Page 142 of The Good Girl

I turn and look at G. Whatever he sees on my face shuts him up.

“You went over a cliff for your woman. This is my cliff. Don’t expect me to stand back because I’m the president. I’ll take off my cut right now and shove it down your throat.”

I get out of the car, pull out my gun, and ready myself. “G, go around the back. I’ll take the front. Ambros, you armed?”

“No, but I know how to fight.”

“I won’t order you to stay in the car, but don’t get killed. My old lady likes you, and she’ll get pissed.”

I move toward the house, focusing on keeping low until I reach the front door. I wait until G rounds the back before I grab the handle. A shout from inside has me abandoning caution. I burst through the door and follow the sounds of a scuffle down a long hallway.

“Go. I’ll watch your back,” Ambros says from behind me.

I dimly note that I can hear bikes approaching but don’t slow down until I reach the kitchen.

It takes a second for me to process the scene. Nevaeh is pressed against the kitchen counter with a bat of some kind in her hand. She’s soaking wet and oblivious to me; her focus is all on the man, who is a few feet in front of her. He doesn’t lookgood. He’s standing in a pool of blood and clinging to the island to keep himself upright. As I move into the room, I realize it’s the Zippo in his hand that has Nevaeh held in place.

That’s when I smell it–-gasoline. And Nevaeh’s soaked in it.

I run, barreling toward the man. He turns to look at me at the last second, but he’s too late to stop a 220-pound pissed-off man. I close my fist over the lighter and take him to the ground. The flame goes out the second I close my hand over it. I throw the Zippo aside as his head bounces off the tile, but that’s not enough for me. I pull back and hit him in the face.

“Mine. Mine. Mine,” he yells as blood coats his teeth.

“Wrong, asshole. She’s mine.” I rain down punch after punch, reveling in his pain until his screams fade and his face resembles hamburger meat. And even then, I don’t stop, not until I feel hands on my arms, pulling me away. I fight them, ripping at the body in front of me, needing to be sure he’s dead.

Hannibal’s voice penetrates the fog. “Havoc, Tinkerbell needs you.”

I whip my head around and find her still in the same spot, her hands over her mouth, tears dripping down her face.

Shit, fuck. And now she knows the truth about what kind of man I am without her around to leash the madness. There is a reason I earned the name Havoc, after all.

I climb to my feet, ignoring Hannibal and Ferris beside him, and take a step toward Nevaeh. “Nevaeh baby, come here.”

She doesn’t react, her eyes on the body on the floor.

“Cupcake.”

Her head snaps up, her eyes widening a fraction before she runs and collides with me, sobbing against my chest.

I pick her up and wrap my arms around her. “I’ve got you now, cupcake, no one is going to hurt you.”

A cry sounds out, and Nevaeh freezes, then yanks herself from me. She runs out into the hallway before taking the stairstwo at a time. I’m hot on her heels as she spills into a bedroom where G is crouched near the door, trying to make himself look smaller.

Nevaeh rushes past him. “Citi, it’s okay. This is my family.”

My eyes jump to the woman when Nevaeh says her name. I see the frail-looking version of Nevaeh staring back at me and feel bile in the back of my throat.

“Holy fuck,” Ambros says behind me. He squeezes past me, and since he doesn’t have a cut and looks a fraction less intimidating than the rest of us, I let him pass.

G moves close to me as he stands. “He had her sister the whole time. I don’t even know what to say. Nobody was looking for her, Havoc. Everyone thought she was dead.”

And I bet there were times when she wished she were.

“I promise you; they won’t hurt you or Star, Citi. But we need to get out of here now,” Nevaeh tells her. As I move closer, I realize she has a kid strapped to her chest and a wooden rod in her hands like Nevaeh had downstairs.

“He’ll come for me, Nevaeh. He always comes when I run. That’s why he chains me up.”

My eyes slip closed as I picture a kid escaping into the woods only to be dragged back time and time again.

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