Page 71 of Ryder's War

Taking a frustrated breath, she stated calmly, “There are probably shovels out in the shed.” The words felt surreal coming from her lips—practical solutions to impossible problems. She'd spent years running from Stuart's madness, but facing it had given her an unexpected clarity. Evil wasn't always what it seemed.”

Stubbornly refusing to move, Ryder stated flatly, “This isn’t remotely legal. You can’t just go around burying people wherever you want, you know that, right?”

“You’re an outlaw. Since when has breaking the law been a problem for you?” she retorted, knowing full well she was hitting below the belt. But come on, who was he to judge?

Scowling, Ryder’s mouth opened and closed before he replied, “Good point.” Stepping back, he shot the newly released hostage an annoyed look. Come the fuck on, Walter. I ain’t digging this grave all by myself.”

Shaking his head, the man lifted his hands. “I don’t want any part of this.”

Shooting him an irritated look, Ryder shrugged. “Fine, I’m putting you back in the kiddy room.”

“Fucking fine, I’ll help.” He jabbed a finger at Ryder. “That’s blackmail, and you know it.”

Ignoring the men, Tiffany took Stuart upstairs and began making coffee for him. Hickory stayed behind with the women, and Ven went out to supervise the grave digging.

Sarah sat across from Stuart telling him cool stories about his mother when she was young. They sat for a while looking through picture albums. Stuart was quiet, despondent, and seemed more broken than she could ever remember him being, and despite their volatile history, she felt sorry for him. Leaning over the dining room table, she watched them talking in the next room.

Hickory landed on a chair at the table. “What are you so deep in thought about, Tiffany?”

“I was just wondering how it is that all the villains in my life turned out to be just regular people with extraordinary problems,” she mused.

His gaze shifted in the direction of Stuart and her mother. “I think that’s all any of us are. We’re just imperfect beings in an imperfect world.”

Tiffany sighed. “I suppose that’s true, but just for once, I’d like to run into a good old-fashioned dyed-in-the-wool evil villain.”

“I can tell you never met one,” he said, meeting her eyes across the table. “I have, and let me just say, you’re lucky to have steered clear of them.”

“I think that we should try to find him a good psychiatric hospital.”

“We sure as hell can’t leave a crazy stalker running around abducing people and holding them hostage in his basement.”

“He didn’t used to be like this, you know,” she told him. “He was real strange, awkward, and misunderstood, but I’m guessing this thing with his dad trying to kill his mother pushed him right over the edge. I was probably too close to see it.”

“If you hadn’t finally figured it out, I don’t want to think how many people he’d haveabducted or what he would have ended up doing to them.”

“I think I’ll take him back with me and find a treatment center where I can make regular visits and keep up with his progress. If I leave him here, he’ll just call his dad to come and pick him up.”

“I can tell you right now that if he leaves before his treatment is complete or if the damn treatment doesn’t take, Ryder and Ven will punch his ticket faster than you can blink,” he informed her, and she knew without a doubt it was true. “They won’t risk him hurting you or turning into some kind of serial killer.”

“What you’re saying is that this is his last chance,” Tiffany voiced her concern.

He stared into her eyes gravely. “Yes, ma'am, that's exactly what I'm saying.”

The weight of his words settled over her like a shroud. She'd wanted to save Stuart from his demons, but some salvations came with deadlines attached.

In the end, his redemption would depend not just on treatment, but on whether a broken mind could rebuild itself before her new family's patience ran out.

~ Tiffany ~

Sunlight filtered through stained glass, painting rainbow patterns across her wedding gown as Tiffany studied her reflection. A year had transformed her from a woman who lived in shadows to one who stood in light. Her hand drifted to the slight swell of her belly—twelve weeks of proof that life moved forward, even after darkness.

Rose burst into the bridal suite, her emerald bridesmaid dress swishing. “Everything's perfect outside. The flowers, the setup…even the bikers cleaned up nice.” She grinned. “Well, mostly.”

Sarah followed with tears already glistening. “I never thought I'd see this day.” Her fingers traced the lace at Tiffany's shoulder. “Your father would have been so proud.”

“He is proud,” Tiffany said softly. “He gave me the tools to survive until I found the strength to stop running.”

The past year had reshaped all their lives. Stuart remained in treatment, finding peace in the simple therapy of coloring Alyssa's intricate drawings—scenes from their childhood, portraits of his mother rendered in gentle strokes. The psychologists called it progress. Tiffany called it mercy.

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