Page 5 of Sins of the Hidden

He didn't blink. "Of what?"

My voice cracked, barely more than a breath. "You."

Confusion unsettled his features, genuine bewilderment breaking through his usual mask of detachment. "You never leave me alone. You just kidnapped me!"

His brows furrowed. "Protecting you."

"From what?"

Again, no answer. Just that ghost of a tilt of his head, watching me retreat until my hands scraped along the brick, looking for escape that wasn't there. That blank conviction in his face—he didn't think this was wrong. I looked over at the recently used brick ovens and shivered.

Kidnapping didn't compare to burning people alive.

I crawled desperately backward, hands scrabbling against the concrete, trying to put distance between us. Only my ragged heaving broke the thick silence between us.

The tap of his boot struck, splitting something deep beneath my skin that had nothing to do with the cold. One step. Another. The wall pressed against my back, trapping me between unyielding stone and living shadow.

Above us, a deafening crack split the air as the basement door crashed open, dust and splinters raining down the stairwell.

Thundering footsteps overhead shook the foundation. Dust sifted down in thin, trembling sheets as the basement's single bulb swung wildly, casting monstrous shadows across the concrete walls. V's head snapped up, his fingers choking the bat like he was already choosing where to strike.

A figure blocked the top of the stairs—massive, heaving, faceless in the backlight bleeding from the hallway behind him. The steps didn't creak—they groaned under the weight, each one landing like a warning shot. Silhouettes jittered across the basement walls, cast by the swinging bulb above. Each stomp shattered the quiet, faster and heavier, until he hit the basement floor.

My voice fractured the moment I realized it was him. "Dad!"

Three powerful strides brought him directly into V's space, his momentum unchecked as he closed the gap. As he drew closer, I could see the marks of earlier—scrapes and bruises painting his face in stark shades. Blood trickled steadily from the gash on his forehead, running down his temple in thin lines. His rage-filled eyes locked onto V.

My father's fists claimed V's shirt, slamming him backward, shaking the wall behind him hard enough to loosen dust. The veins in his neck pulsated as he hissed through clenched teeth, "You just crossed a fuckin' line."

He didn't flinch. Just stood there, eyes locked on mine—cold, hollow, and terrifyingly calm. Like I was the only thing that existed, even while my father tried to tear him apart.

"I don't know why Prez and the club cater to your psychotic ass." His grip tightened until his knuckles went pale. "If you touch her again, I'll fuckin' kill you."

A shiver ripped down my spine as bile surged up my throat. My knees gave out, sending me slumping against the wall, heart pounding so violently it threatened to crack my ribs. I'd never seen this version of my father before. This was the side he'd spent my whole life hiding from me. And I didn't know who scared me more—him, or the man who refused to fight back.

My focus stayed on V. He looked relaxed, but the bat in his grasp told another story—his knuckles blanched under the pressure. His grip coiled once around the wooden handle. Enough to remind us both how fast this could end differently.

V didn't react to the shove. Not to the spit. He just watched me like the rest of the room had ceased to exist.

"They may walk on eggshells around you, but I'm not fuckin' around anymore, do you hear me? Oakley's my daughter, not your fucking toy." Spit flew as Dad jabbed his finger at V. "It's my life's mission to protect her, and you're the biggest threat of all."

V looked almost bored by my father's threats. The air crackled, each breath drawing us closer to inevitable ruin.

Dad released V with a violent shove, quickly closing the distance between us. I reached for him, my hand shaking as he pulled me from the dirty floor. Dread coiled through my chest the moment our hands connected. V's eyes narrowed at our contact, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

"Come on, sweetheart, let's go home."

His arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders as he guided me toward the staircase. Our footsteps echoed across the basement floor, each one a heartbeat punctuating the deadly silence. I shivered beneath his hold, V's stare crawling over my skin from the shadows. At the bottom step, Dad paused sharply, turning toward the darkened corner where V stood, still and watching us.

"Hear me when I say, if you ever touch my daughter again, I will fuckin’ skin you alive. This is over." His voice dropped to a register that made my bones rattle. "You're nothin' more than a killer for the club. Don't forget that."

My father guided me up the rickety stairs, his hand twitching slightly against my back. Each step creaked beneath our feet, sharp and final, dragging me further from the man who dealt in death yet chose to show me mercy. As we reached the landing, a bone-deep certainty settled into my marrow—no matter how far we ran, the demon below would always find me.

He would come for me again—not to hurt me, but because in his twisted, terrifying mind, I was already his.

And worse than that certainty was the sliver of me that didn't fight it. The part too scared to reject him. The part that had started to believe his obsession might keep me safe—from everything but him.

"Dad?" His body trembled with barely restrained fury, eyes locked ahead. The rage pouring off him felt tangible—a living, breathing thing. "A-Are you okay?"

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