Page 173 of Salvation

“If you don’t want this, Rachel, then I’m willing to tear that contract in half and let you go. I can’t keep forcing this. I won’t forceyou. But I need you to make a decision for me. Not now. But soon.” He squeezed my hand again and then gently prised his arm out of my grip as we arrived at the graveyard. He walked ahead of me with the rest of the club, ready to carry Mama’s coffin to the hole next to Crash’s.

I thought over his words. I didn’t need time to think it over. I knew what I wanted. But before I could have it—before Dante and I could finally be free—I had one last thread to cut.

Chapter 79

Rachel

Dante’s words weighed heavily on my mind as I drove to my destination.

He wanted to talk. He was willing to rip that contract up.

We were entering uncharted territory in our relationship, and I was willing to lay all my cards on the table and be honest with him. Even if I ended up looking the fucking fool, at least I could say I tried, and I would no longer spend so much of my time wondering what if.

But first, I had to speak to Vicky. I had to know what she planned for her baby and the level of involvement she wanted from Dante.

I parked a few streets away, as I didn’t want her to know I was coming. And I knew how quickly things could get out of hand when I was pissed off. I’d rather no one see me that could potentially cause the police to ask questions later.

I was strangely calm as I walked towards her house. This was going to end one of two ways, and I wasn’t mad about either outcome.

Vicky had no idea who she was fucking with, but I like to think she had a taster during our showdown in the club. Tonight would teach her once and for all. Pregnant or not, this was not going to end on her terms.

Vicky lived in a modest house on the edge of town—no doubt funded by daddy dearest. And because she was the chief of police’s daughter, I was banking on her being stupid, believing that the law and her father would always protect her. Why lock the doors when you had the police in your pocket? As luck would have it, she was just as dumb as predicted.

She’s a beautiful woman, but my God, she’s fucking thick.

I gently pushed the door open, hearing her voice immediately. I paused, listening in on her conversation.

“No, he doesn’t suspect a thing,” she said, all smug confidence. She was practically dancing across the carpet as she spoke, twirling her hair like some high school mean girl. “I told him I missed him, that I was pregnant, and he actually bought it—”

Not fucking pregnant.

I was almost tempted to strike then, but I let her continue with her phone call, hanging herself with her own words.

“No, he’s not going to leave her. I’m not sure I want him anymore, anyway… Yeah, I’ve thought of that, and I’ll just tell him I lost the baby. That will earn me sympathy for a while.”

She paused, a frown taking over her face as she listened to whoever was on the other end of the phone. “It’s about fucking with him, that’s why!” she snapped. “You didn’t see the way he cast me aside when she returned. Let him think his baby died, what the fuck do I care? I’ll buy a fake bump and let him think his child was fucking stillborn if I thought it would hurt him more. No one treats me like that.”

She stayed quiet a few more moments before she sighed. “Look. You just don’t get it, so there’s no point explaining. Call me back when you’re feeling more reasonable.”

I let the silence stretch after she ended the call. Let her feel the shift in the air. That prickle of instinct, of fear, that told her something was off.

She turned just as I stepped into the living room.

“Rachel,” she blinked, confused at first, then growing wary. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Funny,” I said, shutting the door behind me, locking it with a softclick. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

She straightened her spine, looking down her nose at me. “You can’t just break in here—”

“Oh, sweetie,” I smiled, slow and cold. “I didn’t break in. You didn’t lock the door.”

She hesitated, arms folding across her chest like she was suddenly very aware of how alone we were. “If Dante sent you—”

“Dante didn’t send me.” I walked slowly, deliberately, toward her. “It’s just me. I’m riding solo.”

“I don’t want trouble,” she said, stepping back. “I'm not even pregnant, okay? It was just a game. I was angry. Hurt. I thought he’d come back to me, but he didn’t. I was going to end it—”

“You were going to tell him you lost the baby. Let him think it died,” I snapped. “That’s not hurt, Vicky. That’s cruelty.”

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