Page 52 of Vow to Protect
The surrounding arms fall away, and Kaleb’s expression tightens. “I’ll give you until sunrise. If you’re not back by then, I’ll come after you myself.”
“Kaleb,” I snarl. “Promise me you’ll stay the fuck away. Tilly needs you, and I need to know you’ll put her first.” My curled fingers choke the hem of his t-shirt. “They all need you, including your unborn kid.” A noise brings my gaze to the flickering light inside Kaleb’s happy home. Shadows dance and play. Champ barks, and my baby girl calls out for me.
“Sheneeds you, Brett. We all do.” Kaleb scowls and jabs my shoulder hard. “You’ve got until sunrise, and then I’m coming to pull you out, with or without the woman.”
I drag my palms down my bristled cheeks, sighing with despair. “You always were a pain in my fucking ass, De Courcy.”
“Daddy?” Tilly peers around the door frame. “What time will you be back?”
“He’ll be back in the morning, Shortie,” Kaleb answers for me, sensing the rupture in my world when her eyes open wide with worry.
I move into her and crouch down to eye-level. “You’re so brave. The bravest girl I’ve ever met. Let me see those big muscles.”
Tilly lifts her thin arm and angles it so her bicep and fist clench. I press my fingers over the non-existent muscles and grin. “Wow, you’ve been working out.” Her lashes flutter with pride. My throat thickens when I tap her chest. “And in here, in your heart, you’re even stronger. I love you, Tilly De Courcy. Always and forever.”
“I love you too, Daddy. Please come home.”
“I’ll be home for unicorn pancakes, Shortie.” I rise and nod to Kaleb. “With extra sprinkles and whipped cream.”
Tilly whimpers out a sob. Kaleb swoops her up into his arms. “How about we look online for another birthday present?” He kisses her temple. She nuzzles into his neck, eyeing me with an unhappy crease on her forehead.
“Another present?” I roll my eyes playfully and back up to the pavement. “How many gifts have you got her so far?”
“That’s a secret.” Kaleb strokes her flowing curls and offers me a smug smile. “You're making the pancakes in the morning.”
Right there, standing on the doorstep, my family silently begs me to come back safely. Their love charges my quest with so much more than grief and self-pity. It’s an awakening of appreciation and gratitude. Raen deserves that same gift.
* * *
My driver drops me off across the street from Scrios. Rumor has it Blaine is hiding in plain sight, ready and waiting for trouble.
I never knew it was his club. Knowing what I know now, I would never have set foot in this place all those months ago. The owner was an enigma who left his men to oversee the underground fight club, while he clearly focused on stealing humans.
The cocky fucker built his empire in the shadows, aiming to take control of the underworld with his authoritarian bullshit. Alex dug deeper and found out where Blaine was holding Raen. He gave me all the intel over the phone while the paramedics were pumping Gretchen’s chest on my sitting room floor.
Malakai has fallen deeper undercover or immersed himself in the lifestyle he accepts as reality. The only mobile phone number we have for him has gone dead. He’s been gliding under the radar for days. Untouchable. Out of bounds.
The entrance doors close behind me, and the temperature drops. It's the cool before the blistering heat, the calm before the tornado. Jeers rumble from underground as I get closer to the earth’s core.
That familiar coppery smell flips my gut. Instead of seeking a way to ignore my feelings, I’m facing them in abundance. I’m not here for pain tonight, I’m here to prevent it. I close my eyes for a beat and breathe deeply. Instead of collecting myself for war, I drift into the memory of Gretchen’s eyes slowly closing as an oxygen mask sat in position and her chilly hands unfurled. The sweet woman lost consciousness before they hauled her onto a stretcher. Blaine gave the order to kill. He put Gretchen in intensive care. It’s his fault she’s hooked up to machines and fighting for her life.
This time, I’m not seeking self-gratification with splintering jabs and throbbing bruises, I’m determined to unleash them for a higher cause. I barely recognise the man I’ve become. Privileges haven’t awarded me an easy ride. Good breeding and respectability have amounted to this very moment—bare knuckles, a revolver and a lethal desire for blood to spill.
I skirt the room. Hood pulled over my head. My gaze assesses every man in sight. All eyes are directed at the uncivilised bare fist fight ending with a sucker punch. The red-haired guy topples like a deadweight. With as much care as a butcher maneuvering a carcass, he’s rolled out of the ring. His battered body thuds in a mound of failure. The victor raises his bloody fists to the ceiling, thrilled by the chants of wealthy spectators celebrating their hefty winnings. Bikini bottomed girls stir up the mood for the next fight. It’s a pit of snakes circled by butterflies.
Hidden behind bloodthirsty savages, I pinpoint Blaine exiting a guarded door. Tight knots in my stomach inflame. He casually dusts down his sleeves and fixes slick gelled hair in place while men flank his side. They cocoon the spineless fucker with an impenetrable barrier of guns and bulk. Dexter waits by the door, feet rooted, stance tall and threatening. He patrols the periphery of Blaine’s entourage.
I elbow my way through the masses, shielding myself within the throng. Danger weighs heavily on my shoulders and taps at my subconscious. Roars explode around me. Fists pump the humid air. Yet I bid my time. I stay hidden and observe Blaine’s safe-guarded interaction.
I’m flying solo. Calvin is rallying undercover troops with the instruction to blend and mingle. The guy beside me could be in the elite, or he could be a wealthy prick without a spine. I’ve no option other than to carry on, pinning a fucking grain of hope on Calvin’s ability to do the right thing.
Blaine’s men escort him past the ring to the opposite side of Scrios where they retreat behind another door. Dexter glances behind him, then back to the ring. His shoulders jostle and he stretches out his neck. I study his trim physique and irritating steely composure. The guy is a lethal weapon all on his own.
The door opens behind him and Malakai storms out like he’s just as deranged as Blaine. Through the gap in the door, I see dishevelled sable curls and striking features. Raen stands near the exit, perfectly silent and deathly still. My heart stutters, hanging in my ribcage without beats. The appetite to attack every bastard in Scrios spikes inside me. I’m here to take back what belongs to me, and that’s her.
She belongs to my daughter.
She’s mine.
