I don’t know if it’s true. I don’t know who that man is or why he’s saved us or what comes next.
But Lily is in my arms, and we’re out of that house, and for now, that’s enough.
BRICK
I wait until I hear the front door close.
Then I give this fucker my full attention.
I let go of his throat. He drops to the floor, gasping, scrambling backward until he hits the wall.
“Please—” he starts.
I don’t let him finish.
My fist connects with his face—once, twice, three times. His nose breaks on the second hit, blood spraying across my knuckles. He tries to curl up, protect himself, but I grab him by the shirt and haul him up, slam him against the wall again.
“That’s for her face,” I say.
I drive my knee into his gut. He doubles over, retching.
“That’s for every hit you just landed.”
I let him fall. Then I kick him—hard—in the side. Once. Twice. Again. Every bruise I saw on Isabel’s face, I give back double.
He’s sobbing now. Begging. Curled on the floor in a puddle of his own blood and piss, hands raised like they can stop me.
They can’t.
I crouch down, grab a fistful of his hair, and force him to look at me.
“That little girl was hiding in a fucking closet.” My voice is cold as ice. “Shaking. Terrified. Because ofyou.”
I slam his head against the floor. Not hard enough to kill. Just hard enough to ring his bell for a week. Or three.
“They’re mine now.” I let that sink in. “They belong to me and the Stoneheart MC. You don’t touch them. You don’t look for them. You don’t even think about them.”
“They’re my family—” he slurs through broken teeth.
“No.” I stand up. “They’re not. Not anymore.”
I kick him one more time in the groin. I want him to feel it every time he pisses for the next month.
He curls in on himself, screaming. I glare down at the pathetic, broken mess on the floor and spit in his face.
“If you come looking for them, I’ll finish what I started.”
I walk out without looking back.
ISABEL
The driver’s door opens and the stranger slides in—giving me my first real look at him. My initial impression was correct, he’s massive. Six-four at least, with shoulders that barely fit behind the wheel.
His knuckles are split and bleeding.
He starts the engine and pulls away without a word.
I don’t know his name. Don’t know why he’s been there. Don’t know anything except that he’s walked into that house and done what I’ve tried to do for six years.
