Page 81 of True Bastard
“Was?”
The single syllable hung in the air, heavy with implication. I looked away, the rough-hewn wood of the chair digging into my back, a dull, constant reminder of my own predicament. And then, the venom coiled in my gut. I hated myself for waking him up.
He was a tool, nothing more. A stepping stone, perhaps. And yet... the mention of Kinsley, the simple sound of her name, had unlocked a vault I’d painstakingly sealed. I should have kept my mouth shut and let him slowly bleed to death. That was the only logical, the only safe path. He was part of the same rotten system that had taken everything from me. He wasn’t any better than the others. “She’s gone,” I finally managed, the tremor in my voice a weakness I abhorred. “Like my mother.” My admission felt like a confession, a yielding of ground I’d sworn to defend.
“What happened to them?” His voice, weak as it was, held a surprising clarity, a persistent curiosity that grated on my nerves.
“My mother died.” Her memory was a gaping wound. I forced myself to speak, to detach, to present the facts as if they were the weather. “She just couldn’t take the abuse anymore.” I shrugged, a gesture of calculated nonchalance, a shield againstthe onslaught of unshed tears.Don’t let him see, my voice of survival screamed.Don’t let him have that victory. “My sister was there one day; the next she was gone.” The stark simplicity of it was a lie, a pale imitation of the brutal truth. The truth would shatter him, and more importantly, it would shatter me all over again.
“What is your name?” He asked his question, a desperate attempt to anchor himself, to find something solid in the wreckage of his current reality.
“Kyllian Ward.” I sighed, the sound a weary surrender. My name, a constant reminder of what I was, and what I was not.
“What was your mother’s name?”
“Kaylah.” The name itself was a ghost, a whisper from a life that felt impossibly distant. I glanced over at him then, and the carefully constructed dam of my composure finally cracked. A sneer, sharp and vicious, twisted my lips. The contempt I felt for him, for his ignorance, for the naïve hope in his eyes, was a consuming fire. “My mother’s name was Kayla Russell, and my father, your fucking president,” I spat the words, each syllable a tiny explosion of years of pent-up rage, “sold my mother, my sister Kinsley and me to the Satan’s Angels. Is that what you wanted to fucking know?”
The truth, raw and unvarnished, ripped from my throat. It was a confession I never wanted to make, a path of vulnerability I had sworn to avoid. But in that moment, the burning need to inflict pain, to drag him down into the same pit of despair that had consumed me, had overridden everything else. And as the words hung in the air, a bitter satisfaction mingled with a profound, sickening regret. I had traded a piece of myself for a fleeting moment of vengeance, and I knew, without a shadow of doubt, that I would never get it back.
Chapter Forty-Five
Firestride
Pounding on my door jolted me awake and had me reaching for my gun. Looking around my room, I groaned, rubbing my head as the pounding continued. Throwing back the bedsheets, I stormed over to my door and flung it open.
“Get dressed. We’re needed downstairs,” Heretic ordered, then hurried off to wake the others. I slammed my door shut and quickly got dressed before I made my way into the fray. As I hurried down the hallway, the weight of exhaustion pressed against my shoulders, each step heavy with dread for what awaited us. The clubhouse was alive with anxious energy—voices murmuring, the sharp clatter of boots, and the tension that came before a storm. Downstairs, the brothers gathered in the dim light, faces drawn, eyes bracing for the unknown as they all geared up for war. Heretic’s gaze found mine, grim and resolute, and I steeled myself for whatever lay ahead. In that moment, the air felt thick with the possibility of violence, and I knew my world was about to change.
Seeing Morpheus talking with Cerberus, I walked over to them when I noticed Cerberus’ arms wrapped around Alice as she cried into his massive chest. Confused, I looked around the room for Kyllian, and when I couldn’t find her, I asked, “Where’s Kitten?”
Sniffing, Alice looked up at me. “I saw him hit her before he shoved her in the truck and drove off. I didn’t know what to do, so I came here.”
I stiffened as Morpheus placed his hand on my shoulder, steadying me. “We will find her. I promise.”
“Who fucking hit her?” I snarled, my fury threatening to explode on those around me. Someone touched my property. Someone dared put hands on my fucking woman. They were fucking dead.
“It was that young man, the one visiting yesterday. I saw him staring at Kyllian at the barbecue. I thought nothing of it because they were your guests. I should have told someone. Oh God, I should have said something,” she cried, turning to hide her face in Cerberus’ chest as he wrapped his arms tighter around her.
“Where the fuck is he?”
“We don’t know,” Morpheus admitted. “Got Garrote and Wanderer out searching now.”
“Why the fuck did she leave?”
“Something about talking to Alice about a job. I wasn’t thinking, brother. I should have sent someone with her. That’s on me. Deadwood is ours. She should have been safe. When Alice showed up without Kitten and told me what happened, I kicked Disturbed out of the club. Luc disavowed the fucker. He’s ours once we find the son of a bitch,” Morpheus grimly said just as his phone rang.
Seeing the caller, I stiffened.
Morpheus whistled loudly, silencing the room as he connected the call. “Missing something?”
My eyes darted to Morpheus as he slowly shook his head. “You must be really fucking stupid, Skinner, because when I find you, I’m going to fucking shove my size sixteen boot right up your fucking ass, then make you lick it clean.”
“Good luck with that,” the son of a bitch snarled. “This is how it’s going to go. I will trade the fucking cunt for Firestride.”
“We don’t make deals with dead men.”
“Then I’ll gut the bitch and send her back to you in pieces,” he threatened before adding, “You’ve got two hours. Two men, and one of them better be who I want or I will make good on my threat. The Tumbleweed in Burns, Wyoming. Can’t miss the place. Oh, and don’t fuck with me, Morpheus. You don’t want to see me mad.”
The call ended.
