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One month later…
My skin felt tighter, like there wasn’t enough room for me inside my own body. My blood flowed faster though my veins. My heartbeat roared to life.
Breathe, Lincoln. Just fucking breathe.
It was all kind of poetic, really—the fact that his prison looked like a church. Since outside a church was where I first fell for Lyric.
The massive brick building had rows of arched windows along the front and round turrets framing a cathedral-style entrance. Like most old structures in New York, it was gothic-looking and creepy as fuck.
Inside it was a grim, stone box with cages stacked on top of each other. Or at least that was what it felt like. The floors were stained concrete and the walls painted plain white with scuff marks marring the surface. Rows of ten-by-ten cells with white bars lined the walls and went three stories high. And it smelled like a combination of bleach and stagnant fucking water.
My heart hammered against my ribcage as I leaned against the painted cinder blocks and waited. Chandler bribed a guy on the inside with a bag of weed and some stripper pics to take Malcolm down in the prison cafeteria. He also bought me a ten-minute window in the infirmary, and the fucking clock was ticking fast.
The sound of shouts echoed in the hallway followed by the high-pitched sound of a digital code being punched then a metal door slamming shut.
This was it.
Time to pay the piper.
I waited a second more until I heard the door shut again, then I slowly stepped out of the bathroom where I was hiding.
“It’s about fucking time. I could bleed to death.” My father was lying on a hospital gurney with his hands cuffed in front of him. His tan-colored prison jumpsuit was soaked in blood. “And tell your superiors my lawyer will make sure the guy who stabbed me never sees the light of day.”
That was Malcolm Huntington for you—barking out orders even when he’d lost.
The room was cold and sterile. The only other things in here were a stainless steel sink and a locked cabinet against the wall.
I pulled the surgical mask down over my chin and ran a hand down the front of my blue scrubs. His face went white as a sheet the second he saw me. Or it could have been the blood loss.
I arched a brow and popped a toothpick into my mouth. “Were you expecting someone else?”
“Lincoln…” His voice was as weak as his appearance. His gaze bounced around the room, toward the door, then finally settled on me.
“No one else is coming. It’s just me and you.” I eyed his blood-soaked abdomen and twirled the toothpick between my teeth.
His chest heaved with short breaths.
“That look.” I pointed a finger at his face. “That one right there… I bet that’s what Lyric looked like when she woke up in Scotland in the middle of a fucked-up engagement ceremony.”
He rolled his eyes. “Please.” His stare met mine. “I was there. He treated her like a queen.” His eyes narrowed. “She liked it.”
Fueled by pure hatred and adrenaline, I lunged forward, snatching a handful of his jumpsuit in my fist and lifting him off the gurney. “He raped her andyoumade him do it.”
“That’s a matter of perception.”
My fist connected with bone in a loud crack. His head snapped back and blood gushed from his nose, running over his mouth and chin. I shoved him back down and took a step back, remembering why I was here. I wasn’t sure how many minutes I had left.
“Damn.” I pressed down on his lower stomach and he winced. “You look like shit.”
“Guard—” he began to yell but I clamped a latex-covered hand over his mouth. Hard. His teeth scraped my palm, almost breaking through the glove.
I shook my head as I reached for the scalpel in my pocket, then twirled it between my fingers. The steel blade made trails in his blood as I traced his wound through the fabric.
I pressed down, breaking through the cotton and his skin.
He screamed against my hand, covering it in spit, snot, and blood.
“This is for thirteen-year-old me.” I dug the blade in deeper. “For the childhood and any chance at a normal life that you stole from him. For making him feel like he would never be good enough.” I swallowed. “I needed a father and you gave me an axe.”
