Page 144 of Savage Surrender

“My son,” William says softly. “The coward.”

Weller fires.

The shot deafens me. Vincent flinches, and I use it to force him flat. Behind us, William looks down at the dark hole spreading through his shirt, then at Weller. His knees fold, and he lands beside him.

Weller stares at his father. William’s blood reaches Weller’s knee before he shoves himself upright and turns toward the rest of the room.

Alexander has the case open and Tristan bent over the edge of the worktable. One hand twists in Tristan’s hair. The other holds an uncapped injector less than an inch from his neck. Tristan has Alexander by the wrist, but his bad side is trapped against the wood, and his face has gone white.

Weller swings the gun toward them, but Tristan blocks the shot.

My father bucks me off. I catch myself on one hand, and Vincent is already coming after me.

Alexander bears down harder. The needle shakes closer to Tristan’s skin.

Tristan lets one knee give.

His father follows the movement, expecting him to collapse. Tristan turns beneath him and slams Alexander’s wrist against the edge of the table. Bone cracks. The injector drops, and Tristan catches it before it hits the floor.

Vincent grabs the back of my neck and drives my face into the floor.

Tristan drives the injector beneath his father’s jaw and empties it.

Alexander jerks backward. Tristan follows him down, grabs another injector from the case, and drives that one into him too. The empty plastic hits the floor, and Tristan keeps going, uncapping and injecting over and over. He has no fucking clue what he’s sticking him with.

“How does it feel, dad?”

My father yanks me upright, and his fist is already moving. It catches the swollen side of my face, and white bursts through my vision. I swing where he was and hit nothing.

Alexander hits the concrete convulsing. His chest gives a violent hitch, then another, then his body stops moving.

Vincent laughs at my miss. I drive my shoulder into his stomach.

He folds over me, gets both hands around the back of my neck, and brings his knee into my ribs.

The first strike empties my lungs. The second makes something shift wrong under my skin.

I don’t let go.

He built me for this. Every time I hit hard enough to please him. Every time I didn’t and somebody else paid for it. Emma crying behind a locked door. My mother saying he didn’t mean it.

My fingers slide through blood, catch the handle of the knife in his arm, and wrench it sideways.

Freddie better have both arms around her.

My fist catches his throat, then his jaw before he can recover. He drives me backward until the worktable catches me across the hips. Glass cracks under his shoe.

Weller shouts my name.

I duck. A shot punches through the boards behind Vincent instead of his back.

“Don’t fucking shoot him.” I’ve been waiting for this.

My father looks at me and smiles through bloody teeth, then grabs for me. I catch the injured arm and bite into the open wound. Foul, but whatever works.

Vincent screams, and he punches at the side of my head, but I hold on until skin tears beneath my teeth and his grip breaks. Blood fills my mouth. I spit it at his shoes and drive him backward into the post.

The wood gives a dry crack.