Page 38 of Bruiser's Reckoning

“So, you know who this fucker is?” I quip.

“Oh, we know who he is,” Gwyneth’s father confirms, nodding curtly. “Come on inside, we’ll discuss this in the other room and not in the foyer.”

Following the other man, I take in the house where my woman grew up. Not a house. A fucking mansion that holds no personality whatsoever.

“My wife is out of town for one of her girl trips to some resort or somewhere with her friends according to the message she left for me with my receptionist.”

The older man takes a seat in one of the high-back chairs as his son makes this announcement. “Woman is always looking to go to the spa or some other resort. She likes to spend money every chance she can.”

“How about you explain to us how it is you know nothing of a debt that has your name attached to your wife’s?” Hammer demands.

Gwyneth’s father doesn’t bother looking toward my Prez, he keeps his gaze focused on me. “Gwyneth is safe? She’s unharmed?”

“Don’t concern yourself with my woman,” I advise him. “And answer my Prez’s question.”

“I don’t know what this debt is. If my wife has accrued this, then it is on her and her alone.”

“That would be where you’re wrong.” Dagger snarls.

“Because of your wife, Gwyneth has a bounty on her head. A deal was struck that she would be used as payment for a debt to Johnathan Bryant,” I inform her father and grandfather, meeting both of their gazes. “We have proof of communication between your wife and this fucker. Because of this debt, your son was killed. Someone cut his head off and left a message for anyone who protects Gwyneth that they’re next.”

“Oh God,” Gwyneth’s father utters, collapsing onto a chair behind him. “She did it,” he mumbles to himself, shaking his head. “She really did it. She said she’d make me pay one day.”

“Want to enlighten the rest of the class?” Gunner snaps.

“Gwyneth’s mother . . . she died. We were having an affair when I found out she was pregnant with my daughter. I intended to leave my wife for her. Then, during childbirth, there were complications. She died, bled out. I stayed with my wife under the circumstances she were to act like a mother to my daughter, and we never tell her the truth.”

“She knows your wife isn’t her mother,” I inform him.

“Of course she does. My daughter isn’t stupid. I don’t know what happened for her to leave the moment she could, but my wife, well, she said it was for the best. That it was what my little girl wanted.”

“She left because your wife tormented her, and sent her off to some bullshit spa,” I spit out and glare at both men. “Are you two oblivious to the fact the bitch was all but torturing her those six months that she was supposedly overseas studying? Fuckin’ bitch was having her tormented by electrodestelling her she wasn’t proper material for someone of your station. Because of her, Gwyneth slept in her car until her captain took her in. To make it all worse, your son was dragged into this, and to protect his sister, he tried going up against us. Then, he told his sister what was going down, and she had the sense to come to us and explain. Got her brother to explain. Got him to apologize. Because of her we did what we could to protect him. If not for your wife, none of this would have happened.” By the time I finish, I’m shouting loud enough for the chandelierin the middle of the room to shake.

“Oh dear Lord,” the older man whispers, face drained of all color.

“You want to make things better, start talking. Where exactly is your woman because she’s definitely not at some spa,” Malice states.

“I don’t know. But I can call her.”

“Don’t do that,” Cy interrupts Gwyneth’s father. “Give me all of her phone numbers. Along with those she associates with.”

For the next fifteen minutes, both men give us everything they know of.

By the time they finish, I’m itching to get back to Gwyneth. To make sure she’s okay.

“Do you think I could possibly see my daughter?”

I glare at the man who fathered my woman. “I’ll discuss it with her. See what she wants. You don’t get anywhere near her unless I’m there, but more importantly, unless she wants to see you.”

“Fair enough,” the other man nods in agreement. “Please let her know that I’m truly sorry and that if she’ll give me another chance, I’ll make things right.”

I grunt out an answer as my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out to find it’s a text from my sister. I open the message to make sure it’s not an emergency, and my blood freezes in my veins just as my brothers also pull out their phones.

There’s a text with a picture.

I have something you want. You have something I want. Trade, and they won’t get hurt. I’d hate to take another head, but I will.

The picture was of my sister and her kids. All of them staring at the camera in fear, tears running down their cheeks.

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