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Actually, that was an understatement.
I felt like my heart was being wrenched from my chest, looking at this man who I saw as so strong, who appeared as an unbreakable mountain—but was broken. At least that’s what you would think until you saw his eyes.
He was bloody, it stained his hair, it dripped down his face, and his body was slumping with the amount of damage that had been done—but his eyes, they were still full of vengeance and hell. And if Isiah was stupid enough to let him walk away from this, he was a dead man.
The bastard yanked on my hair, forcing my neck into an awkward position that exposed my neck.
“A daughter, huh, Huntsman,” Isiah announced loudly, looking down at me and studying my face. He crouched down, so his face was right next to mine, his cologne burning the inside of my nose. “Before I knew she was yours, I already had my eye on her you know. She’s pretty, beautiful even.”
He lifted his free hand and trailed his finger down the side of my face, licking his lips and looking at me like I was his dinner. His finger then moved down my jaw and neck until it reached my chest. That was when I’d had enough, and even with the awkward position, I pushed out my elbow and swung it upward, connecting with the underside of his jaw.
Isiah’s grip lessened, and I fell to the ground while he flew to his feet, holding his face. His eyes flashed down to me, and I knew the pain was about to come as he closed his fist and took a step forward.
A deep roar startled the both of us, and suddenly, the men who were holding Huntsman were practically thrown through the air, both of them skidding across the ground while Huntsman rose to his feet like a phoenix from the ashes.
Tears dripped down my cheeks as I scrambled to find my feet while Isiah and Huntsman stood just a few feet from each other, staring the other down.
“I did the math…” Isiah noted as his men found their feet again.
“She’s nothing to you,” Huntsman argued. “Your feud is with me, not her.”
Feud?
Isiah’s laughter boomed in the silent night air.
I was missing something, but I was still sitting on the ground, very aware of the fact that there were more men moving in from the shadows of the buildings around us.
“She’s a product of your deception,” Isiah continued, the laughter quickly cutting short. “She’s a product of your betrayal, for which you must be punished. And you know how much I love the chance to bring a man so proud, who thinks he cannot be broken, right down to his knees.”
The guy with the chains moved in behind Huntsman and swung the thick chain, the force connecting with the back of Huntsman’s knees. They collapsed from underneath him, and he went down.
“No,” I cried out, throwing my body forward, crawling along the ground, my hands being ripped and torn as I fought to get to him. I was willing to do whatever I needed to do to protect this man, including throwing myself over his body. Only I was dragged backward. Hands took hold of my arms, lifting me, pulling me away, digging into my skin and flesh, no matter how hard I tried to dig my toes in, my shoes couldn’t find the ground, and I was pulled further and further away. “Please, stop!”
Tears streamed down my face as I watched more men come forward, their heavy boots beginning to fly, connecting with his body, making the most god-awful sounds as they pummeled him and rained down hell on his body.
My screams may have well been silent because no one even paid me a second of attention.
“Prick her,” Isiah called loudly, slowly turning his attention to me as his men stepped back from Huntsman’s body—his lifeless body.
He may not have raised me, he may not have been around when I needed him, but I’d finally made a breakthrough, seen a side I knew he didn’t show too many. I was starting to feel like the hole in my chest was being sewed shut, one stitch after another and now Isiah was ripping them out, trying to steal from me the one thing that I’d dreamed of since I was young.
Fear had filled me. Fear for how they would hurt this man who I’d come to care about. Fear for what they would do to me. But it soon morphed into something more. Seeing him bleeding and broken, knowing that Isiah possibly stole my opportunity to feel like I was whole—it all turned to rage.
“You have no idea what you’ve done,” I yelled, once again finding the fight within my bones, knowing that if I had lost this man tonight, that I was going to make sure Isiah paid for it.
Isiah started walking toward me, clearly amused by what seemed like a threat from a teenage girl. But I knew more than he thought I did, and I had an ace up my sleeve.
The click of handcuffs encompassing my wrists joined his soft chuckle as Huntsman’s body was forgotten, and Isiah’s men moved back into the shadows. I tried not to look at the awkward position he lay in on the ground, decided not to focus on whether there was any sign of breathing.
Instead, I focused my anger and the taste of revenge on the end of my tongue, so I focused my gaze in on Isiah, eager to revel in the reaction he would have to what I had to say. “You’re gonna die.”
Isiah chuckled in amusement as he slipped his gun back inside his suit jacket. “Very pretty. Not very smart.”
“They’ll destroy you.”
The amusement was soon gone. I could see his thought process, wondering if I was crazy, wondering whether he would look like an idiot if he answered me. It took a few moments, but he tilted his head curiously. “And who might that be, princess.”
I smirked, thinking about all the ways Uncle Leo and the club were going to fight to get me back. Imagining the ways Ripley and the Exiles would cause Isiah pain for what he’d done.
