Page 3

T hundering footsteps overhead shook the foundation. Dust sifted down in thin, trembling sheets as the basement's single bulb swung wildly, casting monstrous shadows across the concrete walls. V's head snapped up, his fingers choking the bat like he was already choosing where to strike.

A figure blocked the top of the stairs—massive, heaving, faceless in the backlight bleeding from the hallway behind him. The steps didn't creak—they groaned under the weight, each one landing like a warning shot. Silhouettes jittered across the basement walls, cast by the swinging bulb above. Each stomp shattered the quiet, faster and heavier, until he hit the basement floor.

My voice fractured the moment I realized it was him. "Dad!"

Three powerful strides brought him directly into V's space, his momentum unchecked as he closed the gap. As he drew closer, I could see the marks of earlier—scrapes and bruises painting his face in stark shades. Blood trickled steadily from the gash on his forehead, running down his temple in thin lines. His rage-filled eyes locked onto V.

My father's fists claimed V's shirt, slamming him backward, shaking the wall behind him hard enough to loosen dust. The veins in his neck pulsated as he hissed through clenched teeth, "You just crossed a fuckin' line."

He didn't flinch. Just stood there, eyes locked on mine—cold, hollow, and terrifyingly calm. Like I was the only thing that existed, even while my father tried to tear him apart.

"I don't know why Prez and the club cater to your psychotic ass." His grip tightened until his knuckles went pale. "If you touch her again, I'll fuckin' kill you."

A shiver ripped down my spine as bile surged up my throat. My knees gave out, sending me slumping against the wall, heart pounding so violently it threatened to crack my ribs. I'd never seen this version of my father before. This was the side he'd spent my whole life hiding from me. And I didn't know who scared me more—him, or the man who refused to fight back.

My focus stayed on V. He looked relaxed, but the bat in his grasp told another story—his knuckles blanched under the pressure. His grip coiled once around the wooden handle. Enough to remind us both how fast this could end differently.

V didn't react to the shove. Not to the spit. He just watched me like the rest of the room had ceased to exist.

"They may walk on eggshells around you, but I'm not fuckin' around anymore, do you hear me? Oakley's my daughter, not your fucking toy." Spit flew as Dad jabbed his finger at V. "It's my life's mission to protect her, and you're the biggest threat of all."

V looked almost bored by my father's threats. The air crackled, each breath drawing us closer to inevitable ruin.

Dad released V with a violent shove, quickly closing the distance between us. I reached for him, my hand shaking as he pulled me from the dirty floor. Dread coiled through my chest the moment our hands connected. V's eyes narrowed at our contact, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

"Come on, sweetheart, let's go home."

His arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders as he guided me toward the staircase. Our footsteps echoed across the basement floor, each one a heartbeat punctuating the deadly silence. I shivered beneath his hold, V's stare crawling over my skin from the shadows. At the bottom step, Dad paused sharply, turning toward the darkened corner where V stood, still and watching us.

"Hear me when I say, if you ever touch my daughter again, I will fuckin’ skin you alive. This is over." His voice dropped to a register that made my bones rattle. "You're nothin' more than a killer for the club. Don't forget that."

My father guided me up the rickety stairs, his hand twitching slightly against my back. Each step creaked beneath our feet, sharp and final, dragging me further from the man who dealt in death yet chose to show me mercy. As we reached the landing, a bone-deep certainty settled into my marrow—no matter how far we ran, the demon below would always find me.

He would come for me again—not to hurt me, but because in his twisted, terrifying mind, I was already his.

And worse than that certainty was the sliver of me that didn't fight it. The part too scared to reject him. The part that had started to believe his obsession might keep me safe—from everything but him.

"Dad?" His body trembled with barely restrained fury, eyes locked ahead. The rage pouring off him felt tangible—a living, breathing thing. "A-Are you okay?"

He barked a humorless laugh. "I should be asking you that." His calloused hands enveloped mine, trying to melt away the basement's chill, but it clung to my skin like a stain. When he turned to face me, the scuffs and crimson trails marking his face from the brothers' restraint made my stomach clench. Fresh blood seeped slowly from the ugly wound on his forehead, matting his hair and staining his skin. He winced as he tried to smile, the movement pulling at the broken skin.

My fingernails carved crescents into my palms as I forced myself to look away. The weight of realization crushed against my chest—I'd been a daddy's girl since birth, the result of two seventeen-year-olds stumbling into parenthood. My parents had sacrificed everything for me, surrendered all their dreams to the altar of my existence. And I'd turned out like this—marked by a monster, tethered to the fears I should've run from.

His large hand stroked my hair, the gesture achingly gentle. "I never wanted you involved in this life, Oakley. I've tried so hard; had plans on how to keep you away." A sordid laugh escaped him. "Prez probably knew the whole time—who you were. Who your mom was." He cupped my chin, his thumb brushed my cheek like he was afraid I'd shatter. "Maybe I was a fuckin' idiot to believe I could hide you forever."

I didn't look back. But I could still feel his eyes on me, even through the walls.

"Why—" The question caught in my throat. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to voice the betrayal. "Why did they hold you back?"

His footsteps faltered, shoulders stiffening beneath his leather cut. Streetlights cast long shadows across his face, deepening the lines of worry and illuminating the raw gash on his forehead. He dabbed at it absently with his sleeve, smearing crimson rather than stopping the flow. The silence stretched between us, filled only by distant motorcycle engines and the crunch of gravel.

He drew a deep breath, running a hand through his graying hair. "They were protecting me."

"Protecting you?" The words tasted bitter on my tongue. "By letting him take me?"

"V would've—" His hands trembled as they found my shoulders. "Baby girl, if I'd gotten in his way, he would've killed me. The club knew that."

"How can they keep someone like that around?" My voice quivered.

Dad's lips curled into a smile that hollowed his features. "Every club needs a killer. V keeps the other MCs in line, handles problems that can't be solved with negotiations or money."

He rubbed his temples, the weight of his words hanging between us. "That's why I became their lawyer—to clean up the aftermath, keep the club running smoothly. But V..." He shook his head. "He's the real insurance policy."

My throat tightened at his casual tone, at how normal this seemed to him. The same hands that tucked me in at night, that braided my hair and wiped away my tears, had been covering up crimes.

I stepped back as if he burned me. Space wasn't enough. My mind was fracturing too fast to keep up.

"Oak—" Dad reached for me, but I flinched away. The hurt flashed across his face before he masked it. "I know it's hard to understand, but there's a hierarchy to these things. V might be a monster, but he's the club's monster."

The words echoed—club's monster—until they didn't sound human anymore. I thought about the basement, about the crematorium, about all the things that must have happened down there. How many times had my father had to clean up those messes? How many bodies had he...

When I blinked, I saw it all—the ovens, the suits, the bat still slick with blood. The memory didn't flicker. It burned. How many times had those suits been worn to cover up the aftermath of the club's murders? How many bodies had been turned to ash while legal papers buried the truth?

"But you hate him." My eyes searched my father's face for the man I thought I knew. I remembered all the times he'd cursed V's name, the way his face would darken whenever V entered a room.

"Of course I hate him. He's everything I never wanted near my family." His hand ran through his hair, a nervous tick I'd seen a thousand times but now recognized as guilt. "The things he's done...Christ, Oak, the files I've had to bury, the evidence I've had to make disappear... I'm not proud of it." He trailed off, shaking his head. "Let's just go home, yeah?"

Home. I nodded, arms crossing tight like I could hold together the shattering. "I-I want to go home."

"Your mother's probably worried sick." Dad wrapped an arm around my shoulders again, pulling me close as we walked. "She'll make you that chamomile tea you like, and we can put on one of those baking shows you two love so much."

I was nodding, letting him lead me. Inside, everything cracked under the weight of what I couldn't carry anymore. I still leaned into his warmth, even though it no longer felt safe.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"He scares me." The words came out barely above a whisper. But even as I spoke, something deeper stirred—a recognition that V's thinking went beyond physical possession, beyond my father's ability to save me.

Dad's arm tightened around me, the air around him crackling with fury. "I hate that bastard. Always have. But now?" His lips pressed against my hair, the gesture achingly paternal. "Now I'd kill him myself if I thought I could get away with it."

I felt small under Dad's intense gaze. The fear I'd felt being trapped with V came flooding back. My teeth worried my bottom lip as I watched my father's face transform, his features hardening then crumbling in helpless defeat. Regret poured from him—not just for letting that psychopath near me, but for all the times he'd chosen the club over transparency. Every lie, every omission, every carefully constructed barrier between me and their merciless world now lay in ruins at our feet.

"I'm so sorry, baby girl," he murmured into my hair, his body vibrating with restrained violence. "I never wanted this life to touch you." The weight of his hands on my shoulders betrayed the depth of his remorse. "I had to join."

Looking up at him, I found my own jade eyes staring back remorsefully. "Why?"

"Some things," he said, "you're better off not knowing right now, sweetheart." His palm pressed firmly against my shoulder, the gesture carrying years of carefully maintained barriers. "There are parts of this life that..." He shook his head, that cryptic smile playing on his lips. "I never want you to know about."

I wanted to argue, but exhaustion crushed me like a physical weight, and Dad's expression told me I wouldn't get anything more from him tonight.

We walked silently down the street toward his black Escalade parked in front of Hellbound. He pulled his keys from his pocket, the jingle sudden and jarring—too normal for a moment like this. His mouth was set in a rigid line, jaw locked as though restraining a flood of words he couldn't let escape.

Dad opened the door to his vehicle. My body melted into the seats, the leather interior feeling like luxury after the concrete floors of V's domain. But even here, in this supposedly safe space, I could feel the haunting pressure of V's hands, the weight of his gaze.

"Fucker's lucky I don't crash my car through this damn portal to Hell," Dad muttered as he slid behind the wheel. Scarlet droplets from his forehead spattered onto the steering wheel, but he didn't seem to notice. He winced as he reached up to adjust the rearview mirror, painting streaks of red down the side of his face.

My stomach churned. I looked away, focusing on the dashboard instead.

His fury vibrated through the space between us—quiet, volatile. I knew he had every right to it, but it unsettled me anyway. It wasn't just his rage. It was that I'd never seen him like this. And now that I had, I couldn't unsee it.

He wasn't like V. Not in ways you could point to. But maybe the real difference was how well he'd learned to hide it.

The heaters fired up, their low hum oddly calming. The soft purring of the engine worked to dispel some of the lingering tension, but we both knew this wasn't over. This was just the beginning of something neither of us fully understood.

The car began to move slowly, and something deep inside me yearned to look back. I knew with bone-deep certainty that V would be watching. Dad's touch found my skin—familiar, like when he used to hug away nightmares. But he didn't look at me when he promised, "I'll protect you from him, Oakley."

My lips moved, but it wasn't a smile. Just a hollow reflex I didn't believe in. No one could save me from V.

Because the truth was, something was born where things were supposed to die.

I closed my eyes, letting my father drive me home while trying to ignore how part of me had stayed behind in that basement—chained there, waiting for him.