Page 26 of Bad Luck, Hard Love (Heaven’s Rejects MC #6)

CHARLOTTE

Blood has a smell I never noticed before, like pennies left too long in the sun. It coats the basement air, making it hard to breathe without tasting copper on my tongue.

“You don't have to do this,” Thor says, his hand warm against the small of my back as we descend the concrete stairs. Each step feels like a decision I can't take back. “You can stay upstairs.”

“No, I have to do this.”

The basement comes into view, dim fluorescent lights casting everything in a sickly glow. The first thing I notice is the plastic sheeting laid across the floor already splattered with dark patterns. The second is him. Vincent.

He's barely recognizable as human. Chained to a chair bolted to the floor, his face is a grotesque mask of swollen tissue and split skin.

One eye is completely sealed shut, the other a bloodshot slit that follows our movement.

His shirt hangs in tatters. His chest rises and falls in shallow, wet gasps.

Ratchet stands before him. His forearms are flecked with blood, his expression eerily calm as he selects something from a small metal tray.

V emerges from the shadows. He doesn't notice me at first, his attention on Thor.

“Took you long enough,” he says with a crooked grin.

“Thought maybe you two were going for a world record up there. Had to get started without you considering it sounded like to two of you were bringing down the fucking house.” He chuckles, tossing the rag aside.

“Never heard a woman scream like that outside of?—”

His words die in his throat when he spots me standing behind Thor. His face drains of color.

“Shit,” he mutters, looking like he wants the concrete floor to swallow him whole. “Charlotte, I didn't...I mean, I wasn't...”

“It's fine,” I answer automatically, though heat floods my cheeks.

Holloway makes a gurgling sound that might be laughter. “That’s why you’re protecting her. Big guy is fucking her.”

My stomach lurches as I take in the full extent of what they've done to him. His fingers are bent at unnatural angles, nails missing from three of them. Dark patches of blood have soaked through his pants at the thighs where something sharp has clearly been inserted.

The sight of Holloway's mangled body should horrify me, but all I feel is a cold detachment spreading through my veins like ice water. This is the man who would have dragged me back to Terrance. This is the man who would have delivered me like merchandise.

Holloway slurs through broken teeth, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth, “Pretty little thing. Worth every penny he's paying.”

Thor moves to step between us, but I put my hand on his arm, stopping him. “Let him talk,” I didn’t come down here to be protected. I came down here to get the truth. To see just what Terrance’s money had bought.

“Your husband misses you,” Holloway continues, his one functioning eye gleaming with malice despite his condition. “Showed me pictures of what he did to you last time you tried to leave. Said it would be worse when he got you back.”

My skin crawls, but I hold my ground. “He's not my husband anymore.”

Holloway's split lips twitch into what might be a smile. “Not what he thinks.”

“We've been having a chat about your ex, Charlotte. Vincent here wasn't very forthcoming at first, but...” He gestures to the bloody pliers on the tray next to their prisoner. “We're making progress.”

“What has he told you?” I ask, wet stains spreading across the plastic sheeting.

V's eyes flick to Thor, seeking permission. At Thor's curt nod, he moves to a laptop perched on a workbench nearby.

“Been digging through his files while Ratchet kept him company,” V says, his fingers flying across the keyboard. “Encrypted, but nothing I couldn't crack. Found correspondence, payment records, surveillance photos—of you.”

My stomach drops as V turns the screen toward me.

There I am, captured in grainy images—walking on the beach in front of my house, checking my mail, entering my apartment.

Dozens of photos documenting my movements, my routines, my life.

The violation of my privacy cuts deeper than I could have imagined, leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“Nothing concrete on Terrance yet,” V continues, clicking through files. “The money trail's complicated—offshore accounts, shell companies. I'm making progress, but he's careful.”

“What about him?” I nod toward Holloway. “What has he told you?”

Ratchet crosses his arms, his expression grim. “Turns out our friend Vincent here isn't just some hired muscle. He's Terrance's personal clean-up specialist.”

“Clean-up?” The word feels heavy, ominous.

“When Terrance has problems that need to disappear, Vincent makes them go away. Permanently.”

“You mean he's killed for Terrance before.”

“More than once,” Ratchet confirms, selecting something else from the tray. “He was particularly chatty about a business partner of your ex's who threatened to expose some financial irregularities. Guy went fishing and never came home.”

My legs feel suddenly unsteady. I grab the edge of the workbench to keep myself upright.

“How many?” I force myself to ask.

V glances at Thor again, hesitation clear on his face.

“Tell her. She deserves to know what kind of monster she was married to.

“Seven that he's admitted to,” V says quietly. “But I'm guessing there are more.”

Seven people. Seven lives ended because Terrance decided they were inconvenient. The room tilts slightly, and Thor's hand is suddenly at my elbow, steadying me.

“Including a woman,” Ratchet adds. “His secretary.”

“Alice Donovan,” I answer, the name bubbling up from some forgotten corner of my memory. “She quit. That’s what he told me. I always thought they were having an affair, and when things ended, she quit. You’re saying that he had this man kill her?”

Holloway's laugh turns into a wet, hacking cough. “Clever girl. She wasn't just fucking him—she was keeping records. Insurance, she called it.”

The room spins around me as realization crashes down. How many signs did I ignore? The late-night phone calls he'd take in his office. The business trips that extended without explanation. The way certain names would disappear from his contact list, never to be mentioned again.

I was so blind. So willfully, stupidly blind.

All those years, while I was decorating our house and hosting his business dinners, my husband was having people killed.

And I never suspected a thing. Not once.

I'd convinced myself his cruelty was reserved only for me, contained within the walls of our perfect home like a terrible secret only I had to bear.

“Why?” The question tears from my throat before I can stop it. “Why keep me alive? If he could just...dispose of people so easily, why not just kill me when I tried to leave?”

Thor's hand tightens on my arm, but I barely feel it.

Holloway's bloodshot eye gleams with something like pity. “Because you're his favorite toy. The one he's not done playing with yet.”

The words hit me like a slap. Toy . That's all I ever was to him. Something to possess, to break, to place on a shelf until he was ready to play with me again.

“He said you were special,” Holloway continues, blood bubbling between his lips as he speaks. “Said breaking you was the most fun he'd ever had. Wanted to do it again, but slower this time.”

The room seems to contract around me, air suddenly too thick to breathe. My vision narrows to a pinpoint, focused entirely on Holloway's mangled face. I take a step forward, breaking free from Thor's steadying grip.

“What else did he tell you about me?”

Holloway's eye widens slightly, perhaps surprised by my approach. “That you were stubborn. That you'd need to be...conditioned again when I brought you back.”

“Conditioned,” I repeat, the word bitter on my tongue. “Like a dog.”

“Charlotte,” Thor warns from behind me, but I ignore him.

I move closer, until I'm standing directly in front of Holloway's broken body. The stench of blood and sweat and fear is overwhelming, but I don't flinch.

“Did he tell you how he planned to condition me?”

Holloway's split lips twist into what might be a smile. “Every single fucking detail. When he finds out you're whoring yourself out…it will be so much worse. I hope his dick was worth it.”

Thor roars behind me, a primal sound that vibrates through the concrete walls. In a blur of movement, he shoves me aside with surprising gentleness before lunging at Holloway.

“You think this is funny?” Thor's massive fist connects with Holloway's already shattered jaw. The crack echoes through the basement. “You think threatening her is smart right now?”

V and Ratchet move at once, trying to pull Thor back, but he's beyond reason. His face has transformed into something terrifying—all raw fury and bared teeth.

“Thor, stop! We still need him talking!” V shouts, straining to grab his arm.

But Thor is unstoppable. He tears free from their grip and flips the metal chair with Holloway still strapped to it. The man crashes to the concrete floor with a sickening thud and a strangled scream.

“You don't get to speak to her!” Thor bellows, kicking the chair. “You don't get to look at her!” Another kick. “You don't get to breathe the same fucking air as her!”

Blood sprays across the plastic sheeting as Thor's boot connects with Holloway's ribs. The sound of bones cracking turns my stomach, but I can't look away. This isn't just violence. This is protection in its rawest form.

“Thor!” Ratchet grabs him from behind, locking his arms. “You're gonna kill him before we get what we need. Jesus fucking Christ, man.”

Thor struggles against Ratchet's grip, every muscle in his body coiled with rage. “He's dead anyway. Look at what he's done to her—look at her face!”

I realize I'm shaking, my hands clenched into fists so tight my nails are cutting into my palms. The detachment I felt moments ago has shattered, replaced by something hot and violent clawing at my chest.