This new revelation has thrown a wrench into my plans. Francine isn't supposed to be that girl. She's supposed to be someone I can easily walk away from when everything is said and done. If things keep going how I planned, I know I won't be able to walk away in the end. Because I’m not sure that I could allow for this to end. She was the first person who wasn’t scared of me. Even as a kid, people feared me because of who my father was.

  Francine is the girl I protected, and that solidifies that things can't go any further. If things go further, I won't be able to let her go and the worst thing I could do to her is keep her.

  I need to cut ties now and never look back. No more stalking her. No more dwelling. No more bet.

  Nothing good ever comes from being the girl of a Bastard.

  But first, I have to make sure she is safe—exactly like when I left her ten years ago. I left her safe then. I'll leave her safe now.

  I trek into my dad's house to see him milking a beer on the couch. He's still wearing his mechanic get-up from working with Frank last night. He’s in the exact same spot when I left last night to go to Francine’s.

  "Hey, Dad," I say as I shut the door behind me.

  "Morning, son," he grumbles and downs the rest of his beer.

  He's been mostly drunk for almost all of my life. If he's not drunk, he's just sipping a beer for the taste or he's headed there from a bottle of whiskey.

  "Isn't it a little early to be drinking? Have you had any coffee or eaten today?" I press as I snatch the three empty beer bottles from the table and toss them in the recycling bin next to the coffee table.

  "Not feeling my best today, Finnick."

  I hate it when he calls me that. Everyone else, except for Sorcha on occasion, calls me Finn, but my dad won't take a hint. I hate being called that.

  "Uh-huh." I go to the kitchen and grab his breakfast of choice and brew him some coffee. I take him the grapefruit and he nods his thanks.

  "Hey, dad?" I say.

  The tang of citrus permeates the air and almost seems out of place amongst the scent of old hops and motor oil. He pulls apart the grapefruit tediously. "Yeah?"

  I settle on the other side of the couch from him and get to business. "What do you know about Martin Gray?" I start, hoping he can give me some type of clue. I have no idea where Francine's uncle is or what he does. I have nothing to go on except his name.

  Dad jolts to a stop as if the grapefruit shocked him. "Martin Gray?" He turns his attention to me and stares expectantly for a moment. He expells a large breath, "Fucking hell. I haven't heard that name in... years. We went to high school together. I didn't know him personally, only in the ring really. He’s a twisted son of a bitch, but I could never prove he broke any rules. He was super careful, but his brother, Michael, was a good guy."

  "Michael Gray abandoned his daughter," I growl in anger.

  My dad takes a long drag off his cigarette as if to put the nail in the coffin. "Da fuck you talkin' about?" he mumbles before blowing out the smoke.

  "He abandoned his daughter at the age of twelve. He took her mother away and she hasn’t seen either parent for six years," I repeat, my words more measured.

  My dad isn't much, but he's better than an asshole who would abandon his kid. He's struggled to take care of me and Sorcha, especially since my mom died. Sorcha’s mom being on drugs and leaving as soon as she gave birth to my sister also didn’t help the situation.

  "Well, shit. That's not right. Francine, right? She's a beautiful girl. Looks just like her mother, too. The Mercer genes run strong in that young lady," he grumbles as he runs a frustrated hand down his scruffy face.

  Francine is a beautiful girl and, yes, the resemblance between her and her mom is a bit unsettling. When I first saw her mom standing in the door, I was really taken aback. She looks just like Francine but with darker hair and two decades older.

  "That's why you're asking about the Gray's, right? Because of the girl?" My dad is pretty intuitive.

  I lift my chin, readying myself for what I’m about to divulge. "I need to find Martin Gray," I say and he puts out his half smoked cigarette in his now empty beer bottle.

  "Why? What's the sudden interest in Martin?"

  The talk of the Gray family seems to be irritating him, but my gut says it has to do with Francine's mom. She had a similar reaction to talking about him. Francine was right. Her mom was upset, and my dad is getting pissed.

  It's none of my business. I don't get into my dad's business, and he stays out of mine. It's just the way things are.

  "When Francine was twelve, he tried to rape her," I explain.

  My father goes from irritated to looking absolutely fucking murderous—exactly how I felt when Francine told me.

  His back goes ramrod straight. "He what?"

  "He tried to rape his niece."

  "What the fuck did the cops do about it?" he pushes, his jaw ticking angrily.

  I rub my eyes and answer, "He's a Gray. What the hell do you think they did? Absolutely nothing. He got away with what he tried to do to her."

  If he weren’t as angry as I am at this moment, he might realize that I’m taking this a bit more personally than is typical for me.

  "Let's take down the son of a bitch then," he says.

  I don’t smile, but I want to. For all the faults my dad has, he’s always there for us.

  First, we call the past and present Bastards, alerting them to search for Martin Gray and track the area. Then my dad and I call around to all of our contacts to see if they have any info on the elusive Martin Gray or his crimes.

  We learned that right after Martin was let go for the attempted child rape, he went under the radar. Most in Grove Hill haven't heard anything from him in five years or more.

  He made several appearances over the years in Houston. He was arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct three years ago. Then, one year ago, he was arrested for assaulting a prostitute in downtown Houston. His last known address was a seedy hotel in the ship channel, so that's where we send the search party.

  I'm at home changing my clothes to go look for the asshole when I get a call from my dad.

  I answer the phone quickly. "Yeah?"

  "They got him," my dad’s voice is steel dipped in relief and anticipation.

  "Where?"

  "Warehouse Five. You remember where it is, son?"

  "Yeah, I know where it is." That’s like asking a coke addict if they want more blow. I hurry to throw on my black hoodie, then press the phone back to my ear.

  "Do you want some back-up?" he asks, trepidation in his words.

  "No, this is my problem to deal with."

  "This girl... she means something to you, doesn't she?"

  Why the fuck out of all things he can pry about, does he bring this up? Of course, Francine means something to me. She means everything, even more now that she's the girl from ten years ago.

  She's the reason I get out of bed without that impending: ‘Why do I even bother? running through my head. She's the reason it feels easier to breathe these last few days.

  Francine fucking Gray has given me the purpose I've been lacking.

  "Doesn't matter. Once I finish with this, I'll be out of her life. Thanks, Dad."

  I know he understands. Most people, even Sorcha, would say I'm an idiot for walking away from Francine, but my dad has been in this situation, time and time again. He knows we are a dangerous breed for the women who care about us.

  Sorcha is fucked either way. She cares too much about me and my dad. I can't save my sister from the pain, but I can spare Francine.

  Doesn't mean I won't feel the burn.

  "Be careful, son."

  We hang up and I head out to my truck. Hastily, I climb in and turn on the engine, letting it purr for only a few moments before reversing out of my driveway and making my way out of the neighborhood.

  I'm in what would be considered a disguise. People always notice me when I'm wearing my Bastards kutte, which has been passed down for generations. My face is also recognizable so I stuff all my dark curly hair into the hood of my plain black sweatshirt and put on a pair of faded jeans to blend in with the everyday crowd.

  I typically ride my motorcycle around town. Very few people know about my truck so that’s my transportation of choice. I should look like a stranger driving through town to most, which is what I need right now.

  I merge onto the highway and cruise through the big city until I make it to Warehouse Five.

  Warehouse Five is one of the many buildings owned by the Bastards in the surrounding areas of Grove Hill. We have properties as far south as Galveston and as far north as College Station.

  Warehouse Five is our go to whenever we need something handled. And I definitely need something handled.

  Exiting the truck, I make my way toward the door of the building, allowing the metal door to shut with a resounding clang. Immediately my eyes are drawn to the struggling men in the center of the mostly barren room. Rian and Tiernan are wrangling with the raggedy looking black sheep of the Gray family. The asshole tries his best to resist getting tied to a steel chair bolted to the cement floor. His best is nowhere good enough to make a difference.

  "Who the fuck are you, assholes? Do you have any clue who the fuck I am?" Martin screams, his disheveled blonde hair falling in his face.

  He knows exactly who the fuck we are and he’s gotta know exactly what the fuck we’re going to do.

  "We found him bar-hopping a few streets down," Eoghan explains as I stride up.

  "What's the plan?" Colin asks.

  The plan is simple. Torture and kill this bastard for what he did to Francine and so she can feel safe again.

  "The plan is you guys go home," I say, and all four of them stare at me in bewilderment.

  "What?"

  "No!"

  "We're a team, man!"

  "You can't leave us out of this. Who's going to make sure nothing goes wrong?"

  There’s a cacophony of responses and I get it. They're pissed and normally, I wouldn't keep them out of the loop, but this is different. This is about me protecting her, like I did all those years ago. It’s my responsibility.

  I snatch the wooden bat out of Tiernan's hand before glaring at them.

  "This is personal. I'm not dragging you into this. Plus, if you're not here, you can feign ignorance. This isn’t just anybody in that chair. The authorities of Grove Hill are going to come after us over this. If I go down, then I go down. Right now, I need you guys to go so I don't bring you down with me."

  Eoghan is more understanding of this than anyone else, but Colin is still on the fence, as I expect him to be.

  They're more than my friends. These men are my brothers—my blood. They'd die for me as I would for them, but there’s no point in all of them going down with me.

  A booming noise reverberates through the warehouse as the metal door behind me slams open and my entire body freezes.

  If synchronized gulping was a thing, I’m fairly certain my friends would take gold. Rian is the first to speak. "Um, Finn," he says nervously. "You should turn around.”

  So I do, and slowly. I’m devastated to see Francine standing there, her expression a mixture of fear and surprise.

  What the fuck is she doing here?

  Who am I kidding? I know what she's doing here. She must've seen me in my truck and followed me. I should be pissed, but I’m more worried about her reaction to….this. To me. Will she be afraid of me now?

  This is who I am. This is what it means to be a Bastard of Grove Hill.

  She doesn't run. Her eyes are calculating as they dart between my face and her asshat uncle still fighting with his restraints.

  "Francine," I say, low and slow, as one would when approaching an injured animal. "I can explain," I start, but fuck me, like the explanation is going to make things better.

  What the fuck am I going to explain? It's pretty obvious what's going on.

  "You—you kidnapped my uncle?" Her small voice cracks a bit and the surprise melts away, leaving only fear or anxiety. I can't tell anymore.

  "You shouldn't be here," I press, but she doesn't bend or break. I don’t think she even blinks. She doesn't respond either.

  Her green eyes fall to the bat hanging loosely in my hand. She confuses the shit out of me and slowly reaches for it.

  What is going through your head, Princess?

  Wordlessly she glides toward me as if in a trance and takes the bat. The world melts away when our eyes meet. There is no one else around us. Nothing.

  Except her…

  and me…

  and the bat.

  She slowly slides the bat out of my grip. The clicking of her high-heeled boots against the concrete floor brings everything back into the present. One step after the other, she strolls further into the warehouse, the whack of the bat hitting the floor then being dragged beside her adds to the rhythm she creates.

  I nod for the guys to leave.

  I have no clue what Francine is planning, but I know one thing for certain. It’s not going to be pretty.

  CHAPTER 17

  HER

  The moment I take in Uncle Martin's silhouette, all my thoughts dissipate into nothingness except anxiety and fear. I’m all but drowning in those two emotions.

  I know why he's here. Finn kidnapped him with the intent of making him pay for what he did to me. In a dark and highly twisted sense, it's a romantic notion. Some women get flowers. I get retribution against my molester of an uncle.

  Yet, I can't bring myself to feel any way about it. My focus is solely on Martin, fighting in his seat, while the other Bastards stand around.

  I know I say something to Finn, but I don't know what it is.

  My eyes zero in on the aged, lightly stained, wood bat in Finn's hand. BLOOD, PROTECT, DEATH, and RESPECT are burned into the wood along with the logo from the back of their vests, the skull and crossbones. It brings back an unwanted memory of the bat Uncle Martin had mounted to the wall in his living room. It was from when he won his State Championship baseball game in high school.

  Momentary flashes of my night terrors buzz through my mind. The flickering of these thoughts gather into a frenzy and bring forth the emotion of anger. Of rage. And desire….for vengeance.

  I’m not sure how I get there, but suddenly I’m dragging the bat beside me as I seemingly float over to Uncle Martin. He does a double take as his blue eyes meet mine for the first time in eight years. Then the flashes come at me in a torrential assault, scenes sear through my consciousness.

  Flash. I’m screaming.

  Flash. He’s pinning me down.

  Flash. He’s ripping the hem of my dress to get to my panties.

  Flash. He’s slapping me.

  Flash. He’s undoing his pants.

  My eyes focus on the lips of the man in front of me, I see them moving between the flashes, but if he’s speaking, I can't hear him. The flashes are too loud, too dark, too consuming.

  I'm caught between reality and a memory.

  "Francine?" His voice breaks through, causing the ambush of chaos in my brain to clear. Slowly my thoughts organize and my mind has put everything in order.

  I swing the bat up and land the end with a slap on my open palm. "Hello, Uncle Martin," I say, my eyes and voice devoid of any emotion. I’m a paragon of apathy. For now. His eyes flash from the bat to my face over and over again.

  "Come on, Francine. What are you doing?" he presses.

  What am I doing? Didn't I ask him the exact same thing that fateful day where my life changed forever?

  "Doing?" I repeat as if I have no idea what that word means. "Long time no see, Martin."

  He squints, trying to figure me out. Then his eyes darken. "Goddamn it. Did you put these assholes up to this?" His anger is bitter on his tongue.

  "No, actually,” I smack the bat against my palm again then tilt my head to the side, trying my hardest not to look at him like a bug I want to squash. “I had no idea you were here. My guess is that after I told a friend of mine what you did to me, they decided to take matters into their own hands. You can imagine how appalled they were when they learned about the lack of justice that was given to me." I say.

  Martin has the audacity to roll his eyes. "Come on, Francine. We talked about this. You fell asleep while watching a movie and you had a bad dream."

  Yeah, I remember that story. He tried convincing me of that the one and only time I saw him after the incident. The meeting ended with me in an inconsolable pile on the floor, screaming and crying because of how he tried to mess with my head.

  He tried to make me think I was crazy.

  I begin to slowly pace back and forth in front of him, tapping the bat sporadically against my palm, "Did you ask Anne Franco about that?"

  His eyes narrow in annoyance at the name of the neighbor who protected me.

  "Or…” I draw the word out, “did we have a shared nightmare? I read the report she made. Did you know that? After you tried to make me think I was crazy, I contacted the officer who arrested you, Officer Daughtry, and told him what you said. He showed me the report. Did you know she used phrases like despicable pedophile and disgusting act of child abuse in her report? She called you a sociopath and a narcissist. She insisted that if you weren't put in jail that you'd do it again, if not to me, then to someone else.

  "It's been eight years, Uncle Martin. Tell me. Was she right? Did you do it again? Was I the only one, or was I just the one who got you caught?"

  I tell myself at that moment if he apologizes and accepts blame, that will be enough for me. I'll walk away. Most kids don't even get that much, right? Making him go to jail or pay for his crime isn't going to make my PTSD and trust issues go away. I'm forever tainted.

  "Fuck you, Francine," he growls, rage now showing unrestricted in his features.

  Something about his voice and the way he says this hits my PTSD the wrong way, as if it flicked a switch in my mind. Instead of the attack flashing through my mind, it's my parents leaving, my mother's disbelief, my father's inability to take a side, and all the intimacy issues created by this creature. Because that’s what he is. He’s not human. He’s a monster. Perhaps thinking of him in this way is the green light I need for me to do what I do next.

 

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