Page 54 of C is For Corruption (Horsemen #3)

My father shook me hard one time. “This damned vendetta you’ve got is done.

If I have to have you locked up so you can get yourself straight, I will.

We tried giving you space to work this out on your own, but you’re letting your grief twist you into a man I don’t recognize. Right now, you’re not my son.”

“I—” I started, but as soon as I opened my mouth, it was like my words wouldn’t come out. “I’m just trying to keep you all safe. Victoria—” I whimpered, tears burning my eyes as they fought to break free over my father’s words.

My father let out a heavy sigh and let his head hang between us as he continued to hold me under the arms. “You’re wrong, son. I don’t know why you refuse to see it, but you’re wrong. I know somewhere under all that anger you’re still you. I just don’t know how to help you dig your way back to us.”

I gently pulled free of my father’s hold as my lips turned down in a sad smile. “This is who I am without him, Pop.”

My father’s face crumpled in a way I hadn’t seen since Rich’s funeral, but before either of us could say anything else, the door slammed open so hard it bounced off the wall.

“We need to go, now!” Craig nearly shouted, panic written all over his face.

“What? Why? Did you assholes not get Leighton calmed down or something?” I frowned.

“No. Victoria is walking to the diner, I’ve been on video call with her the whole time.

There’s a black van with tinted windows.

It’s been behind her, slow enough to be suspicious.

” He said in a rush, and my heart punched my ribs as he shoved the phone at me.

Victoria’s face filled the screen, her expression filled with fear that she was barely masking.

I could see her trying to control her breathing despite the image jolting and shaky as she walked.

“They’re following me…” She said in a low voice.

A scream ripped from her throat so sharp it sliced straight through my chest. Then the phone hit the ground with a crack, giving us a tilted, broken view of the sidewalk and a pair of scuffling feet. Victoria’s stance told us she was trying to defend herself, but more boots entered the picture.

“Quit fucking around Victoria. Whatever this ploy is, you can drop it now,” I snapped, refusing to believe this was anything other than a setup.

She didn’t answer. Craig rushed around me, presumably to grab the others, as I watched six men that I could see surround her.

She dropped into a defensive stance before striking out, only to take a hit to her jaw so hard her head rocked back.

My chest tightened at the sight. I knew just how bad that hit would have hurt.

The voice in my head was screaming at me that this was real .

She took another hit to her ribs and doubled over with a pained cry.

“Oh fuck, no, no, no.” the words tumbled out. “This isn’t… it can’t be.. She’s supposed to be the bad guy. Fuck! Fuck! No. VICTORIA! FIGHT BACK!”

I watched, horror slowly washing over me as she struggled to use everything the others had taught her, only to be met with a flurry of fists.

I couldn’t deny it any longer, not with the beating she was taking; this was real.

I’d been wrong. So fucking wrong, and she was being hurt while I could only watch.

All because I’d been so damned determined to be wrong.

Another set of boots moved closer to the screen as her attackers wrestled her off her feet. I could barely hear their murmured words over her screams before a foot came rushing forward, stomping her phone and causing the screen to go black.

“Victoria!” I shouted, shaking the phone as if somehow I could get the image to come back. “Answer me!” Nothing. “Victoria! Answer me, god damn it!” Nothing happened, no response—just a dead, black screen and silence.

The walls of the room seemed to collapse inward, the air draining from my lungs, my body locking up with a cold, sick fear I had never felt before.

This wasn’t staged; this wasn’t a bit or performance.

This was real . It repeated in my head like a sick chant.

I’d just watched the woman I loved, the woman my brother had loved, get beaten and kidnapped.

And it was real. She was gone. And the last thing I’d done—

Oh god, the last thing I’d done was threaten her with a fucking gun and tell her she was better off dead. It might have been unloaded, but that didn’t change what it would have been in her eyes. It was a threat. I’d hurt her, belittled her, made her cry… I’d assaulted her.

I crumpled forward, choking on a sound I couldn’t control, the ground giving way beneath me as I hit my knees. What if the last thing she thought of me was that I hated her? I deserved everything Leighton had done. Worse, even. I should let him finish the job.

But… they’d need guns to get her back. They’d need someone behind a trigger to make them pay for every bruise they put on her skin, every pained or fearful whimper that left her lips.

I was a monster, but I’m still her monster even if I had been lost and blind for a while.

I was going to do whatever it took to get her back, and once she was home and I knew she was safe, I’d let her decide how to punish me.

Even if it meant letting Leighton finish the job.