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“I don’t understand how they let him get away with it,” I shook my head. Every inch of me was on fire with rage.
“My foster father was a very powerful man. He had access to the best spin doctors around. He knew how to avoid a scandal. Knew who to pay off or intimidate. He had a political career to protect. He couldn’t let it get out that his son raped his foster daughter. And he was prepared to do anything to stop that from happening.”
I couldn’t stand what I was hearing. “So you ran away?”
She shook her head. “I graduated high school and went to college while Barrett continued to live his fabulous life overseas. After college, my foster father summoned me home. He was starting a new political campaign and wanted to sell himself as a family-orientated man. He needed Barrett and me to do that. He thought the time overseas had changed his son for the better, so he called us both back. That was when I learned the truth about Barrett—that he hadn’t received any treatment, that he had been at college and not a medical facility.” She swallowed thickly. “The moment I saw him, I knew he hadn’t changed. Knew he was the same monster he was six years earlier.”
She looked at the scar on her palm through the tears welling in her eyes. When she lifted her face, they spilled down her cheeks.
“He pushed me up against the wall that night. Told me he had been waiting six years to touch me again. So I ran. And I’ve been running ever since.”
I pulled her into my arms and held her to my chest as she sobbed. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling her agony as if it was my own.
“He won’t touch you again.” My voice was like glass on gravel. “You have my word.”
“You don’t know him,” she murmured into the warmth of my neck. She pulled back to look up at me. “The moment he found out where I was hiding was the moment he started to plan what he was going to do to me once he found me. And don’t doubt it, Chance. He will find me.”
I cupped her face in my hands. “I won’t let that happen.”
“I wish I could believe that.”
“That’s the thing… you can.” I wiped a lone tear from her cheek. “Because once he’s in my scope, he’s a dead man.”
CHANCE
Seventeen Years Ago
The door to my bedroom opened. My eyes snapped open just as the covers were ripped off me and a pair of hands hauled me out of bed.
It was my father.
“Get up. We’ve got somewhere to be.”
A quick glance at the clock by the bed told me it was 11:27 pm.
“Where are we going?” I asked, now fully awake thanks to the dread pooling in my stomach. My father getting me out of bed at that late an hour told me nothing good was about to happen.
“Gotta take care of some business. Its time you get a taste for what it takes to run the biggest fucking motorcycle club in the south.”
My mouth went dry and my skin heated, despite the cold whip of night air as he hustled me outside to where his pickup truck sat in the driveway.
Twenty minutes later, we pulled up at a deserted warehouse on the far side of town. Fear coiled like a cobra in my stomach as we made our way through chain-link fencing and along the back of the building. A roller door went up, and two men in Kings of Mayhem cuts greeted my father, both clearly surprised by my presence.
“You sure this is a good idea, Prez?” the older biker with the beard asked.
“Kid’s got to learn what it takes to lead,” my dad replied.
We stepped inside and the roller door came down behind us. As we walked past the bearded biker, my father stopped. “And if you ever question me in front of my son again, I’ll kill you.”
His tone sent chills down my spine. I didn’t doubt he meant it. And going by the look the two bikers exchanged, neither did they.
I followed my father down a poorly lit corridor that opened up to a large room. Massive industrial lights hung from the high ceiling, but they were off and the room was covered in shadow except for one small patch of light. And sitting under this dull light was a man gagged and bound to a chair.
I glanced at my father and then back at the man. As we neared, I could see he’d been beaten pretty badly. His head was hanging, and for a moment I wondered if he was unconscious. When he heard us walking toward him, he sat up straight and started to protest, which came out muffled because of the bandana shoved into his mouth.
