Page 233 of Sins of the Hidden

My throat closed around words I couldn't form, the strained muscles in my neck forcing a nod.

"Take her behind those trees," he nodded toward a dense thicket at the edge of the shore. "Stay there until I handle this shit."

I lifted Oakley against my chest, her dead weight making each step treacherous in the slick mud. Pine needles caught at my soaked suit as I carefully navigated through the undergrowth, her head cradled against my shoulder to protect her from the low-hanging branches. The thick canopy provided cover from the rain and concealment from the approaching lights. I settled us behind the largest pine trunk, positioning myself where I could see through the gaps in the foliage to the open shoreline where Prez waited.

From our hidden position, I watched Prez nod once, a wry smile touching his lips before the mask of indifference slammed back into place. He straightened, rolling his shoulders back like a fighter entering the ring as water cascaded down his form. He moved forward, deliberately placing himself in the center of the carnage I'd created.

He pulled out an unlit cigarette, lighting it before inhaling deeply, then flicking ash to the ground. The ember died with a soft hiss in a puddle.

The rumble of motorcycle engines cut through the rain before I saw the headlights. Law's bike led a convoy of five others, their beams sweeping across the lake as they approached the shoreline. They killed their engines simultaneously, the sudden silence deafening except for the patter of rain on leather.

Police lights slashed through the darkness from the opposite direction, bathing the scene in violent pulses. Squad cars materialized from the access road, officers spilling out with weapons drawn, boots splashing through puddles as they advanced on the scene.

"On the ground! Now!" an officer bellowed, his gun aimed at Prez's chest. Two more flanked him, legs braced wide, fingers hovering near triggers.

Prez didn't even blink. His shoulders rolled back as he took another long drag from his cigarette, the end burning bright against the night. Smoke curled from his nostrils as his eyes—cold and unafraid—locked onto the officer who'd shouted.

"You know I like when you get handsy," Prez drawled, voice dropping to a dangerous purr that made the nearest officer flinch. He flicked his cigarette directly at the cop's feet, sparks scattering across the wet pavement.

Law dismounted his bike at the road's edge, his massive frame tense as he took in the scene—the police cars, the weapons drawn, the body of his former president standing in the centerof it all. His hand moved instinctively toward his back where I knew he kept his gun, but he stopped himself, recognizing the futility. Behind him, the other brothers remained mounted, engines idling, ready to flee if Law gave the word.

Then Law's eyes found Prez, and the shock that registered on his face physically rocked him back. His head pivoted, scanning frantically until his gaze penetrated the shadows where I hid with Oakley.

His face drained of color, mouth opening in a silent cry of anguish. With a sharp gesture to the brothers, he ordered them to stand down, to melt back into the night. The engines revved once in acknowledgment before the bikes peeled away, leaving only Law standing in the rain beside his motorcycle.

They tackled Prez at once, three officers driving him into the mud with unnecessary force. I heard the impact as his body hit the ground, the sharp intake of breath as a knee dug into his spine. They slammed his face into the mud, grinding his features into the filth. Yet he didn't fight, didn't resist—just turned his head slightly, finding my eyes through the darkness with calm acceptance in his gaze as he winked at me and let them grind him into the dirt and cuff him.

"You're under arrest for homicide," one officer recited. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

Law waited until the officers were focused on Prez before moving. He slipped through the shadows at the treeline's edge, using the police cars' headlights to mask his approach. His years as an enforcer showed in every silent step, every calculated movement that brought him closer to our hiding spot without detection.

As they hauled Prez to his feet, he turned in my direction. His eyes found mine through the darkness, penetrating shadowsI thought would hide me. In that moment, I saw everything he'd never been able to say—regret, pride, sorrow, hope.

Law reached our position just as the officers shoved Prez toward the waiting squad car. He dropped to his knees beside us in the mud, his approach so quiet I barely heard him despite my heightened senses. His hand hovered over Oakley's face like he was afraid to touch her, as if she might shatter under his fingertips.

"Christ, no," he whispered, the words a prayer and a curse all at once. His face collapsed when he saw Oakley up close, her name soundlessly forming on his lips. He cradled her head with trembling hands, as if terrified she might crumble to dust beneath his fingers. His massive frame, always so imposing, now seemed impossibly small, bent beneath the unbearable weight of almost losing her. "What the fuck happened? What?—"

His voice broke, fingers finally making contact with her cheek, brushing it with a tenderness I'd never witnessed from the hard man. "Baby girl, can you hear me?"

Oakley remained completely unresponsive even at the sound of her father's voice. Her face stayed slack, her blue-tinged lips slightly parted with each shallow breath. No recognition, no response—just the terrifying stillness of someone suspended between life and death.

Law's gaze snapped to me, fury warring with gratitude in his eyes. The rain had plastered his gray hair to his skull, making him look older, more vulnerable than I'd ever seen him.

"You pulled her out?" His words were barely audible above the chaos.

I nodded once, unable to force words past the knot in my throat.

"She was..." I started, voice failing me. The image of her sinking into the water, the concrete block dragging her down,flashed before my eyes like a nightmare on repeat. I couldn't say it. Couldn't relive it.

Law's hand gripped my shoulder, hard enough to leave bruises. His voice dropped to a ragged whisper. A sound escaped him then, something between a growl and a sob. His massive hands curled into fists, knuckles white with rage and terror. "She could have died," he said, voice thick. "My little girl could have?—"

He cut himself off, hands trembling.

Through the branches, we watched the cops shove Prez into the waiting squad car. Law's entire body went rigid, disbelief etched in every line of his face.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" The words came out as a ragged whisper, decades of history condensed into six simple words.

I couldn't answer. How could I explain what Prez had done? How could I express the magnitude of his sacrifice? The words stuck in my throat, trapped behind a wall I couldn't breach.

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