Page 47

Thor had moved too, positioning himself at an angle that would give him a clear shot if needed.

Other Kings shifted subtly, hands drifting toward concealed weapons.

But with civilians still scattered throughout the room—volunteers who'd just wanted to help, families who'd come for toys and hope—their options were limited.

This was exactly what Rattler had planned. A public confrontation where violence would hurt innocents, where his leverage would keep the wolves at bay.

"Fifteen years," he said, eyes still locked on mine. "Fifteen fucking years I've been waiting for this. Your mother thought she was so clever. Taking my money, taking my blood."

My hands clenched at my sides. His money? His blood? He'd abandoned us, left us to rot while he played outlaw.

"But here's the thing about blood, princess." He smiled, and I saw the snake everyone else saw, the predator who'd earned his nickname through violence. "It always finds its way home. And debts? Well, debts just grow interest."

Jessie made a small sound—not quite conscious but not deeply under either. Her foot twitched, and Rattler adjusted his grip with practiced ease. Like he'd carried plenty of unconscious women before. Like this was just another Tuesday in his world.

"Two hundred thousand dollars," he announced to the room at large. "That's what your saint of a mother lifted from club funds. That's what you owe. Family debt, princess. The kind that doesn't go away just because someone dies."

Lies. It had to be lies. Mom had died with nothing, had spent her last years juggling medications she couldn't afford while I worked double shifts to keep the lights on. If she'd had money hidden somewhere, wouldn't she have used it? Wouldn't she have saved herself?

But Rattler's certainty made doubt creep in like fog. The way he said it, like stating facts rather than making accusations. What if Mom had kept secrets? What if there were things about our escape I'd never known?

What if she wanted me to have that money?

"Clock's ticking," Rattler said, shifting the gun slightly. Jessie's head lolled with the movement, completely helpless. "You come with us willingly, help us find what's ours, and this little druggie goes home to her family. You make this difficult . . ."

He didn't need to finish. The threat hung in the air like smoke, choking out all the hope and warmth that had filled this space just minutes ago. Around me, I could feel the shift—volunteers backing toward walls, families frozen in place, everyone waiting to see which way this would break.

My father stood there in his Serpent colors, holding an innocent girl hostage in a room full of donated toys. Still the same monster who'd rather destroy than build, who saw people as things to be used.

And it made me angry.

"Let her go." The words tore from my throat as I stepped around Dex's protective bulk. My legs shook but held, carrying me forward when every instinct screamed to run. "She doesn't have anything to do with this. Whatever you want, whatever you think Mom took, it's between us."

Dex's hand brushed my arm—a warning, a plea to stay back—but I couldn't hide behind him. Not when Jessie hung limp in my father's grip, paying for the sin of knowing me.

Rattler's laugh cracked through the air, harsh and familiar. The same sound that used to echo off apartment walls before things got bad. Before fists started flying.

"Oh, it's definitely between us, princess." He shifted his weight, making sure everyone could see the gun, which he now had pointed at Jessie. "Been waiting fifteen years to collect that cash, but better late than never."

"There is no money." Each word came out steadier than the last, even as my mind raced. "Mom died broke. We had nothing—lost the apartment, sold everything that wasn't nailed down just to cover her medical bills. If there was money, don't you think I would have used it?"

But even as I said it, doubt crept in like water through cracks. Mom had been secretive those last years, especially about the past. Locked drawers I wasn't allowed to open. Papers she burned rather than throwing away. I'd thought it was trauma, trying to erase memories of him.

What if it had been more?

"Maybe you didn't know about it," Rattler conceded, his tone almost reasonable if you ignored the unconscious girl draped over his shoulder and the gun in his hand. "Margaret always was sneaky. Good at hiding things, keeping secrets. Like how she hid you from me all those years."

"She didn't hide me. She saved me." The words snapped out before I could stop them. "From you. From this. From growing up thinking this was normal."

His face darkened, the fake reasonableness dropping away. "Watch your mouth, princess. Your mother was a thief and a liar. Took money that brothers bled for, died for. That's theft from the club, and in our world, that's a death sentence."

"She's already dead," I said quietly. "Whatever sentence you think she deserved, she paid it."

"But the debt didn't die with her." He adjusted Jessie again, her hair swaying with the movement. "Blood debts pass down. Club rules. The money she stole is still owed, and you're the only blood left to pay it."

Around us, I could feel the room holding its breath. Thor had moved closer, using a display table as partial cover. Dex stood coiled beside me, ready to move the second an opening appeared. Other Kings had positioned themselves at strategic points, hands resting on concealed weapons.

But Rattler had chosen his ground well. The community center's main room offered clear sightlines in every direction. Families still huddled against walls, volunteers frozen in place. Any violence would catch innocents in the crossfire.

"I don't have any money," I repeated, but the words felt weaker now. "I can barely cover rent. If Mom had two hundred thousand hidden somewhere, we wouldn't have spent her last years choosing between medication and food."

"Then you better start remembering," Rattler snarled, patience fraying at the edges. "Because this conversation ends one of two ways—you come with me and we find that money together, or everyone here watches this little bitch die while you live with the guilt."

He pressed the gun harder against Jessie's body, and she made a soft sound of distress without waking.

"You're bluffing," Thor's voice rumbled from behind the display table. "Kill her here, in front of witnesses, and you're done. Cops, feds, everyone comes down on you."

Rattler's smile was all teeth. "You think I give a fuck about cops? I'm already looking at life if they catch me. What's one more body?"

The casual certainty in his voice made my stomach drop. He meant it. My father had crossed some line in the fifteen years since I'd seen him, become someone who could execute a girl in a room full of children's toys without blinking.

"Sixty seconds," he said, eyes locked on mine. "Decide. Come with me willingly, help me find that money, or watch her die. Your choice, princess."

Dex shifted beside me, and I knew he was calculating angles, distances, possibilities. But Rattler had been doing this longer, had survived in this world by being smarter than he looked.

"If I come with you," I said slowly, "you let her go? Right here, right now?"

"Soon as we're clear of your boyfriend's territory." His grin widened. "Can't have the Heavy Kings following too close. Bad for business."

A lie, probably. But what choice did I have? Let Jessie die to protect myself? Live with that weight forever?

"I’m tired of waiting. Ten seconds."

My hands clenched and unclenched at my sides. Around me, the room waited—volunteers and families and Kings all frozen in this moment of impossible choice. Come with the monster who'd haunted my nightmares, or watch him create new nightmares for everyone here.

"Five."

"Wait," I said, the word scraping out like broken glass.

"Four."

"I said wait!"

"Three."

But he wasn't waiting. Wasn't negotiating. The countdown was real, the threat immediate, and Jessie would pay the price for my hesitation.

"Two."

The gun pressed harder, Jessie's head tilting with the pressure, and I opened my mouth to surrender—

Suddenly, my father’s eyes snapped to the display table, and something shifted in his face. The cruel certainty cracked, replaced by something I'd never seen before—genuine shock, maybe even pain.

He’d seen Mr. Friendly. The countdown died on his lips.

"You still have that fucking bear?"

The question came out raw, fifteen years of something scraping against his throat. His grip on Jessie loosened slightly, the gun drifting from her as his focus narrowed to the stuffed animal that had witnessed our family's destruction.

"You remember." I heard my own voice like it belonged to someone else—small, surprised. "You remember giving him to me."

"My old man gave me that bear." His voice dropped, and for a second I saw a flash of the father he'd been before the drugs and violence took over. "When I was born. Said every Brown man passed it down. Tradition."

"You gave him to me when I was three," I said, moving instinctively toward the table, toward Mr. Friendly. "Before everything went wrong. Before you chose the club over us."

His face hardened again, the moment of vulnerability vanishing like smoke. "Give it to me."

"No."

The word came out firm, surprising us both. I reached the table, snatching Mr. Friendly against my chest like the shield he'd always been.

"I said give it to me!" Rattler stepped forward, Jessie's weight shifting precariously on his shoulder. The gun swung wild for a moment before he steadied it. "That bear belongs to the Browns. Blood legacy. You got no right—"

"I have every right!" The fury that erupted from me felt volcanic. "You don't get to take anything else from me. You already took my childhood, my mother, my sense of safety. You don't get this too."