Page 19

seventeen

Meadow

The clubhouse doors slam open, and my heart leaps into my throat as Mason strides in. His eyes scan the room, wild and intense, before locking on to mine. Relief floods his features, softening the hard lines of his face.

In an instant, he’s across the room, pulling me into his arms. I sink into his embrace, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and smoke. His heart thunders against my cheek, matching my own frantic rhythm.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs, voice rough with emotion. “Thank fuck you’re okay.”

I pull back slightly, searching his face. Blood spatters his shirt, his knuckles raw and split. A bruise blooms along his jaw. But his eyes… there’s a darkness there I’ve never seen before.

“Mason,” I breathe, cupping his face. “What happened? Did you find him?”

A grim smile tugs at his lips. “Oh, we found him all right.” His gaze flickers to the women huddled around the room, something fierce and protective flashing in his eyes. “Bastard won’t hurt anyone ever again.”

My breath catches. “Is he…?”

Mason shakes his head. “Not yet. But soon.” He leans in close, his breath hot against my ear as he whispers, “He’s in the basement. Thought you might want a piece of him before we finish this.”

A shiver runs down my spine at Mason’s words. Not with fear or dread, but with excitement.

I’ve been waiting for this.

I meet Mason’s gaze, seeing my own fury reflected in his dark orbs. “Take me to him,” I say, my voice low and dangerous.

As we move toward the basement door, I feel eyes on us. Turning, I see Sarah watching us, her face a mask of barely contained rage. Emily stands beside her, trembling but determined.

“We’re coming too,” Sarah says, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Emily stands beside her. Still trembling, but chin raised in defiance. One by one, the other women rise. Some lean on each other, but their eyes… God, their eyes. They burn.

Mason hesitates, then looks to me. I nod. “They deserve this.” I grip his hand hard. “We all do.”

The basement air is thick and oppressive as we descend the stairs. The stench of fear and blood grows stronger with each step. My stomach churns, but I force the nausea down. I can’t show weakness. Not now.

Peterson’s whimpers reach us before we see him. He’s strapped to a chair. Poetic justice. His face is a mess of bruises and blood, one eye swollen shut.

As we file into the room, his good eye widens in terror. “No,” he chokes out. “Please, no.”

I step forward, my voice steady despite the rage boiling inside me. “You don’t get to beg,” I tell him. “Not after what you’ve done.”

Sarah moves to stand beside me, her hand finding mine. Emily joins us, then another woman, and another. Soon, we form a circle around Peterson, a living wall of fury.

“You thought you could break us,” Sarah says, her voice trembling with emotion. “You thought you owned us.”

“But we’re still here,” Emily adds, stronger now. “We survived.”

Peterson’s eye darts between us, panic clear on his battered face. “I’m sorry,” he babbles. “I’ll do anything. Please, have mercy!”

A laugh bubbles up from my throat, harsh and bitter. “Mercy? Like the mercy you showed these women?”

I turn to Mason, who watches from the shadows. His eyes meet mine, a silent question.

Lane and Kyle both step forward, looking to the women. “You can’t tell anyone what happens here today,” Lane tells them, and they nod.

“We understand,” Sarah replies.

My dad, on the other hand, hands them a baseball bat each. “Have some fun, ladies, but don’t kill him,” he says before moving to stand by me.

Sarah’s hands close around the baseball bat, knuckles white against the worn wood. Her eyes, once soft and kind, now burn with fury as she stares down at Peterson.

“This is for every woman you’ve hurt,” she snarls, voice barely recognizable.

The bat whistles through the air, connecting with Peterson’s knee with a sickening crunch. His scream echoes off the concrete walls as bone shatters beneath the impact.

Emily steps up next, her small frame trembling but chin raised in defiance. “For the nightmares,” she whispers, swinging the bat at his other knee.

Another scream. Another satisfying crack.

One by one, the women take their turns. Some swing with wild abandon, unleashing years of pent-up rage and terror. Others are more precise, targeting the spots that will cause the most pain without risking unconsciousness.

Through it all, Peterson’s pleas grow more desperate, more incoherent. But no one listens. No one cares.

I watch, a cold satisfaction settling in my chest. This man, this monster who thought he could break us, he’s the one breaking now.

After they’ve had their turn, Konrad walks over to them, startling me. He must have slipped in while the girls were busy. “Come on, ladies, you guys need to sleep,” he tells them, leading them out of the room.

As the last of the women file out, I turn to face Peterson. His face is a ruin of blood and bruises, eyes swollen nearly shut. Pitiful whimpers escape his broken lips.

Good. Let him suffer.

I approach slowly, savoring the fear that radiates from him in waves. My fingers trail over the tray of instruments beside him, a twisted parody of my usual medical tools. Scalpels glint under harsh fluorescent lights. Needles promise exquisite pain.

“Now then,” I purr, voice low and dangerous. “Where shall we begin?”

Peterson’s swollen eyes widen a fraction, darting frantically between me and the instruments. “Please,” he chokes out. “I’m sorry. I’ll do anything. Just let me go.”

A laugh bubbles up from my throat, harsh and bitter. “Let you go? Oh no, sweetheart. We’re just getting started.”

I select a scalpel, admiring how the light catches the razor-sharp edge. “You know, as a doctor, I took an oath. ‘First, do no harm.’ But for you?” My lips curl into a feral grin. “I think I’ll make an exception.”

The blade whispers across his skin, leaving a thin line of red in its wake. Peterson hisses, muscles tensing against his restraints.

“Tell me,” I murmur, leaning in close. “How many women begged you to stop? How many pleaded for mercy while you tortured them?”

Another cut, deeper this time. Blood wells up, staining his already filthy shirt.

“I asked you a question.” I press the tip of the scalpel against his throat. “How. Many.”

“I… I don’t know,” he sobs. “Please, I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again. I swear!”

Rage floods through me, hot and vicious. The scalpel clatters to the floor as my hands find his throat. I squeeze, watching as his face turns red, then purple.

“You’re sorry?” I snarl. “Sorry doesn’t bring back the lives you’ve ruined. Sorry doesn’t erase the nightmares, the trauma, the pain.”

Just as his eyes start to roll back, I release my grip. Peterson gasps, sucking in desperate lungfuls of air.

“No, darling,” I continue, voice deceptively soft. “Sorry isn’t good enough. But don’t worry. We have all the time in the world to make you truly understand the depth of your crimes.”

“But we do have someone else to join the party,” Mason chimes in, and he opens a side door, pulling out a man and slamming him onto a chair next to Peterson.

Peterson and the man both start screaming while looking at each other. “Who’s this?” I ask.

“Peterson’s dad, of course, but don’t worry, the others are on their way.”

Just then, members of the MC drag in men, tying them down to chairs until there’s six all together.

Mason starts pacing around the men. “I’m just glad there is enough to go around to have some fun.”

I look at the line of men, now tied to chairs, my mind reeling. Peterson’s father, uncles, brothers—the whole twisted family tree laid bare before us. The air grows thick with their fear, sharp and acrid.

Mason’s eyes meet mine, dark with promised violence. “What do you say, Doc? Where should we start?”

A cold smile curves my lips as I survey our prisoners. These men thought they were untouchable. That their money and influence would shield them from consequences. How wrong they were.

“Well,” I drawl, trailing my fingers along the tray of instruments. “As a doctor, I believe in being thorough. Perhaps we should start with a full physical examination?”

Mason’s answering grin is all predator. “I like the way you think, darlin’.”

I approach Peterson’s father first, scalpel glinting in my hand. “Now then,” I purr. “Let’s see what makes you tick, shall we?”

The man’s eyes widen in terror as I bring the blade to his skin. “Wait!” he cries. “You can’t do this! Do you have any idea who I am?”

A harsh laugh escapes me. “Oh, I know exactly who you are. A monster who raised a monster. And now?” The scalpel bites into his flesh, drawing a thin line of red. “Now, you’re going to pay for every life you’ve ruined.”

As I work, methodically peeling back layers of skin, the room fills with screams. The other men watch in horror, knowing their turn is coming.

Mason and the others move between prisoners, dealing out their own brands of justice. Bones crack. Flesh tears. Blood flows freely.

Through it all, a cold satisfaction settles in my chest. This is right. This is just. These men thought they could play God, destroying lives on a whim. Now they’ll learn what true power feels like.

My dad and my grandpa, along with Mason, stand by my side the entire time.

Then suddenly it hits me that I’m just exhausted. Mason notices and takes my hand, leading me away. “You ready to stop, sweet girl?”

I close my eyes and let my head fall into his chest. “Yeah, I’ve gotten what I needed.”

My dad walks over to us and kisses the top of my head. “We can handle it from here.”

My grandpa nods in agreement.

“Okay, I will let you men handle the rest.”

I leave the room with deep satisfaction, knowing that Peterson is not leaving here alive.

* * *

MASON

As Meadow’s footsteps fade, I turn back to face Peterson. His eyes, wide with terror, dart between me and Liam. Good. Let him feel the fear he inflicted on others.

“Now then,” I start, cracking my knuckles. “Let’s have some real fun.”

Liam steps forward, a wicked glint in his eye. “Been waiting for this,” he says, voice low and dangerous.

I grab Peterson by the hair, wrenching his head back. “You thought you could hurt Meadow? Threaten what’s mine?” My fist connects with his jaw, bone cracking beneath my knuckles. “Big mistake, asshole.”

Blood and spittle spray from Peterson’s mouth as he gasps for air. “Please,” he whimpers. “I’m sorry. I’ll do anything.”

Liam’s laugh is cold and humorless. “Oh, you’re going to do plenty. Starting with screaming.”

He produces a set of pliers, the metal glinting under the harsh light. Peterson’s eyes widen in recognition and terror.

“No,” he chokes out. “God, no. Please!”

But his pleas fall on deaf ears. Liam grabs Peterson’s hand, pinning it to the arm of the chair. The pliers close around a fingernail.

“This is for every woman you’ve hurt,” Liam snarls.

With a sharp tug, the nail comes free. Peterson’s scream echoes off the concrete walls, raw and agonized. Blood wells up from the exposed nail bed.

I lean in close, my voice a low rumble. “That’s just the beginning, sweetheart. We’ve got all night.”

Hours pass in a haze of blood and screams. We work methodically, alternating between brutal efficiency and drawn-out torment. By the time we finish with his hands, Peterson’s fingers are a mangled ruin.

But we’re far from done.

I select a scalpel from the nearby tray, admiring how the light glints off the razor-sharp edge. “You know,” I muse, trailing the blade along Peterson’s cheek. “I’ve always been curious about human anatomy. What do you say we do a little exploring?”

Peterson’s whimpers turn to howls as I carve into him, peeling back layers of skin and muscle. Liam works alongside me, his own blade dancing across flesh.

“Fascinating,” Liam comments, voice clinically detached. “Look how the muscle fibers separate.”

We continue our grisly work, reducing Peterson to a canvas of pain and blood. His screams have long since faded to hoarse whimpers, consciousness slipping away.

But we can’t let him escape that easily.

I grab a bucket of ice water, dumping it over his head.

Peterson gasps awake, sputtering and choking as the ice water shocks his system. His eyes are wild with pain and terror as he comes back to the nightmare.

“Welcome back,” I say, grabbing his jaw roughly. “Can’t have you checking out on us just yet.”

Liam circles behind him, a cattle prod crackling with electricity in his hand. “We’re just getting started, aren’t we, boys?”

The other men nod grimly, eyes dark with promised violence.

I lean in close, my voice a low rumble in Peterson’s ear. “You know what your biggest mistake was? Thinking you could touch what’s mine. Meadow is off-limits. And now? Now you’re going to pay for every sick fantasy you ever had about her.”

The cattle prod connects with Peterson’s exposed flesh. His body arches off the chair, a scream tearing from his raw throat. The scent of burning skin fills the air.

“That’s it,” Liam snarls. “Scream for us. Like all those women screamed for you.”

We work in tandem, alternating between brutality and finesse. Bones crack under the swing of a hammer. Skin blisters and peels from the kiss of a blowtorch. Blood flows freely, staining the concrete floor crimson.

Through it all, Peterson’s pleas grow weaker, more incoherent. But we’re relentless. This isn’t just about punishment anymore. It’s about sending a message. To anyone who might think of crossing us in the future.

Hours pass in a haze of blood and pain. By the time we finish, Peterson is barely recognizable as a human. What’s left of him twitches weakly in the chair, more dead than alive.

I step back, surveying our handiwork. Satisfaction settles in my chest, cold and vicious.

“Time to wrap this up,” Lane says, voice grim.

I nod, drawing my gun. As I level it at Peterson’s head, his one remaining eye focuses on me. In that moment, I see the fear. The understanding that this is the end.

“This is for Meadow.”

The gunshot echoes in the small room. Peterson’s body goes limp, finally still.

It’s done.

As we clean up, disposing of evidence and preparing the body for disposal, a sense of peace washes over me. Meadow is safe. The women he hurt have justice. And anyone who might think of coming after what’s mine in the future?

Well, they will think twice now.