Cease (Bayonet Scars Book 7) (21 page)

Frantically looking around for something, anything, to help, I find my hands shaking. I hate this man and what he's done. It's bad enough that he fathered one child against the mother's will, but then he came back to town and did it again with one of the lost girls. I won't ever forget Rage telling me that story. I never thought much of it before, but it makes sense now why Josh has always been so close with the club while his mom tries to stay so distant. I just figured the boys were friends and she tolerated Forsaken for her kid. But that's not the case at all.

Quickly, I grab the first thing that can be used as a weapon--the wrench I was using on the washer--and use it to guard myself. I know what Ghost wants, and he's not getting it. The lost girl he raped pressed charges, and he went away for it. I know where she is because I keep an eye on her. Despite who her father is, Jenny is a beautiful girl. She has a good life with her mom and stepdad. I won't give Ghost that information even if he tries to kill me for it. Some things are worth losing for. It's just a shame that Josh won't ever meet his sister.

"Ma," Ian shouts. Ghost is bitching and cursing at the boys to let him go, but they're not listening. Because they're smart and know a psychopath when they see one. "Who the fuck is this guy?"

"I'm Josh Wilcox's father," Ghost yells. His eyes are wild, and he takes a deep breath, shoving Ryan against the wall beside them. Ian tries to restrain him, but he can't. Without giving it another thought, I lunge forward and swing the wrench out, making contact with Ghost's torso.

Ryan's shouting, Ian's trying to avoid the swing of the wrench, and Ghost is gasping for breath as he doubles over and crumples to the floor. The three of us step back, and we stare at the man on the floor.

"Duke's dad?" Ryan asks, his eyebrows raised. He uses the nickname the club only recently gave to Josh. "When the fuck were you gonna tell me, or maybe Duke, that you know his fucking dad?"

Even Ian is giving me a judgmental glare.

"This piece of shit isn't his dad--he's his mother's rapist," I say. I'm seething, my chest heaves, and despite the seriousness of the situation, I'm more angry than scared. I don't know how Ghost still has his cut, but he does. He's the fucking vice president of a charter that's not known for playing well with others. They'd challenge us over this, even if this asshole ends up walking away from it.

"I'm calling Butch." I back away from the situation and set the wrench down on the entertainment center, trusting the boys to watch Ghost while I find my mobile. It's on the bathroom sink, so I grab it and rush into my bedroom and snag the nearest hand gun at my disposal. Everything is quiet, for the most part, in the living room, so I take a moment to call Butch from my room. All I have to say is Ghost's name and he tells me he's on his way and hangs up the phone.

I've barely hung up and shoved the phone in my pocket when a loud crash sounds from the other room. Ryan's screaming at Ian, and Ian's screaming at Ghost. When I rush in, I find Ghost has Ryan pinned up against the wall. The entertainment center is wrecked, with it only half standing. The other half is a busted flat screen TV and crushed sound system. My stomach drops. Jim had Grady get that ridiculously expensive thing in honor of Ryan's prospecting and Ian's graduation. The angle Ghost has Ryan at is making it difficult for Ian to help. My boy is turning blue, though. I need to do something before he really gets hurt. Raising the gun to shoot, I'm blocked by Ian stepping in my way. His back is to me as he manages to free Ryan from Ghost's grasp using sheer force of will. Ghost slides down the half-broken entertainment center and grabs the wrench. He swings it high and hits Ian right in his chest. I watch in horror as my boy falls backward and sucks in a shallow breath on his way. His eyes fall closed as he hits the floor.

Ryan rushes at Ghost, narrowly dodging the wrench he swings. I've shot a gun many times--Jim's seen to that. I've even shot a man before. I've just never taken a life. But as I raise the gun again, I have no fear or trepidation about pulling the trigger. This man is a rapist and an abuser. He's everything I hate, and I want his reign of terror to end. For once and for all. Flipping off the safety, I get Ghost in my line of sight and take a deep breath. Before I can pull the trigger, Ian's strong arms wrap around me. His firm hand squeezes mine on the gun, forcing me to release it, and then he spins me around, shielding me from what's about to happen. Without a moment to waste, Ian releases me and shoves me backward. I scramble forward just as Ian pushes Ryan to the side and places the barrel of the gun to Ghost's temple. I watch in horror as he pulls the trigger, painting the wall with dripping blood.

I've never taken a life before. The only time I came close was when that piece of shit violated my boy when he was a kid. Even then, I maimed him and left him for the cops to deal with. I couldn't bring myself to do it. And now, I'm watching a man's blood drip down the wall in my living room after my seventeen-year-old son shot him in the head.

Ryan bends over and starts dry heaving. He's breathing heavy, and his hands are shaking as he tries to keep himself upright with his hands on his knees. I take a step toward Ian, who's lowered the gun, put the safety back on, and placed it in the waistband of his jeans, but I stop. He's totally calm but silent, and that worries me. I redirect my attention to Ryan and move to comfort him, but I can't. I look back at Ian to find him pulling the bayonet knife he carries from its holder at his waist and grabbing Ghost by the throat. His body is limp, the effects of death slowly settling in. Ian's brown eyes stare into Ghost's dead blues blankly as he scrawls the word
sin
into the dead man's forehead.

Right as he finishes, Butch rushes through the open front door and stops. I turn to look at my longtime friend with tears in my eyes. And I just stand there, frozen, unsure what to do. One of my boys is freaking out because his brother just killed a man. And the other is resurrecting old trauma by carving up a man's flesh. My heart breaks in a million pieces for the little boy who found out all too soon how awful the world could be and the young man who now stands before me, eyeing a dead body with a sick aura of peace about him.

I can't help but feel responsible for this. My life choices have made my boy a killer.

CHAPTER 20

May 2014

Jim's hands travel down my bare sides, caressing every inch he can get his lotion-covered hands on. He licks his lips lasciviously as I slowly part my knees before putting them back together. I could open up for him, but then the massage would be over, and I'm not ready for that. It's not all that often that my man spoils me like this. I can get an orgasm whenever and however I want--that he's always game for. It's the drawn out foreplay that he has to be prodded to initiate. So I'm going to milk this time for all it's worth. Rubbing my thighs together, I moan softly and clench them together despite Jim's insistent attempt to gently pry them apart.

"You being a tease, momma?"

"I like being chased," I say in defense and wave a finger at the nearby lotion bottle. Jim gives me a flat look and squirts some more lotion into his palm, then continues with the rubdown.

"Been chasing you for twenty years," he says, his hands dipping around the back of my thighs and pulling me forward. A laugh turns to a smile as he manages to part my thighs.

"And you'll chase me for twenty more," I say confidently. If there's one thing in this world I don't doubt, it's this man's love for me. And I never want him to doubt my love for him. So while he's massaging my inner thighs, and it feels incredible, I need to show him that the feeling is mutual. Not that I think he doubts my feelings. After two decades together and nearly that many married, we're solid.

"But then I'm done," he says as he watches me pull myself into a sitting position. I squirt some lotion into the palm of my hands, rub them together, and then proceed to massage Jim's thighs.

"Done, huh? Just like that?" We're face-to-face now, so close that I can practically taste the coffee on his breath. He smiles and leans in, giving me a sweet kiss to my lips. We're both smiling when he pulls away. For the millionth time since we became us, I've wished that I could have given him a baby. I made a vow to myself, though, that I wouldn't have another kid after the twins. Jim's always respected that. Even though there was that one surprise, when it ended seven weeks in, we were sad, but we moved on. It wasn't meant to be for us, and that's okay. We have our boys, and I'm perfectly fulfilled with that, but I know Jim's always secretly yearned for a kid that carries both our genes.

"In another twenty, I'm gonna be too old to chase you, woman."

"I call bullshit," I say, leaning in and nibbling his lip. We fall into each other, laughing and kissing the whole way. Lazy afternoons making love to my husband don't happen near as often as I'd like, so I make sure to treasure every moment I have like this.

My mobile sounds from the bedside table with a tone I thought I'd never hear. It's a high-pitched squealing sound that I can't ignore. Jim stills, the joy in his eyes disappearing immediately. It's Gloria's ring tone. We scramble to grab it before it stops ringing. Both of us with shaking hands and fear in our hearts.

Gloria.

There's only one reason Gloria would call, and it sends an anchor to the pit of my stomach. When I answer the phone, my voice shakes.

"They're safe, for now," she says in a panicked voice. Her New York accent is thicker than I remember, her voice huskier, and I know it's because she never did give up smoking. I probably sound the same to her. "But Alex is in hot water. You need to get her out of here. Now."

I turn my eyes to Jim who's head is butted up to the phone. He pulls back and gives me a confident nod and the most pathetic excuse for a smile I've ever seen. Taking the phone from me, he sets the wheels of our trip in motion.

I have no idea what awaits me. I just know that I'm going to meet my daughter. After almost twenty years apart, I'm going to see my baby girl. The devastation that overtakes me is something I can't explain to Jim. Even after he gets off the phone with Gloria, I'm at a loss for words. I should be happy, he says. Scared and worried, yes. But happy. I don't feel happy, though. I feel like I'm being taunted with much-needed oxygen that's going to be taken away just as I'm suffocating. Like I shouldn't hope that this is really happening. That despite the circumstances, this won't end well and she won't live up to the hundred different things I expect her to be. Or that she's going to hate me. Or even worse, that she'll never know who I am or how much I've grieved not having her in my life.

Jim stands from the bed and starts to dress in a hurry. I stare at him in part confusion and part anger. Where the hell is he going? As if he can read my mind, he crosses the room, grabs me behind my neck and pulls me in.

"I'm cashing in that marker. We're going to get our girl."

CHAPTER 21

Jim

Brooklyn, New York

April 2016

Mancuso's downfall

Slowly, I pry my eyes open only to be met with the harsh, bright lights of the hospital. It takes me a moment to realize what's going on and where I am. A low-level buzz rings in my ears, worrying me. I don't know a whole ton about medical stuff, but I know a ringing in your ears is usually not a good thing. Fuck. Instead of torturing myself with the unwelcome noise and fucking interrogation lights, I let my eyes fall closed while I hope for it all to just go away. A few minutes pass, at least it feels like a few minutes, before the ringing stops. When it does, I realize that it wasn't in my ears at all, but rather a nearby machine. I hate hospitals more than anything.

"Mr. Stone?" A soft, feminine voice calls out to me, forcing me to push myself back into the world. I'd rather stay like this, stock still and in silence with my eyes closed. But if this nurse can do something about the lights, I'm going to play ball.

"Yeah," I grunt. My throat is sore and uncomfortably gravelly. Forcing one eye open, I size up the intruder. She's got to be close to six feet tall, and she's got broad shoulders, with honey-blonde hair and gray-blue eyes. She's pretty, even in her animal-print scrubs, and she's giving me a kind smile. Well then.

"It's nice to see you awake," she says. I nod my head, not really wanting to repeat the whole talking thing again.

"I'm Vicky, your nurse for about the next thirty minutes. I'll be sure to bring your new nurse around before I leave so you don't feel too abandoned." With that, she moves around the small space, checking machines and writing things down on her clipboard.

For the first time since I woke up, I really survey the space around me. I'm not exactly in a room, so I think I'm still in emergency. There's a wall to my left, but to my right and in front of me are glass walls that are mostly shielded by a bright and colorful curtain. My view of the nurse's station is partially blocked by a man's broad, suit-clad shoulder and his short black hair. Craning my neck around, I see a mural on the wall behind me that's made up of teddy bears, balloons, and bumble bees.

"We had to put you in the peds corner," the nurse says with a head nod toward the glass door across the room. The man is still there. Realizing I still don't understand, Vicky leans in and checks my vitals. In a hushed tone, she says, "Detective Davis insisted you be in a secure room. It doesn't matter how many times your wife has told him how you and your stepdaughter were injured, the detective doesn't seem to believe her. He's been standing guard for hours now."