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Until his big hands wrapped around their little ankles and dragged them away from me. The kids were so startled. He’d never hurt them before. A year ago, during one of his tantrums, I threatened to call CPS if he ever lost his temper with the kids like he did with me. At some point, Andrew decided I was bluffing.
As he dragged them to the coat closet, their little faces scraped across the old carpet, leaving behind rug burns. I heard them crying out for their mommy. The pain in their voices awakened a cruel part of me.
Staring at my fingernails, I think of how heavy the dumbbell felt in my hands as it came crashing down against Andrew’s head. I took him by surprise as he slammed the door shut on the kids in the closet.
The first strike stunned him. The third had him on the ground. The fifth made a horrifying cracking sound.
That’s when I straddled Andrew and prepared to end him. He hurt my babies, and I wanted vengeance.
Except I hesitated long enough to remember how much I hated violence.
I considered calling the police. The kids were bruised. I was battered and bleeding. I could explain how it went down. They’d haul Andrew off to jail. But then what?
The kids might call me mommy, but I possessed no legal right to them. With Andrew in jail, Jacinda and Hector might end up with their temperamental grandmother.
No one loves Jacinda and Hector like I do. They belong with me. Their mothers ditched them with Andrew when they were babies. Their father viewed them as punishments for dating two “crazy bitches” at the same time. His family didn’t want the kids around. Hector and Jacinda belong with me.
That’s why I made the phone call to the Kovak Syndicate emergency line.
My heart races as I catch sight of Verge Casino in the distance. I’m close to learning my fate. Who will I meet with? Does my father still call the shots or has my oldest brother, Roman, stepped into a leadership role?
I think back to the cleaning crew’s arrival at the dumpy house, where a barely conscious Andrew was duct-taped and hidden under a blanket in the living room.
“Roman sent me to bring you home,” Viggo explained. “He allowed me leeway with how to handle your problem.”
Viggo glanced back at where one of his men rested a foot on the moving lump under the blanket. When his blue eyes found mine, Viggo exhaled softly and tried to offer a smile.
“Roman said it was up to me whether your problem lived or not. Seeing your face now, my choice is clear. Do you understand?”
“People around here know me and the kids. If we just disappear—”
Viggo waved away my concerns. I recalled the many times my father made the same hand gesture. People always submitted. No one ever chose to challenge Viktor Kovak.
For the longest time, I didn’t realize the darkness clinging to my family. My dad was a professional driver. My mom worked at a restaurant. They were normal people.
We weren’t poor, yet money was tight with five kids. As the youngest, I kept my blinders on long after we moved from our lovely trilevel to the sprawling Thibeaux Mansion at the heart of Banta City’s power.
My blinders are fully ripped off now. I know what happened to Andrew after I took the kids to the waiting SUV. I sealed his fate as soon as I made the call.
Now, my fate remains in the balance.
There’s zero chance my family will kill me. No, my worries rest in the fate of my babies. Can Jacinda and Hector find a home within the Kovak clan despite not sharing our blood?
BEAR O’MALLEY
Banta City owns a barely constrained madness. Underneath the posh businesses and gated mansions is the town’s wicked underbelly controlled by the Backcountry Kings Motorcycle Club.
Men in offices and on golf courses make the hard decisions over who lives and dies. However, they aren’t the ones with bloody, busted hands. They never know where the bodies are buried. Not that we’ve buried any bodies since the early 2000s.
I was a teenager when that decision was made by people still calling the shots. The club’s leaders might be gray around the edges, but they’ve survived gang wars, drive-by shootings, and even gun-wielding ex-girlfriends.
Nothing in Banta City is nearly as slick as the gambling mecca’s brochures pretend. Even our cops are extra scummy.
That’s why I ride next to my club brothers, six strong, on our way to a pig-owned, southside strip club. We’re meeting with the Brennan family who are members of the largest gang in the United States—the police.
Back in the day, the local badges had their fingers in everything from the hardest drugs to black-market babies. The first cop to backhand me was a sergeant whose retirement plan consisted of a brothel filled with teenage runaways.
Like many assholes in the old guard, Norton Smitty was replaced when the Kovak Syndicate took over.
