Page 84 of The Puck Chase

If it’s one thing I have in common with him, the King, and the Hallowed Crows MC, it’s that we don’t tolerate violence against children.

We only wait ten more minutes before Ghost gets the signal that we are ready to move, and the two of us climb from the van and quickly cross the road. We are both wearing guard uniforms we stole last week, and have a sixty second window to get inside while the perimeter cameras are out. The man who greets us gives us a quick nod, glancing around to ensure we’re alone, before he ushers us inside and closes the door. We follow him quickly down the hall where another guard waits, leading us through two sets of doors, before we are left to our own devices.

Ghost has memorized the layout of this place. I follow him casually down the different hallways, keeping our caps on and our heads low, because despite the no doubt high bribes that have been paid, I still don’t want this being tied back to us.

It’s the middle of the night, all inmates are locked up, but my father was escorted to solitary confinement after getting into a fight with another inmate. An inmate who just so happens to be a member of the Hades MC who was arrested recently. I would have gotten myself arrested and been the one to do it, but I had other things I needed to sort out. I’ve spent weeks working on this plan, and years imagining this moment, and it all comes to an end tonight.

The guards have already reported his presence in solitary, along with his deteriorating mental state, and the camera outagethat is currently happening in this wing. All part of my perfect plan. His death will be reported a suicide, covered up just like all his crimes were.

When Ghost and I reach the wing, we are let inside instantly, then the waiting guard opens my father’s cell door without pause.

“Fucking finally,” my father grumbles, he’s probably already lost his concept of time in the dark hole of confinement, as he stumbles to the door with his eyes scrunched up. “Shouldn’t even be in this fucking piss hole,” he grunts at the guard, holding his hands out so he can be cuffed and taken back to his cell, but not tonight.

“Don’t worry, Father, it will be the last time you’re ever here,” I smile, his head snapping toward me instantly and I relish the look of surprise on his face, as I slam my fist into it.

Years.

I’ve waited fucking years for this moment.

He hits the floor in a heap, the same way I used to, except my body was a lot smaller, a lot more fragile, but not anymore. It’s been years since we’ve seen each other, yet somehow I can still feel the phantom pain of all of his punches. Always in the face or ribs, and always when he was drunk, but after pouring over those damn files I saw how far he let himself fall.

He’s a fucking monster who I left my two little brothers with, and I’m not sure who is worse at this point, him or me.

“What the fuck?” he groans, spitting blood on the floor, as his gaze snaps to mine.

“Did you miss me?” I taunt, slamming my foot into his ribs, enjoying the fact I’m not longer the scrawny fucking kid he used to pummel with ease.

My father is a powerful man with powerful friends. I was always so afraid of him, but now I see him for what he really is. Apathetic piece of shit who only beats on children, seeing him on his hands and fucking knees now heals something inside of me.

“What’s the matter, Father? Am I too old for you to punish now?” I ask, kicking him again in the spine with as much force as I can manage, the same way he used to do to me.

I wonder if he’ll cry like I did?

Slipping a set of knuckle dusters onto my fist, I motion to Ghost, as my father starts to crawl away toward the guard. A guard who is pointedly acting like we aren’t even here, thanks to the fresh transfer expected in his account. Ghost grips my father under the arms and pulls him back to his feet with ease, forcing him to face me.

“Fuck do you want, boy? I thought I beat the stupid out of you,” he grunts, spitting more blood to the floor and readying himself for the fight.

“You certainly tried,” I reply without emotion, moving quicker than he can track and slamming my fist into his jaw, hearing the crack even above his cry of pain. He stumbles back, ready to fall to the floor again, but I grip his collar and pull him back towards me. “That was for Daemon,” I tell him, delivering two more blows to his ribs, for once letting the rage I keep a tight leash on free. “You fucking tortured him,” I cry, hitting him again, and again. “We were just fucking kids and you ruined us.”

I deliver blow after blow, letting his blood stain my fists as his cries spur me on, even as he slurs out his words. “He was even more pathetic than you are, always fucking crying,” he gasps with a sadistic, pained laugh, and even with his face bleeding and swollen, I can see he is remembering the terror he put us through.

Anger pulses through me as I toss him to the floor and lean my knee into his chest, earning another grunt of pain. “The only pathetic person I saw was the grown man beating his defenseless children, what a shame they grew up to be men.” I slip the bladefrom where it’s hidden at my ankle, as I lean forward and bring my mouth to his ear. “This is for Ryan.” I slice the knife across his throat before he can get out another word, leaning back to watch the realization dance across his face, as he begins to choke on his own blood.

Even in death he’s pathetic.

They say revenge is a dish best served cold, but as his hot blood pulses against my fingers to the floor, I can’t help but disagree. This revenge has been burning hot for over a fucking decade, and the only thing cold about it will be his dead body, when they bury it in the fucking ground.

I don’t move until the light leaves his eyes and he chokes out his final breath, ensuring that he is utterly and completely dead, never able to hurt anyone again.

My brother will never have to worry about our father again, and even if Daemon never forgives me, at least I know he’s free.

Iawake the next morning to hushed voices arguing at my bedroom door. My head is pounding, and when I spy the empty bottle of whiskey on my nightstand I understand why. Bits and pieces of last night come back to me, the game, the phone call, my father, but when I spy Archer and Josh in a heated discussion, I can’t help but feel confused. I push myself up and both of them freeze, turning to look at me in mixtures of wary and pity.

“What’s going on?” I ask, flicking my gaze across the two of them before settling on Archer, knowing that Josh has a better poker face than he does.

Again the two of them share a look, until Archer eventually sighs and takes a step toward me, as Josh eyes us both, his glarehardening when it hits Archer, before he says, “I’ll give you some privacy.”

I watch him leave in confusion before once again meeting Archer’s stare, as he moves to take a seat on the end of my bed. “I never told you this, but David is a lawyer,” he starts simply, and I’m not sure if it’s my hangover or the confusion, but I find myself missing the point of his stepfather’s occupation being announced to me, when I don’t respond he pushes on. “He’s a prosecutor, so it’s his job to put, and keep, people in prison.” As soon as the words leave his mouth I start connecting the dots, but Archer keeps going. “When you told me that your father was being given a parole hearing, I just couldn’t sit back and do nothing. The idea of him hurting you again,” he trails off, shaking his head, as if the thought is just too much to bear, and still I remain stunned into silence. “David has a lot of pull in his field of work, and the places he didn’t have pull, well, let’s just say money can make people do anything.”

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