Hey all! Of course, I got another idea, and it wouldn't leave me alone, so here it is. Since The Former Wife of Deckard Shaw seems to be enjoyed, you might also like this one. Here are some points before we get started (bear with me!).
1. This story will be focused majorly on Deckard Shaw and the Shaw family. It will be AU mixed with Canon, so some things will be altered slightly while following the general storyline.
2. For the timeline of events, I'm going by this: Furious 7 in September 2014, Fate of the Furious in April 2015, and Hobbs and Shaw in 2022. I will be leaving out COVID-19 cos I don't want to write about it when my writing is how I am coping with it. To see my reasons for this timeline, see my other author's note in The Former Wife of Deckard Shaw.
3. For the purpose of this story, Hattie is born in 1979 (see other author's note in TFWoDS for explanation).
4. The chapters are split between present events and past events that will eventually catch up to the present events. Please watch the headings so you're not confused.
5. It features Emily Charlton (portrayed by Emily Blunt) from Devil Wears Prada, but I won't be going into great detail of that film's events, and I do a lot of character development for her, so you won't have to even have seen DWP to get a feel for who she is (it's not really a full crossover is what I'm trying to say). Her family is created by me as well. For the purpose of this story, I'll be using the year the book was published (2003) and not when the film came out. Also, Emily will be the same age as Deckard.
6. There will be topics that come up that might be triggering (i.e. domestic violence/physical abuse, alcohol use, eating disorder, and gunfights etc.). I keep it at a "T" rating and don't get too graphic with it, not anymore than what you'd see in a 14A type film.
My apologies for the long author's note. There won't be anymore of those moving forward. Thank you, and happy reading!
Prologue
2014
I don't want to do this.
Deckard Shaw sat there looking at his brother. He had no more words to say; he'd said all he could say. His brother had made a mess, yet again, and once again, Deckard had to clean it up. He bounced his leg, thinking. There was no way out of this. Did Owen not realize what he'd done? He stared at the scarred face, but it was the bullet holes hidden under the burn scars that bothered him the most.
I don't want to do this.
His heart rate was picking up. The message had been clear: Owen was supposed to be dead. Deckard felt his phone in his pocket burning a hole into his leg. The picture he'd seen on it six hours ago was seared to memory. He had no choice. He was forced to do what he was about to do next. If he didn't...
He really didn't want to think about what would happen if he didn't, or if he failed.
He couldn't fail.
I don't want to do this.
The doctor had explained to him that his brother had been found on the runway with burns and gunshot wounds. They weren't sure what order the injuries happened, but Deckard had an idea. He surmised his brother had fallen out of a moving plane after failing his mission, and someone (Deckard presumed the orchestrator of the mission or a hired hitman) had come to make sure he was definitely dead by shooting him full of lead.
But they'd messed up. Owen was alive...but barely just. No one had known what had happened to him, not even their mother, Magdalene. It was a phone call that had alerted Deckard followed by a text picture message. The order had been very clear. Kill Dominic Toretto and his team and be prepared to help Mose Jakande get God's Eye if needed, or there would be a price to pay.
"You've really done it this time," Deckard said to Owen. "You and your knack of getting into shit you can't get out of. I told you to stay away from her. I can't believe you didn't listen to me." He got to his feet, placing the small machine gun into Owen's arms just in case he woke up and their enemy returned for another crack at his life. He turned away, pulling out his phone and finding the photograph he'd been sent. It made his heart twist and his lungs feel as though he'd been sucker punched.
"I don't want to do this," he murmured, running his thumb over the face in the picture. "But I will. For you."
His wife's terrified eyes looked back at him, a gun pressed into her temple; their nine-year-old daughter in her arms with her eyes squeezed shut. He felt the rage flowing in his veins. Nothing else mattered to him in this moment except them. He did his best to even his breathing before speaking out loud again.
"I won't fail you."
