by Jacie Lennon
I don’t know what time it is, but I’m starving. My mouth is so dry that it tastes like cotton, and I would kill for my warm, fluffy bed at home—with Peyton wrapped in my arms. I roll my head side to side, looking around the cell that I’m sitting in. It’s a tiny room. Since Loredo’s jail is small, I’m assuming this is a holding cell. I can see a desk on the other side of the room and two other cells that connect to mine down the wall.
No one has entered this room since I was brought in last night, and on top of my exhaustion, I’m starting to get antsy that they are going to leave me in here forever.
I shut my eyes and attempt to quiet my mind, which has been racing, trying to figure a way out of this, but they have me. And they can do anything they want with me. I guess I should be thankful that no one stuck a gun to my head and offed me.
Visions of Peyton dance behind my eyelids. Even when my life is possibly in danger, I can’t stop thinking about her. I regret not telling her what I was doing. But I don’t regret doing it in the first place. Peyton has become part of my family, and I protect what’s mine and what will be mine.
The sound of metal scraping against metal and hinges squeaking have my eyes flying open as I watch the door across the room right next to the desk open. I sit up a little, waiting to see what I’m facing. I snort when Drake’s face appears, a smirk plastered on it. He has a swagger in his step as he walks slowly toward my cell.
If he thinks I’m going to stand and greet him, he has another thing coming.
“Hey, bro,” he says, smile still in place as he needles me.
He’s looking for a reaction, and I desperately don’t want to give him one. I tilt my head back, resting it against the wall, and look down my nose at him.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks.
“Like a baby,” I say, and he chuckles.
I watch as he shuffles across the floor and grabs the chair behind the desk, slowly dragging it across the concrete floor so it makes a screeching noise. I cringe, the nails on a chalkboard sound sending a chill up my back. He flips the chair around backward and produces a lighter out of his pocket before he straddles it, pulling a cigarette from behind his ear. He lights up, taking a long drag and blowing a cloud of smoke through the bars of my cell.
“Speaking of babies,” he says as I continue to glare, “did you hear the news?” He levels me with a look, and a power struggle emanates from between us even though we know he has all the power right now since I’m locked behind bars. “Not much for conversation today, are you? Well, that’s okay. I’ll tell you anyway.” He spreads his arms out wide and laughs. “I’m gonna be a daddy.”
I suck in a breath, my chest starting to ache as bile rises in my throat. I think I might be sick all over this floor. I narrow my eyes, trying to steady my heart rate and my stomach while struggling to not outwardly react. If he was looking to wound me, he hit his mark. I would rather he have shot me.
“No congratulations?” He clicks his tongue as if I were a naughty child. “I can’t say I blame you. It looks like the best man’s won.”
“You’re lying,” I growl, and he laughs again.
“Oh, this is great, even better than I imagined,” he says, still puffing on that damn cigarette.
I want to leap up and shred these handcuffs, run through those damn bars, and throttle him until that smirk is wiped off his face, his skin turning purple with my hand wrapped around his throat.
But it seems he has won. He’s out there, and I’m in here. He has a part of himself with Peyton, and I have nothing. She told him that he’s the father, so she must still be in contact with him.
Why else would he know this unless she wanted him to know?
I squeeze my fists together in the cuffs, my short, blunt fingernails digging into my palms. It looks like our little fantasy is over. I have no claim anymore.
“How is Stephanie these days?” I ask, cocking my head to the side, and I don’t miss the way his face falls before he recovers his expression.
“She’s fine,” he says. The mirth leaves him, and I can tell I’ve hit on a nerve.
“Is she?” I let one side of my mouth tilt up, infuriating him.
“How does it feel to lose all your women to me and my family?”
At that question, I see red. I jerk to my feet, and before I know it, my head is stopped by the bars as I come face-to-face with Drake. He leans forward, nose to nose with me as he puffs out another cloud of smoke. I’m so angry that I don’t even register the foul smell my lungs are breathing in. All I know is, I want him dead, and I want to be the one to kill him.
He doesn’t think much of me, as close as he is standing, so surprise registers in his eyes when I turn my arms sideways and thrust my hands through the bars, latching on to his shirt and wrenching him forward with a strength I didn’t even know I had. His forehead collides with metal, a pleasurable thud ringing out in the room, and this time, it’s my turn to grin.
“You know what I think?” I ask, spit flying from the force behind my words next to his head. A few drops land on his face, and he grimaces. I guess his head hurts more than he’s letting on if he hasn’t tried to disentangle himself from me yet. “I think our mom fucked you over like she’d fucked us over. I think she doesn’t love you either, and I think that”—I get quiet as I try to drag him closer—“you are using Peyton as another means to hate me when, really, you hate yourself. Don’t use her. She’s worth far more than your ass could ever be.”
The door across the room bangs open as a few armed cops spill into the room. I see they caught wind of what was going on in here and are here to save the day. I slowly uncurl my hands from his shirt and back up, but now, I’m the one wearing the smirk while Drake rubs his head with a glare my way.
“Put him in the fucking hole.” He seethes as my cell is unlocked.
I’m roughly grabbed on either side. I find it weird that Drake can order the cops around, but I guess as the Lions’ president’s son, he has a lot of pull. Would have been nice to know before I made a deal with him, but you know what they say about hindsight.
I’m pushed along down a hallway, my cuffs are removed and then I’m thrown into a smaller cell with no windows. It’s a concrete room with a pad and blanket in the corner and a toilet on the opposite wall, sink attached to the top of it. As soon as the door is shut, I’m thrust into darkness, and I smile to myself as I walk over to the sink, running some water into my cupped hands and bringing it to my mouth, slurping it noisily. The coolness against my dry mouth has me sighing in pleasure—or maybe that’s the sound of Drake’s head hitting my cell bars that keeps playing on repeat in my mind.
34
Peyton
I did what they’d said I shouldn’t do. I told Drake what I’d told everyone else, and I guess in the back of my mind, I thought it would magically make everything better. But it hasn’t. And now, I’m sweating the decision that I made. I fucked up, and I know I should have handled it with everyone. Especially since Connor said he had a plan. I should have left it at that.
I’m pacing up and down the long hallway that leads from the foyer and stops at the door leading out to the garage. Every time I pass the kitchen door, I glance in, debating on sitting down to eat something, but then my stomach rolls with nerves, and I shake my head, continuing to pace. I’ve nibbled my fingernails to nothing, and I feel like I’m going to throw up every five seconds. That was my one wild card, and I wasted it. Drake didn’t even seem fazed or care about how he could lord it over me.
“Hey, whoa. Calm down.” Strong hands grab me and turn me around, Bodhi’s worried face hovering over me.
I’m struck with how alike and not alike he and Brock look and act. Their faces are the same, except for Bodhi’s nose ring, but their personalities couldn’t be more different. Either way, I’m thankful for his support right now.
“I did something,” I say, a grimace pulling my lips back, and Bodhi tilts his head in question. His hands rub my arms for a second befor
e he drops them, sticking them in his pockets as he looks at me. “I contacted Drake.”
He throws his head back with a groan, staring at the ceiling for a beat before bringing his gaze back to mine.
“Fuck,” he says, leaning his neck from one side to the other. “It’d better have fucking helped.”
“It didn’t,” I say, bringing my thumb up to my mouth and chewing the side of the nail, the only one I have left.
“Damn it. Okay, we now have that to contend with,” he grumbles, and I flinch.
“I know; I know. You told me not to, and I did it anyway. I thought he would go for it.”
“What did he say?”
“He laughed at first and said that it’s Karma bringing us back together since he had already told Brock that it was his.”
“Sounds like what every woman wants to hear from the father of her child,” Bodhi says, the sarcasm evident in his tone.
“Don’t you get it? Brock is going to hate me now. God, I shouldn’t have said anything. This is all my fault.”
“I’ll have to agree with you there, but also, I don’t think all hope is lost. Did he say anything about giving this war between us up?”
“No.”
“You are finally mine, Peyton. There’s no escaping me now,” were his exact words.
I shudder, thinking about the voice he said them in. He’s demented, and I don’t intend to live out the rest of my life, always looking over my shoulder for him.
“Brock will be fine. What are you planning on doing?”
“Well, I was hoping that he would say if I came back, he would drop this whole fucking stupid thing. But he didn’t. He said that I was finally his—whatever that means to him. I have no intention of ever being his. And now, I have no idea what I plan on doing.”
“Well, you did tell him that it’s his child,” Bodhi points out.
I groan, ripping off my nail into the quick. A bubble of blood beads up on the corner of my thumb, and I stare at it. “I know. That was pretty dumb, wasn’t it? Can I tell you something?”
“Will it get us out of this mess?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. If it got out, it would have the opposite effect.
Right then, the front door opens, and Connor walks through, flanked by two men who look like people I’d never, ever want to meet. They are sharply dressed, all harsh lines and fierce angles in their clothing and their faces. I don’t believe either of them would know how to smile if you asked them. Their eyes are dark, glittering and focused on what they have come here to do. Four more men walk in behind them, dressed alike, some sort of henchmen or bodyguards. He’s brought an entire army into this house.
Bodhi and I walk further into the foyer to greet them, and I glance up to see Chester coming down the large staircase. Corbin, Landry, and Trixie are nowhere to be found even though we all stayed the night at the mansion.
“Connor, Bertrand,” Chester’s voice booms out, greeting our visitors.
As I get closer to the group, I can see a man that Connor is the spitting image of. This must be his father. When he turns to look at me as Chester makes introductions, I shiver. His eyes hold no warmth or emotion, and he doesn’t crack a smile as he says hello.
“Let’s go into my office,” Chester says, extending his arm down the hallway we are standing in front of, so I move quickly, falling into step with Connor and Bodhi after the men pass.
“So, that’s your dad?” I whisper, and he glances down at me.
“That’s him,” he says grimly, not elaborating.
“Thanks for getting him on board to help us,” I say, also whispering because I don’t want to draw any attention to myself.
His dad and the man with him seem like the kind of people you don’t want to notice you. Cold, hard, and probably unforgiving in everything. I shudder to think of Connor’s life so far with a father like that. He makes my dad look angelic with his stare.
“Make no mistake, Peyton,” Connor says, stopping outside the office doors, and I halt beside him, “they aren’t here to help any of you. It’s purely self-centered.”
I swallow thickly, seeing my confusion mirrored in Bodhi’s expression as Connor walks inside. Once we are in, we shut the door quietly and hang back as Bertrand and the other man, who introduces himself as Marshall, sit in the chairs across from Chester.
“It’s been a long time,” Chester says, clasping his hands on the desk as he leans forward.
“Indeed. Let’s cut to the chase,” Bertrand says, hands lazily perched on the armrests but his body language stays coiled. “We are willing to infiltrate and extract your son from the Loredo jail and the hold of the Lions. My son has been watching them for months now, and we have what we need.”
“Which is?”
“None of your business. We have an interest in the Lions, and since we have a mutual goal of destroying them, I wanted to meet with you and advise you not to do anything rash. Then, your son will be back safe and sound as soon as possible.”
“Whoa, hold on,” Chester says, face paling as he unclasps his hands and then sits back. “Destroy them? That’s not our common goal.”
“Isn’t it though?” Bertrand says, one hand tapping on the armrest while his face breaks into a catlike smile.
Yeah, don’t like him. Even if he is our way out.
“I wasn’t planning on hurting anyone to get my son—”
“You aren’t? That’s your child. Doesn’t family mean anything to you?” Bertrand asks, a calculating look on his face.
“Of course. He means everything to me. I want him back more than I want my next breath,” Chester says, frowning.
Me too.
“Then, you should be willing to do anything. Connor?”
“Yes?” Connor steps forward, and Bertrand motions him closer.
We watch Connor bend down as his father wraps one hand around the back of his neck before whispering something to him. It’s weird. It’s not a comforting gesture, more dominant, and I cringe for Connor.
“He will fill you in on the plan. Be ready tonight.” Connor’s dad and Marshall stand, Brock’s dad following suit.
I watch as they walk out, stopping at the door, where the other men wait. I assume they must be bodyguards, and Chester exchanges words with Bertrand before Bertrand turns, striding outside with his entourage following.
It’s been one weird day.
Footsteps sound on the steps above us as Landry and Trixie make an appearance. Corbin walks behind them, his eyes firmly fastened on Landry’s ass before he looks up and sees all of us staring at him.
“What’s going on?” he asks as his eyes land on Connor with a scowl.
Chester runs his hands through his hair and groans as he faces us. “Out with it, Connor. What is going on?”
I expect Connor to beat around the bush, but he looks Chester directly in his face and utters his words without any feeling or inflection, almost like he’s a robot, “The Soltorre family wants control of Loredo and their surrounding areas. To do that, they have to take out the Lions. They will have a choice to surrender or die.”
The fuck?
“The Soltorre men will move in tonight and make their claim, and depending on how the Lions take it, there will be a calm transfer of territory, or there will be a war. Your son will be turned over to you once the decision has been made, provided he is still alive. He has no bearing on this and will not come to any harm. This is between us and the Lions, but for our help, you will owe us a favor.”
“What the hell? Is this a joke? A favor? It’s not April yet—” Bodhi starts, but Connor glances at him.
“It’s not a joke. I told you, we would handle it.”
“We didn’t think you were going to wipe them out,” I say, real fear taking over my body, seizing me from the inside out.
“You can’t go in, guns blazing,” Bodhi says. “My mo—”
“We won’t. They will make their choice.” Connor doesn’t even seem like himself right
now, and I wonder if he had any choice in this decision. “And Stephanie no longer lives at the compound, nor is she with Bull now. She’s been gone a few years.”
How he has that information, I have no idea, but I assume he knows everything since he’s been spying for the Soltorres.
“You don’t have to do this,” Chester says, his face pale.
Connor turns cold eyes on him, eyes that are almost too old for his body. “The plans are set. Be outside the compound, a half-mile down the road at the emergency pull-off, and Brock will be returned to you. Ten p.m. Don’t interfere.”
At that, Connor turns, opening the front door to walk outside. I catch a glimpse of three black SUVs waiting, and he opens a back door, climbing into one before they drive off.
No one speaks for a while. We sort of stand and process what he said on our own.
“Did you know Mom was gone?” Bodhi finally asks Chester, who shakes his head, rubbing his chest and looking shell-shocked. “Good fucking riddance,” Bodhi says before turning and taking the stairs two at a time.
That prompts everyone else to move, dispersing to process what we’ve learned. I slowly head up the stairs, emotions running high, and realize that there is water on my face. I reach up, finding tears leaving wet trails down my cheeks as I walk into Brock’s room. His scent smacks me in the face, and I break down, falling into his bed. I wrap his comforter around my body, my sobs soaking his pillow with tears and saliva. Being able to smell him calms me, and I make a mental note to steal a hoodie from his stash as soon as I can.
I reach down, stroking my protruding belly in comforting circles, almost tickling the skin and feeling a small jolt in response. I have so many emotions, partly from hormones and partly from this crazy ride that has been my life lately.
