t mean?—”
“Tomorrow morning,” I say quietly. “What time?”
“Eight. One of Marcus’s men will pick you up.”
I turn and walk out without another word. My cheek throbs in time with my heartbeat, but the physical pain is nothing compared to the knowledge that my own father just hit me to shut me up about my impending rape.
Because that’s what this is. Dressed up in tradition and agreements, but rape all the same.
I make it to my room before the tears start. Sink onto my bed and let them come, hot and furious and useless. Crying won’t change anything. Won’t save me. Won’t make tomorrow not happen.
Eventually, I run out of tears. I wash my face, avoid looking at the red mark on my cheek, and crawl into bed fully clothed.
My life really ends tomorrow.
Morning comesin the blink of an eye.
I dress carefully—jeans, tank top, leather jacket. Downstairs, the clubhouse is quiet except for a few early risers in the kitchen.
Ash and Ghost are at a table with coffee, but I walk past without acknowledging them. I can’t deal with that right now. Can’t handle seeing the anger or pity or whatever else might be in their eyes.
At exactly eight, a black SUV pulls into the lot. The driver is Savage Legion—I can tell from the patch on his vest. Mid-forties, scarred face, with dead eyes.
“Miss McKenzie,” he says.
“That’s me.”
He opens the back door. I climb in and he shuts it behind me, sealing me in leather seats and tinted windows. The door locks click, and my heart rate spikes.
There’s no going back now.
The drive takes forty minutes. We leave Ruthless Devils territory and cross into neutral ground, then into Savage Legion land. I watch the scenery change through the window.
Their territory is cleaner than ours. Streets well-maintained, businesses thriving and people going about their lives without the edge of desperation I’m used to. Money flows here. The dirty kind.
The compound sits on the outskirts, surrounded by high walls and security cameras. The gates open as we approach, and I get my first real look at Savage Legion headquarters.
It’s beautiful. Not the run-down clubhouse I expected, but something that looks more like an expensive hotel with three stories.
The brutality is underneath. Guards at every entrance, cameras tracking every angle, and men with guns patrol the perimeter.
We pull up to the front entrance, and the driver comes around to open my door. “This way.”
Inside is even more impressive. Marble floors, expensive art on the walls, furniture that costs more than cars. Everything screams wealth, power, and the ability to take whatever they want.
A woman approaches—blonde, late thirties, and wearing designer clothes. She looks me over with a cold assessment. “I’m Melissa. VP’s old lady.” Her voice is clipped. “President Stone is expecting you.”
She leads me deeper into the building. We pass brothers who watch me with varying degrees of interest and hunger. I keep my eyes forward and my spine straight.
I refuse to let them see fear.
We stop outside the double doors. Melissa knocks once, and a voice calls out to enter.
