Page 63

M y head snapped up, disbelief freezing me in place as I stared at the man standing over us at the edge of the lake. Rain pelted the dark water, each drop sending ripples across the surface where my bat had disappeared moments ago.

Prez.

His massive silhouette was unmistakable against the night sky, water streaming down his leather cut as he extended his hand, my mask dangling from his fingers. "Take it. You look fuckin' ugly without that mask of yours on."

I grabbed it, securing it over my face with one hand while keeping hold of Oakley with the other. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

He shouldn't have been here. Not now. Not when I was seconds away from surrendering. Not when I was about to lose her.

"I was lookin' for Nyla when I found this place," Prez said, crouching beside me in the mud. The familiar scent of cigarettes and whiskey clung to him. Raindrops collected in his beard, running down his neck in rivulets. "Tracked some rumors about a trafficking ring to this fucked up place. Heard the commotion from outside."

He studied my face. The perpetual sneer that twisted his features whenever he looked at me was gone, replaced by something I didn't recognize.

"That night I found you—seein' you standin' there in the rain. Bloody. Broken. Just a kid with eyes that had seen too fuckin' much." He looked away, jaw working like he was chewing on words that tasted bitter. "You were holdin' that bat like it was the only thing keepin' you alive. Probably was."

A pang in my chest throbbed at the thought of my bat at the bottom of the lake.

"I failed my own kid," he rasped. "Never held her tiny hand. Never knew what color her fuckin' eyes were."

His massive shoulders shook slightly, an almost imperceptible tremor that shocked me more than any confession could. Raindrops trailed down his scarred knuckles like tears he'd never allow himself to shed.

His calloused hand touched my shoulder. "All these years, I told myself I saved you. But the truth is, I just broke you differently." He looked away, jaw clenched tight. "And then that dumb fuck Chet. I told him the longer he stayed, the more likely he wasn't gonna make it. Asshole had a death wish."

Chet.

His death should have meant nothing to me.

But it didn't feel like nothing.

I pushed the thought away, buried it with all the other weaknesses I couldn't afford.

A knot formed in my throat, impossible to swallow. All this time, I'd thought he'd taken me in as a tool, a weapon to be used and discarded. To hear that there had been something more, something almost like love in his twisted, broken way, made something shift inside me.

"Why?" I asked, voice raw.

"Because you've got something worth living for," he nodded toward Oakley. "Because I've got a lifetime of shit to answer for... and we both know there's no clean way out of this."

A soft whimper escaped Oakley's lips, barely audible beneath the sirens. Her lips parted with each shallow breath, unconscious but still clinging to life. I crushed her against my chest, hand splayed over the back of her head, like I could press her heart to mine and make it beat stronger. Like holding her tighter might stop everything else from falling apart.

Prez didn't speak for a beat. Just stared. Then— "Let me take the fall for you."

I stared at him. The words made no sense. Nothing about this night made fucking sense. "What?"

"You heard me, kid. Those cops get here, I'll tell 'em I did this." He gestured to the bodies scattered around us.

I don't hide. I. Don't. Fucking. Hide. "I don't need your fucking help."

"This ain't about you anymore," Prez said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as he jabbed a finger at Oakley. "Look at her."

I did. And something inside me shattered. Her face was ghostly pale, lips tinged blue, chest barely moving with each shallow breath. And I was wasting time trying to win a fucking argument.

"You want to learn to be happy with Oakley? Can't do that if you're locked up. You got capital murder on your hands, V. You'll never be gettin' out, even with Law's help."

Death sentence was almost guaranteed. Never seeing Oakley except through bulletproof glass. Never touching her. Never having the chance to be the man she believed I could be. Never having Summer.

My choices were strangling me from within. This was the man who taught me never to kneel, now offering his neck to the blade for me. Accepting his sacrifice felt worse than dying myself—it meant admitting I'd failed, admitting I hadn't protected what mattered most.

My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might shatter. I wanted to refuse, to scream, to rage—but the pale, limp body in my arms made any defiance impossible.

Her fingers twitched against my chest. Her body fighting for life even as her mind remained lost.

"Kid, you're the closest thing to a son I ever had," Prez's words nearly lost in the wail of approaching sirens. "I fucked that up. I know I did. Let me do this one thing right."

Son.

I looked down at Oakley, mud and blood coating her pale face.

I would kill for her.

I would die for her.

… I would give up anything for her.

My throat closed around words I couldn't form, the strained muscles in my neck forcing a nod.

"Take her behind those trees," he nodded toward a dense thicket at the edge of the shore. "Stay there until I handle this shit."

I lifted Oakley against my chest, her dead weight making each step treacherous in the slick mud. Pine needles caught at my soaked suit as I carefully navigated through the undergrowth, her head cradled against my shoulder to protect her from the low-hanging branches. The thick canopy provided cover from the rain and concealment from the approaching lights. I settled us behind the largest pine trunk, positioning myself where I could see through the gaps in the foliage to the open shoreline where Prez waited.

From our hidden position, I watched Prez nod once, a wry smile touching his lips before the mask of indifference slammed back into place. He straightened, rolling his shoulders back like a fighter entering the ring as water cascaded down his form. He moved forward, deliberately placing himself in the center of the carnage I'd created.

He pulled out an unlit cigarette, lighting it before inhaling deeply, then flicking ash to the ground. The ember died with a soft hiss in a puddle.

The rumble of motorcycle engines cut through the rain before I saw the headlights. Law's bike led a convoy of five others, their beams sweeping across the lake as they approached the shoreline. They killed their engines simultaneously, the sudden silence deafening except for the patter of rain on leather.

Police lights slashed through the darkness from the opposite direction, bathing the scene in violent pulses. Squad cars materialized from the access road, officers spilling out with weapons drawn, boots splashing through puddles as they advanced on the scene.

"On the ground! Now!" an officer bellowed, his gun aimed at Prez's chest. Two more flanked him, legs braced wide, fingers hovering near triggers.

Prez didn't even blink. His shoulders rolled back as he took another long drag from his cigarette, the end burning bright against the night. Smoke curled from his nostrils as his eyes—cold and unafraid—locked onto the officer who'd shouted.

"You know I like when you get handsy," Prez drawled, voice dropping to a dangerous purr that made the nearest officer flinch. He flicked his cigarette directly at the cop's feet, sparks scattering across the wet pavement.

Law dismounted his bike at the road's edge, his massive frame tense as he took in the scene—the police cars, the weapons drawn, the body of his former president standing in the center of it all. His hand moved instinctively toward his back where I knew he kept his gun, but he stopped himself, recognizing the futility. Behind him, the other brothers remained mounted, engines idling, ready to flee if Law gave the word.

Then Law's eyes found Prez, and the shock that registered on his face physically rocked him back. His head pivoted, scanning frantically until his gaze penetrated the shadows where I hid with Oakley.

His face drained of color, mouth opening in a silent cry of anguish. With a sharp gesture to the brothers, he ordered them to stand down, to melt back into the night. The engines revved once in acknowledgment before the bikes peeled away, leaving only Law standing in the rain beside his motorcycle.

They tackled Prez at once, three officers driving him into the mud with unnecessary force. I heard the impact as his body hit the ground, the sharp intake of breath as a knee dug into his spine. They slammed his face into the mud, grinding his features into the filth. Yet he didn't fight, didn't resist—just turned his head slightly, finding my eyes through the darkness with calm acceptance in his gaze as he winked at me and let them grind him into the dirt and cuff him.

"You're under arrest for homicide," one officer recited. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

Law waited until the officers were focused on Prez before moving. He slipped through the shadows at the treeline's edge, using the police cars' headlights to mask his approach. His years as an enforcer showed in every silent step, every calculated movement that brought him closer to our hiding spot without detection.

As they hauled Prez to his feet, he turned in my direction. His eyes found mine through the darkness, penetrating shadows I thought would hide me. In that moment, I saw everything he'd never been able to say—regret, pride, sorrow, hope.

Law reached our position just as the officers shoved Prez toward the waiting squad car. He dropped to his knees beside us in the mud, his approach so quiet I barely heard him despite my heightened senses. His hand hovered over Oakley's face like he was afraid to touch her, as if she might shatter under his fingertips.

"Christ, no," he whispered, the words a prayer and a curse all at once. His face collapsed when he saw Oakley up close, her name soundlessly forming on his lips. He cradled her head with trembling hands, as if terrified she might crumble to dust beneath his fingers. His massive frame, always so imposing, now seemed impossibly small, bent beneath the unbearable weight of almost losing her. "What the fuck happened? What?—"

His voice broke, fingers finally making contact with her cheek, brushing it with a tenderness I'd never witnessed from the hard man. "Baby girl, can you hear me?"

Oakley remained completely unresponsive even at the sound of her father's voice. Her face stayed slack, her blue-tinged lips slightly parted with each shallow breath. No recognition, no response—just the terrifying stillness of someone suspended between life and death.

Law's gaze snapped to me, fury warring with gratitude in his eyes. The rain had plastered his gray hair to his skull, making him look older, more vulnerable than I'd ever seen him.

"You pulled her out?" His words were barely audible above the chaos.

I nodded once, unable to force words past the knot in my throat.

"She was..." I started, voice failing me. The image of her sinking into the water, the concrete block dragging her down, flashed before my eyes like a nightmare on repeat. I couldn't say it. Couldn't relive it.

Law's hand gripped my shoulder, hard enough to leave bruises. His voice dropped to a ragged whisper. A sound escaped him then, something between a growl and a sob. His massive hands curled into fists, knuckles white with rage and terror. "She could have died," he said, voice thick. "My little girl could have?—"

He cut himself off, hands trembling.

Through the branches, we watched the cops shove Prez into the waiting squad car. Law's entire body went rigid, disbelief etched in every line of his face.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" The words came out as a ragged whisper, decades of history condensed into six simple words.

I couldn't answer. How could I explain what Prez had done? How could I express the magnitude of his sacrifice? The words stuck in my throat, trapped behind a wall I couldn't breach.

Prez spat blood onto the ground, that defiant grin still plastered on his face as they shoved him into the back seat. The few brothers who had lingered at the road's edge despite Law's orders watched in stunned silence—men who remembered their former president, men who had been there when he betrayed them.

Their voices dropped to hushed, reverent whispers, as if they were witnessing something sacred and terrible all at once.

Law looked from the police car to me and back, understanding slowly dawning in his eyes as he pieced together what had happened. The realization hit him visibly—a physical jolt, as if someone had struck him. He stared in disbelief, betrayal and fury battling across his face. The man who had betrayed the club, who had abandoned his brothers, was now making the ultimate sacrifice. And Law didn't know what to do with that.

His jaw worked silently, muscles bunching and releasing as he processed what was happening. For a moment, I thought he might go after Prez—might try to stop this, to set things right, to restore the natural order where he, not Prez, made the sacrifices for his family.

But then his eyes dropped to Oakley's still face, and something broke in him. The legendary enforcer who had put the fear of God into rivals across the country, crumpled inward like a house of cards. This was the man beneath the myth—a father facing the possibility of losing his daughter.

He said nothing, just turned his attention back to Oakley, carefully gathering her from my arms with a tenderness that belied his brutal strength.

"We need to get her to Hex," he said, voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. He adjusted her against his chest, cradling her like she was still the little girl he'd raised. "She's ice cold. Might be going into shock."

The police car pulled away, lights cutting through the night. Just like that, Prez was gone. The man who had found me, broken and bloody, all those years ago. The man who had shaped me, for better or worse, into who I was today.

His eyes had met mine through rain-streaked glass, steady and unafraid. It felt like a final benediction, a wordless forgiveness I hadn't earned. I could barely breathe as the car pulled away, carrying the only man who'd ever tried—however brokenly—to save me.

A wave of something dangerously close to grief threatened to overwhelm me. I swallowed hard against it, forcing it down where I kept all my other unprocessed rage.

Police don’t leave a crime scene. Fuck.

“Follow me,” Law whispered, staying in a crouched position under the lining of the trees. “We gotta get the fuck out of here.”

The bat remained at the bottom of the water, along with the last remnants of who I used to be. The man who had reshaped me in his image was being taken away in chains, sacrificing himself for my future. Everything had changed in the span of a heartbeat, and I didn't know what would come next.

I stood there, rain washing over me, feeling hollow and full all at once. The bat was gone, now sunken at the bottom of the lake. Prez was gone. And yet, somehow, impossibly, I was still here. Still breathing. Still free.

My eyes fixed on her lips in the darkness, the remnants of thread still embedded in her flesh where Mother had sewn her mouth shut. The same thing Mother had inflicted on me as a child. The rage I'd felt when I first discovered them hadn't dulled—it had sharpened, crystallized into something lethal.

She'd taken my voice as a child. Then she'd tried to take Oakley's. The ultimate violation twisted in my chest, a hatred so pure it felt holy.

A monster created by a monster. Now that monster had marked what was mine.

I didn't deserve Oakley. But I'd spend every remaining moment proving I could protect her—from Mother, from the world, from everything.

Mother was still out there. She'd escaped while I made my choice—Oakley or revenge. In the end, there was never really a choice at all. Oakley would always win. But the thought of Mother breathing the same air as my wife made something dark and vicious twist inside me. She'd almost taken Oakley from me. She'd almost succeeded where everyone else had failed.

Next time, and there would be a next time., Mother wouldn't get away.

Mother didn't understand what she'd created in me. What lengths I would go to. What I would become to keep Oakley safe. She thought she knew violence, but she'd only seen the beginning of what I was capable of.

When I found her, I wouldn't be the boy cowering beneath her needle and thread. The son that wanted her to love me. I'd be the monster she created. I'd carve away pieces of her until nothing remained but memory. I'd make her suffer in ways even she couldn't imagine.

For Oakley's lips. For her fear. For every mark left on what was mine. For what she did to Chet.

Mother would pay in blood.

And I would be the one to collect.