Page 69 of Burned in Stone
“No, I think I’m untouchable because I haven’t done anything illegal. Novel concept for you, I know.”
“The MC runs drugs through this town?—”
“The MC runs a garage and protects local businesses from parasites like Summit.”
“—and you cook their books to hide it all.”
“I balance legitimate business accounts. Excel sheets. Boring as hell. Want a demo? It’ll put you right to sleep.”
Gabriel leans in close enough that I can smell his too-strong aftershave—something expensive and trying too hard, just like him. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell me everything about the MC’s operations. Every drug deal, every illegal gun, every dirty dollar that flows through those books. Or?—”
“Wrong. Here’s what’s actually going to happen,” I counter. “You’re going to realize you’ve got nothing. I’m going to walk out of here, and you’re going to sign those divorce papers like the pathetic little man you are.”
A punch rips into my kidney. I don’t see which cop throws it, but the pain explodes up my back. I bite down hard to keep from making a sound and clench my fists at my sides.
Every instinct screams at me to fight back. To take on these bastards and at least go down swinging. But that’s what they want. That’s what they’re counting on—me losing control, giving them an excuse to escalate, to put me in the ground and call it resisting.
Years taught me to lock my mouth and take a hit. Let them get loud, get sloppy. That’s how you outlive a bully—patience.
But fuck, it’s brutal. My body remembers the part that always gets worse. Every cell wants to run or strike. Waiting feels like denying air to drowning lungs.
Control kept me alive on the streets and earned me a place in the club. Right now, that same restraint is what keeps me breathing.
So I take the hit. And I smile through the heat.
“I’ll give you that one for free.”
“Oops,” one of them says. “I slipped.”
Gabriel comes back around to face me. “That’s just a taste. We can do this for hours. Days even. No cameras here. No witnesses. Just you and us and all the time in the world.”
I straighten up, grinning through the pain. “Is this the part where you threaten me? Because I’ve got to tell you, your ex-wife is way scarier than you when she’s pissed.”
His face goes red. “Don’t talk about her.”
“Why not? She talks about you all the time. Mostly about how disappointing you were in bed, but?—”
The second hit comes from the front this time, right to my stomach. I double over but manage to laugh.
“That all you got?” I wheeze. “The old lady at the laundromat hits harder than that.”
Gabriel grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice.”
I meet his eyes, letting him see exactly how much I’m going to enjoy this. “Oh, I’m really hoping we do this the hard way.”
His smile is cold. “Your funeral.”
He nods to his boys, and I know what’s coming. More hits. More pain.
But here’s the thing Gabriel doesn’t understand. I’ve spent my whole life thinking control was the only thing that kept me safe.That if I could just stay in control, stay disciplined, never let anyone see me weak—I’d survive.
And then Mercy came along and saw every broken piece of me. The nightmares. The trauma. The scared street kid underneath all the tattoos and bravado. And she didn’t run. She didn’t use it against me. She chose to carry it with me.
Gabriel thinks breaking me is possible. He’s wrong. I’ve learned now that strength is letting people in. Letting someone see you at your worst and love you through it. That’s the weapon he never counted on—I know that love is more powerful than fear.
So fuck him. Fuck his threats. Fuck his fake charges and his black site and his desperate need to prove he’s still powerful.
He’s never been more out of control.
