Page 58 of Seth (Henchmen MC Next Generation)

It hadn’t been a lot, but it had started to give me some confidence, some security. A way to get us out.

That confidence must have started to show through, because Simon doubled down. He cut me down as much as possible.

But the next time he tried to raise a hand to me, I finally did it.

I told him that if he put a hand on me again, I was leaving him.

“And where would you go? Who the fuck would ever want you with three of another man’s kids?”

But he hadn’t hit me.

Things… eased for a while.

I’d been through this before, though, so I didn’t let my guard down. I still siphoned off money. And, little by little, I started stealing some of his stuff.

Diamond cufflinks here, golden bracelet there. Little things that he wouldn’t know were missing for weeks or months or maybe even years. He had so much. He wouldn’t miss it.

It all became part of my plan.

Just like the big bag I had packed. The top level, stuff that I’d need for the hospital when I delivered, so Simon wouldn’t think twice about it. Under that, though, were kids clothes and blankets and even food that I changed out monthly when it turned out that I wasn’t ready to go yet.

There was the baby bag with actual baby supplies. But much more than I could ever need for a trip out. And the money and stolen items.

Then, finally, there was the dog bag. Whose bottom was pulled out to shove in supplies for Rodney for when the day came.

“When did the day come?” Seth asked.

This was the roughest part of the story for me.

When Clara was born.

Or, rather, the afternoon after.

I’d been in labor most of the day before, and had been actively trying to find someone to babysit the other kids when I went into active labor late that evening, and I had no choice but to leave the kids with Simon. The absolute last thing I wanted.

I prayed for a fast delivery, and, for once, the universe was kind to me.

Without getting into the nitty-gritty details, I’d impressed upon the nurses how much the baby and I needed to get home.

While they generally like to keep mom and baby for about twenty-four hours, if you had a relatively uneventful birth, and you and the baby are healthy, they will sometimes fast-track you out of there.

I’d lucked out to make it home the next afternoon, rushing in the door despite the pain and exhaustion I was feeling because I never left the kids with Simon. Because I knew down to my soul that something terrible could happen.

I’d just gotten in the door, placing Clara’s pumpkin seat and my big hospital bag full of shit not meant for the hospital, but I had to keep up appearances, down just a few feet in the door, and moving into the eerily quiet house.

It was a Saturday afternoon. The kids should have been playing. Even in their rooms.

But there was just… nothing but the sound of Rodney’s loud snores.

I tiptoed through the house, my heart in a vice grip, my stomach doing flip-flops as I made my way to Isaac’s bedroom door.

“It’s me,” I whispered as I slid it open, finding him on his bed with his back to me, his sister sitting against his chest, my tablet in her hands, watching something. “Why is it so qui—“ I started as I rounded the bed.

But the words trailed off.

Because Hazel’s face was splotchy and her eyes swollen. Like she’d been crying. Hard and long.

That was why Isaac was holding her like he was, why he had found my tablet and put something on for her, to try to keep her calm, quiet her down.

“Isaac, what’s the matter, bud?” I asked when he refused to look up at me.

I moved closer, taking his chin in my fingers, and forcing his little head up.

Then there it was.

A black eye and busted lip.

And I knew.

I knew exactly what had happened.

I could see it playing like a horror film across my vision.

Hazel, being a little kid, making noise, making messes. Simon, getting impatient and pissed off because “children should be seen and not heard.”

So as she got more restless or upset, Simon got angrier, yelling, making it worse.

Making Isaac feel the need, in my absence, to stand up for his little sister, knowing what his father was capable of doing to me, a grown-ass woman, so worried what he could do to a little girl.

In doing so, though, he put himself at risk, he got the brunt of Simon’s anger.

“Oh, bud,” I said, voice soft, choked with tears I couldn’t shed. Not right then.

Because it was finally time.

To stop planning.

To start putting said plan into action.

No matter how unprepared I felt.

There was never going to be a good time to break free. To start over. With three small children.

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