By then, I was already broken. Years of being used had hollowed me out until there was almost nothing left of the person I’d been before. Titan took what he wanted when he wanted it. Steele took what he wanted. Stone took what he wanted. Other men took what they wanted, and I learned to disappear inside myself while it happened. And every time I convinced myself I was surviving. That if I just endured one more day, one more week, one more month, eventually I would find a way out. Eventually the door would open, and I could walk through it.
But there was no way out. Not while Titan was alive.
He would never let me leave. Not with our daughter. Not with the things I knew about the club and the businesses, and all the bodies buried in all the wrong places.
I think that’s the part I need you to understand. This wasn’t about revenge. It wasn’t about hatred. It wasn’t even about justice, though God knows there was none of that anywhere near that place.
It was about freedom. Mine. Hers. Our daughter’s future that hadn’t been written yet.
Steele and Stone approached me first.
I remember the day as if it were yesterday. I remember staring at them, thinking how strange it was that they looked so much like their father. They had his eyes. His smile. His jawline. His ability to make you believe you owed them everything. That survival meant surrender.
And they offered me a deal.
Titan dies. I walk away.
No more Arkansas. No more club. No more belonging to anyone. No more late nights wondering which version of him would come through the door.
Just freedom.
Clean and simple and permanent.
I wish I could tell you I said no. I wish I could tell you I stood up and walked away. I wish I could tell you I was stronger than that. Better than that. More moralistic than that.
But I wasn’t.
I listened.
I sat there in that office, and I listened to every single word they said. Then I asked questions. How soon could I leave? Would they leave my daughter alone? Would they come looking for us in six months or a year or five years? Would they let us disappear completely?
Those were the questions I asked, Stephen.
Not whether it was wrong. Not whether I could live with myself afterward. Not whether there was another way. Not whether we could just run and take our chances.
I was already thinking about escape. I was already imagining a life where I could wake up every morning without fear knotted in my stomach. Where I could look at my daughter without wondering what they would make her into.
That’s when I became guilty.
Not the night Titan died. Not when I walked into that bedroom. Not when it was actually happening.
The moment I agreed.
The moment I decided a man’s life was worth buying my freedom. The moment I put a price on someone’s death and decided I could afford to pay it.
I’ve spent years trying to forgive myself for that and I’ve never managed it. Not even close.
The night itself was almost quiet. That’s the part that haunts me the most. That’s the part that comes back when I least expect it.
There was no dramatic confrontation. No shouting. No final speech where I told him everything he’d done wrong. No moment where he looked at me and understood what was about to happen.
Just silence.
I remember standing in the doorway. I remember looking at him sleeping beside his wife. I remember the way the moonlight came through the curtains and made everything look softer than it was. I remember thinking that if I turned around right then, I could still stop it. I could leave. I could run. I could choose something else. I could find another way out even if I couldn’t see it yet.
And for one second, I almost did.
For one second, I was someone different. Someone better.
