Page 75 of True Bastard
My instinct screamed at me to shield her, to snatch her away from the perceived danger.
“My daughter, Savoy Noel.”
I blinked, unsure I had heard Heretic correctly. My mind, already a knot of suspicion and weariness, snagged on the possessive pronoun.My daughter.
“I was kind of hoping that you wouldn’t mind watching her. She didn’t want to come today, but I talked her into it.”
He was asking me,me, to do him a favor.
His words echoed in my head, a perverse twist of my past. I’d spent years watching for threats, watching for betrayals, watching my life unravel. And now he wanted me to play guardian to his offspring, to a girl whose very existence was tied to this world simply because she was the daughter of a Bastard. A fresh wave of nausea rolled through me. After I left home, I swore I’d never get involved. Yet, here I was, presented with a choice that felt like being caught between a rock and a hard place, both of which threatened to crush me.
Reaching for the young woman, she flinched, scooting closer to her father. My hand, half-extended, froze. That instinctive recoil, that raw fear, was a mirror of every woman I’d ever known who’d been trapped in this fucked-up world. Only this time, it was Heretic’s daughter.
A stab of something akin to protectiveness, a feeling I’d long buried, pierced through my defenses.
I looked at Heretic, who frowned, but said nothing. The silence between us was a battlefield. He knew my history, knew what I had survived. And yet, he was putting his daughter in my care. It was a gamble, a test, and a desperate plea. Could I refuse? Could I turn away from a woman who was clearlyterrified, a woman who was, in some twisted way, a product of this ruinous world?
Alice stood and walked right over to her. “My name is Alice Munro. I cooked all this food. That is Kyllian Ward. Her old man is Firestride. We’d love for you to sit and visit with us. It can get lonely having only a few women here.”
Alice’s easy kindness was a jarring contrast to the tension radiating from Heretic and myself. It was a naïve outreach, an attempt to weave a thread of normalcy into a tapestry of chaos. I watched Savoy’s hesitant acceptance, her shy glances. A part of me, the part that still remembered what it was to be young and vulnerable, yearned for her to find solace, to find a moment of peace. But another, louder part screamed caution. Alice was too trusting. Her openness was a weakness, an invitation for exploitation.
Savoy hesitated for a moment, glancing shyly from her father to Alice to me, before finally nodding and allowing Alice to guide her to a seat. As Alice tried to engage with the young woman, I looked at Heretic and narrowed my eyes.
He sighed and held up his hand. “It wasn’t me. You know that this world isn’t safe for women, and my girl got caught up in it.”
His words were a half-truth, a confession disguised as an excuse. The fact was, he had failed to protect her, failed to shield her from the very dangers he now alluded to, and he fucking knew it. And now he was asking me to pick up the pieces, to be the one to protect her. The responsibility settled on me like a shroud, heavy and suffocating. I wanted to shout at him, to blame him, to demand why he had brought her here, why he had put her in my path. But the look in Savoy’s eyes, the way she still flinched at shadows, held me captive.
“Who?”
“The Russian Bratva.”
My gut twisted. Bratva. Not just some local thugs. This was a whole other level of danger. My mind immediately flashed to the terrified, pale face of the young woman sitting nearby.
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, my gaze fixed on her. “How long?”
“A little over two years.”
Two years. The thought of what she must have endured made my stomach clench. A surge of protective fury, hot and potent, washed over me. It was the kind of rage that made me want to lash out, to tear down every single person who had hurt her. But I knew that was a fool’s errand. I couldn’t save the world, only myself, and maybe a few others.
“Fucker dead?” My question was blunt, brutal. It wasn’t just a desire for justice; it was a need for finality, for proof that a part of her nightmare was over.
I needed to believe there was some good to be found in this mess.
Heretic simply nodded.
“Good,” I huffed, a shaky exhale. Squaring my shoulders, I forced a confident façade. “Leave her with me and Alice. She will be safe with us.”
“Thanks, Kitten.” Heretic leaned close, his voice a low rumble. He kissed my cheek—a simple gesture, yet one which felt like solidarity. And in that moment, seeing him so close, so casual, I felt a surge of respect, in a world of hardened men who only thought of themselves. Then, as if to punctuate my assumptions, Firestride rushed up behind him and tackled him to the ground, a sudden explosion of violence that mirrored the chaos churning within me. Ignoring them, I turned to the young woman, Savoy, who sat wide-eyed as Firestride and her father fought on the ground.
Taking a seat next to her, I tentatively reached for her hand. “You’re safe with us,” I said softly, my voice a tremor I hoped she wouldn’t notice, and I watched her shoulders relax just a little.
Savoy sat silently as Alice and I continued talking, our conversation broken only by the distant clatter of laughter and the occasional bang of a fist on wood. I tried to offer a reassuring smile, the kind I’d practiced a thousand times to mask my own anxieties. I wanted her to feel welcome, to believe in the illusion of sanctuary within these walls, yet a part of me screamed that this place, this life, was inherently dangerous. Alice, oblivious, continued her gentle patter, and I had to force myself to participate, to ignore the growing voice of doubt whispering that I was leading this girl further into the lion’s den, not out of it.
When the whores showed up about an hour later, Heretic quickly ushered his daughter away.
“Well, that’s my cue to leave,” Alice sneered as she watched Tweetie, a club whore, cozy up to Cerberus, who put his arms around her shoulders just as Lollie squealed, right before she dropped to her knees, hurriedly unbuckling Morpheus’ belt.
Woman seriously had a thing for the president’s dick.
