Page 17 of Gonzo's Grudge
“Bailiff, remove this man and his associates.”
Rage coursed through me as my son turned and looked over his shoulder at me. “It’s okay, Dad. Devyn said this might happen.” His words a whisper but not one bit soothing.
Tower grabbed me by my shoulders, squeezing. “Come on, brother, you gotta get out of her before you make it worse on the boy.”
I shook my head and gathered myself together. The deputy approached me, and I sat back in my seat. He came closer as Judge Walsh spoke. “If he can remain in his seat then we can continue.” The bailiff back away just a bit. “We have a special provision from the governor today to move forward with sentencing.”
The world stopped spinning. Everything froze. How was this possible?
I didn’t comprehend what the judge was saying until the end. “Sentenced to life in prison. Without the possibility of parole,” Walsh declared, smirk spreading wide.
The floor dropped out from under me.
GJ’s face stayed stone, but I saw the flicker—the hopelessness he’d been fighting finally slipping through. He stood, keeping his head held high and allowed the deputies to approach him.
“GJ!” I roared as the bailiffs hauled him away. Chains rattled, orange glaring bright against the marble walls. He turned once, eyes locking with mine.
And then he was gone.
I stumbled out of that courthouse hollow. Nothing mattered.
Only two names played in my head. Target acquired. Mission begins now.
Judge Connor Walsh.
Hampton Stanley. The mayor who thought he was untouchable. The judge who smirked while my son’s life was stolen.
They thought they’d won.
But they didn’t know me.
I was Gonzo.
And this war had just begun.
I swore it on Pop Squally’s grave. I swore it on my son’s chains.
I would make them both pay. And anyone else tied to them would feel my wrath too.
Every law broken, every line crossed, every sin committed—it didn’t matter.
The only thing that mattered now was vengeance.
And I’d burn Dreadnought to the ground to get it.
Chapter 7
IvaLeigh
College wasn’t supposed to feel like this. When I left Tennessee for school in North Carolina, I told myself this was my new start. New area. New people. New me.
But walking into my apartment that night, backpack slung over one shoulder, the only thing I felt was the kind of gut-punch you can’t study your way out of.
The door creaked open and the sound hit me before the sight did—breathy little moans, muffled laughter, the squeak of my mattress springs.
My mattress.
Then the sight.
