Page 35

L aw pressed the man tight against the tree, not seeing me swing until it was too late. He shifted, moving into the bat's arc just as I swung. The crack echoed as my bat connected with both the intruder's shoulder and Law's forearm in the process.

"You hit me too, you asshole!" Law hissed, holding his forearm as his body was slightly bent over. That was what he gets for being in the way.

The man grimaced, clutching his ribs with one hand. "Jesus fuck. You swing like you've got something to prove."

As he caught his breath, the man reached up and pulled the mask from his head, catching it on his ear before coming free. Recognition flashed in Law's eyes when the man exposed himself.

"Chet?" Law squinted, disbelief evident. "What the hell are you doing here?"

The man—Chet—looked between us, confusion writing itself across his features. "Trevor?" His eyes darted from me to Law.

I looked between them, Law answering my non-question. “Chet’s a gravedigger. I’ve worked on a lot of cases with his clients.”

It was this Chet man's turn to ask a question. "How do you two know each other?"

"I'm his son-in-law."

Law's jaw tightened, tendons about to pop. "Don't introduce yourself as that."

Chet's attention lingered on me, recognition slowly dawning in his eyes. "Wait—Oakley's husband?" When I stepped forward he quickly added, "She delivers baked goods to my girlfriend. Your wife's got quite the reputation for those pastries."

My eyes narrowed at the familiarity with which he spoke of Oakley, swinging my bat again, it connected with his hand as I put pressure on it until it popped. "Don't fucking talk about my wife."

Chet studied my face, eyes roaming over features I knew were unsettling. He studied me, rubbing his reddening hand. I hoped I fucking broke it. Law got between us, his body a barrier, pushing my bat off him with more force than necessary. "Look. We aren't doing anything illegal. I don't know why you're here, but you can leave."

Chet straightened himself against the tree, wincing as he moved. "No can do. A friend asked me to check his house out, and that's exactly what I am doing."

Law scoffed now, disbelief evident. "A friend?"

Chet blinked, innocence that didn't match his scarred hands. "I have friends."

I pressed closer, invading his space. "Who?"

"An old friend of yours." This guy was getting on my fucking nerves, each word grating against my patience. I positioned my bat to strike again, wood whistling through the air, but Chet threw his hands up quickly, stopping me mid-swing. Arms stretched out in surrender, palms facing me.

"Darrell sent me." My eyes moved to Law, who had the exact same reaction, shock written across his face. “I need my fucking hands, asshole.”

"Where is he?"

Chet laughed. "I ain't that dumb. Look, I owed him a favor. So do what you’re here to do then fuck off, yeah?"

Why would Prez send this idiot here alone, and how did Prez know we would be here to send him?

Law's eyes narrowed to slits, suspicion evident. "Prez sent you alone? Since when does Prez trust anyone outside the club?"

Chet's mouth quirked at one corner, a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Since he realized I don't die easily."

I could change that.

"How did you know we were going to be here?" He pushed off the tree, adjusting himself with visible discomfort, hand pressed to the ribs I had just cracked.

"He didn't know. The alarm system went off, he asked me to check it out, and I did." He could be lying.

"Look, we've been sent here by our new Prez, so we gotta do what we gotta do, you get me?" Chet nodded, understanding passing between them. "You're more than welcome to come with us to see for yourself." Law turned to me, authority in his gaze. "Let's go check on things and get the hell out of here."

Chet took a step forward, leaves crunching beneath his boots. He got too close. I cracked the bat against his temple. He fell to the ground with a dull thud, body limp as blood immediately pooled from the wound. For a minute, I thought he was dead until his brown eyes opened in a haze.

Law just sighed, pinching his nose between his fingers. "Was that really necessary?"

From the ground, Chet let out a pained groan, "No, but I bet it made him feel better."

His neck went slack, head rolling back as he went unconscious. Law looked at his body, hands moving as he checked him for weapons, patting down pockets. He looked expectantly at me, annoyance written across his features. "A little help?"

Rolling my eyes, I went to help. As we lifted Chet's body, handcuffs fell from one of the ten pockets on his cargo pants, metal catching the moonlight. "Why the fuck does he have these?" Law asked, eyebrows raised. I shrugged, indifferent.

After a moment, Chet let out a low groan, eyes fluttering open, consciousness returning in small waves. "Well, it's date night," he mumbled sheepishly, blood still trailing down his face. "Don't judge."

Law grumbled, disgust evident. "You sound like Tyrant."

“If he’s anything like you two, I’m sure he’s a stand up guy.” Holding Chet's body against a smaller tree, bark rough against his back, Law pulled his hands together with unnecessary force, securing the handcuffs with a metallic click.

"We have to come back and uncuff him later." My brows furrowed, confusion rising.

"Why?"

"Because, unlike you, I exist to the government and can be traced. I don't want murder on my record." His footsteps crunched as he walked away.

I shrugged, unbothered. I had no legal documents, no birth certificate, no social security number. No fingerprints, blood samples, or legal name. It was what made me such an asset to Prez. I could do anything without being traced back.

I followed Law to Prez's abandoned house. When we stepped inside, it looked dusty from underuse, particles dancing in the beam of his flashlight. The furniture looked old and worn out, material faded and torn. Large leather couches sat pointing at the TV that was thick with dust, a gray film covering the screen. Pictures hung on the wall, frames crooked, a large coffee table with trinkets lying on top.

I followed Law's footsteps up the stairs, bat slung over my shoulder like an old friend. The downstairs had nothing to show for it right now, nothing worth taking. Besides, searching wasn't something I did. I was brought in case something happened like it just did, muscle where Law was brain. I got bored easily when I was expected to scavenge places I'd rather burn down, watch flames consume everything until nothing remained but ash.

Trudging up the steps with my bat on my shoulder, wood creaking beneath my weight, I walked into the first room at the top of the stairs. Law's flashlight cast eerie shadows across the walls, giving off the only light in the space. He was hunched over a desk, hands moving as he searched for something, opening drawers and rifling through papers. He looked up when he heard me enter, annoyance written across his features. "Aren't you going to search the other parts of the house?"

My gaze drifted to the window, watching as shadows moved outside, branches swaying in the wind. Law sighed, the sound heavy with resignation as he continued to look through the desk, pulling out drawers and examining contents before grumbling under his breath. "You could be a little more help."

I shoved my pinky in my ear to let him know I didn't give a fuck. Helping people wasn't in my DNA, killing them was.

He’d been searching for about twenty minutes when a loud slam from downstairs drew our attention, the sound echoing through the empty house as footsteps came slowly up the steps, wood protesting beneath the weight. Law reached for the gun he kept on his side, and I wielded my bat ready to strike, muscles tensing in anticipation—finally some excitement.

Chet staggered into the doorway, barely upright, one hand braced against the frame. His eyes looked unfocused, pupils unevenly dilated. Breathing came in labored gasps, chest rising too quickly. He kept leaning to one side before catching himself. Every few seconds, he'd blink hard like fighting to stay conscious, movements jerky. Blood matted his hair where I'd struck him earlier.

On his wrists, the broken remains of the handcuffs, metal links snapped apart. Must've broken them with some hidden tool, or maybe his girlfriend's handcuffs were just for show.

"How the fuck did you get free?" Law's voice was tight with disbelief.

He leaned heavily against the wall, one hand pressed to his side where the bat had hit him earlier. Each breath seemed to cost him. Dark blood matted his hair, still oozing down his face. But somehow, he was standing. Chet spat blood onto the floor, a dark stain against worn wood, pulling a small wire from his sleeve like a magician revealing a trick. He winced, touching his head gingerly, fingers coming away wet with blood. "Lock picking kit. Always carry one."

I stepped toward him, menace in every movement. Law rushed between us, muttering under his breath, "How is he even conscious after that hit?"

He winced as he leaned against the wall, weight shifting to take pressure off his injured ribs. "You idiots wanna go down for attempted murder? That's fine by me. I told you I'm a friend, Darrell sent me to check on things, not kill you."

"How do we know you're not lying?" Law was calm when he was in lawyer mode, all emotion carefully tucked away behind a mask of professionalism.

"Law, Oakley's father, married to Claudia, hid his secret life until it caught up with him. V, deadly enforcer, can’t feel a damn thing. Darrell found you in the rain when you were fifteen, took you in and raised you. Horribly I might fucking add." Prez told him these things? Trusted him with our secrets? "I know about Nyla, I know about the fire, I know about Victoria, I know about the club." He was telling the truth, or he'd done his homework. "Look, I don't want any trouble, and I don't want to get on your bad sides; I owed Darrell a favor, and this is it. Just get what you have come for and leave."

This felt a little too easy, too convenient. My eyes slid to Law, who was already watching me, doubt mirrored in his gaze. "He couldn't have known all that, he's gotta be telling the truth."

"Look, take me to the hospital after this so I can get my ribs and head checked and consider this never happened." He looked pained to say that. "This time only." I didn't take my eyes off Chet, watching for any sign of deception.

"Deal." Law spoke for both of us, decision made. If this went wrong, I could at least blame him.

"So what are you looking for?" We didn’t speak. "If you tell me, I can help to look and get us all out of here faster."

“We're not too sure ourselves,” Law muttered before continuing to rummage through Prez’s things.

Walking over to the bookshelf, eyes scanning titles absently, searching for something Oakley might like to read, something to bring light back to her eyes. Fingers skimmed the dusty books, leaving trails in the gray film that covered everything. One stood out from the rest, a dark red book with something sticking out of it like a bookmark. Taking it from its place, leather against the palm, opening it up and seeing a list written in careful handwriting. Brows furrowed while reading the names.

Dominic Moxley.

Vincent Brooks.

Darrell Moore.

What the hell were Prez and Nyla's adoptive father doing on a list like this?

"Find something?" Chet came over with Law, curiosity written across both their faces. Ipassed the list to Law, watching as he examined it.

He sucked in a sharp inhale, the sound loud in the quiet room. "What the hell?" Law's eyes danced over the words, understanding blooming. "Prez's name. Nyla's adoptive father?"

"Let me see." Chet grimaced as he snatched the note. He blew a low whistle. "These are some pretty bad dudes Darrell’s named with."

"Is it a hit list?" Law asked, worry evident in every line of his body. "Vincent is already dead."

"Prez will be dead soon."

"You shouldn't say that in front of me," Chet chastised me.

Didn't say how he was going to die.

"Gonna bring this back to Grim." Law looked to Chet, “Do you know who Dominic Moxley is?”

“Not exactly,” Chet answered, his words beginning to slur. “Just know he’s someone you don’t want to fuck with.”

Law glared at Chet before snatching the note back from him, paper crinkling in his grip. Chet's eyes drooped as he started to hunch over, adrenaline fading as pain took its rightful place. Law caught him before he hit the floor, supporting his weight with a grunt. "Let's get him to the hospital."

Hospital, where he can just spill all the details? "He'll rat us out."

Law shook his head, a decision already made. "He might die if he's not treated."

"So?"

That made the drowsy man chuckle, the sound wet and broken. Chet grumbled, "Truly don't give a fuck about anybody, do you? Darrell said you were dragged from hell. I thought he was being dramatic."

He was wrong. I did give a fuck about Oakley. She was the only light in a world of darkness, the only thing worth protecting. Barging past them, shoulder connecting with the doorframe, I made my way down the stairs. The only reason I knew they were behind me was the groaning and creaking of the stairs, wood protesting beneath their combined weight as I made my way to the kitchen. I was pulling open all the cabinets and drawers I saw when they reached the entrance of the kitchen, Law still supporting Chet's weight. "What are you doing?"

Some questions don't deserve answers, don't warrant an explanation. I kept searching, throwing things out of drawers, items clattering to the floor as I looked for something worth taking, something that would matter.

A book full of baking recipes, pages yellowed with age but still intact. I paused, fingers hesitating over the aged book, imagining Oakley's distant eyes sparking back to life. Perfect. I dusted it off, particles dancing as I flipped through it. The handwriting was legible still, flowing script that detailed measurements and instructions. Dozens of recipes my wife might like to bake, might lose herself in.

I slipped the small booklet into my back pocket, turning toward the two men who just watched the entire time, curiosity and confusion written across their faces.

"Really? That's what you're taking?" Chet’s eyebrows raised in disbelief, blood still trailing down his face.

I walked by them, not helping as they trudged behind me back to Law's car, gravel crunching beneath our feet. I got in the passenger side while Law struggled to fold Chet's bleeding body into the back seat, each movement punctuated by curses and groans.

The rhythmic tap of my bat against the dashboard filled the silence as we drove while Law bitched at Chet about not getting blood on his seats.

"Do you have to tap that fucking bat!" Chet groaned from the backseat.

I hit the dash harder. Law's knuckles went white on the steering wheel.

"Hit it again and I swear I'll feed you that fucking bat," Law snarled, but the threat only made me tap faster. I swear I could see steam coming out of his ears, hopefully he was considering driving us off a bridge.

I narrowed my eyes. “Try.”

Chet held up the snapped cuffs like a trophy. "Do I get a sticker or something? Survived a V encounter and all I got was internal bleeding?

Law screeched to a halt at the emergency entrance, tires protesting against the asphalt. "Get out."

Chet fumbled with the door handle, blood-slicked fingers sliding uselessly against metal until it finally gave way. He half-fell onto the concrete, catching himself with one palm.

"Thanks for the concussion, by the way," he called through the open door, one eye swelling shut. "I always wanted one."

Before Law could respond, I slammed the door shut, cutting off Chet's words as we peeled away, leaving Chet swaying like a drunk beneath the hospital lights, his silhouette growing smaller in the rearview until Law turned the corner and he disappeared completely.

We arrived back at the apartment, light spilling from windows like a beacon. I got out of the passenger side, door slamming shut behind me, while Law started the car again, ready to leave. "See you?—"

I don't fucking think so.

I tore the car door open, grabbed his collar, and hauled him toward the house. "What the fuck!" He struggled against me, curses falling from his lips as I dragged him across the driveway. I opened the door, hinges protesting softly, and Oakley was sitting on the couch in a light pink sweater that made her skin glow, her favorite purple blanket covering her lap like a shield. She was watching her comfort movie, the one she put on when the world became too much. Her mouth fell open in surprise, eyes widening at the sight before her. Her mouth closed, swallowing past the lump in her throat as she took the blanket off her lap before standing.

I shoved Law forward toward her, my hand firm between his shoulder blades. He stood staring at her like a deer caught in headlights.

With a forceful shove, I sent him stumbling forward into Oakley's arms, her eyes widening and glistening as she steadied him. Time seemed to freeze as they faced each other, breath caught in their throats, silence wrapping around them while years of unspoken damage hung in the air between them like invisible debris.

Neither spoke, silence stretching until I jammed the bat into Law's back. Law hissed, shame clouding his eyes before he reached out.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said, voice awkward. Oakley just nodded, unshed tears turning jade to emerald, lips wobbling as Law embraced her, arms wrapping around her. She melted instantly into his embrace, walls crumbling as a broken sound escaped her throat, shoulders shaking with silent tears that soaked into his shirt. He kissed her head, a gesture that made my grip tighten around the bat. The sound of Law murmuring to Oakley, his hands on her shoulders—it took everything not to shatter his bones for touching what was mine.

I stepped forward, shoving my way between them with a threatening grunt, body a barrier between what was mine and what wasn't.

"I can hug my daughter you prick." Law's voice rose in anger, but Oakley's touch was delicate as she touched my arm, fingertips brushing against tense muscle.

She looked at him, hope written across her features. "Y-You don't hate me?"

He shook his head, horror and regret chasing each other across his face. "God, no. I could never hate you."

He smoothed out his sleeves, fingers catching on wrinkled fabric. "I know you don’t like this. But I didn't..." She sniffed, trying to get her emotions under control, to rebuild walls that had crumbled too easily. "I didn't think you'd treat me this way."

"Fuck, I know I'm not handling things well.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Are you still happy?"

A fake smile stretched across her face, not reaching her eyes. "I am. V is…" She looked over at me, her eyes still turning dull jade, missing the spark that made them come alive. "Wonderful."

“Well, I know you’re lying. He’s not fucking great,” Law sighed with disappointment, the sound heavy in the quiet room. I didn't know if he believed her, but didn't want to fuck things up more than he already had. He looked around for something to do. "Are your windows locked?" She nodded, the movement jerky. "I'm gonna go check."

He walked into her room, footsteps fading, then pausing upon entering. "Oak?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you get a new bed?"

Her face bloomed with color. "Y-Yeah."

"What happened to your old one?"

I spoke for her, "We broke it."

A retching sound came from her bedroom, theatrical disgust that made Oakley's blush deepen. I pulled the small cookbook from my pocket. This wasn't an apology, wasn't groveling or regret. It was proof of thoughts about her, that she was never far from mind. That was better than words, more tangible than promises.

Handing it over to her, our fingers brushing in the exchange. I fucking missed her touch. She looked at the pages in amazement, wonder replacing her catatonic state for a brief moment. "Where did you get this?"

I couldn’t tell her. But she accepted that as her eyes sparked for the first time in days, light returning like the first ray after endless rain. Her fingertips smoothed against the worn pages, eyes lighting up more as she turned a page, then another. The paper rustled under her touch, each page turned with increasing care, as though afraid to damage the gift.

Her fingers traced the cover carefully, as if uncertain she had the right to keep it. Oakley's expression softened slightly, thawing at the edges. Her throat moved in a small swallow, pupils dilating as she held the book closer to her chest, a subtle protective gesture.

Her gaze shifted from the recipes to me, something knowing in her expression as she studied my face. I couldn't tell if she was seeing through me or piecing something together. She didn't soften completely, walls still partially in place, but her lips parted slightly before she said, "This was very thoughtful of you."

Not a thank you. But I would take the acknowledgement.

Law walked out of the bedroom back into the living room, discomfort evident. "I got some things to do. We'll talk this out soon, okay?"

Oakley nodded as Law made his way to the front door, hinges protesting softly behind him. His eyes lingered one last time on her ring—the gold band branding her as mine.

Let him stare. Let him hate it. I'd put that ring there, but it wasn't what bound her to me. She could pry it off her finger, throw it into the fucking sea, and it wouldn't matter.

She was mine in ways she didn't understand yet. Ways she couldn't undo.

Not Law.

Not regret.

Not even Oakley herself.