Stephenie Meyer own the Twilight universe. I just love her characters too much to let them go.

Chapter Eighteen

"Goddammit!" I spat, surging after her.

The kid was faster than I expected—too fast. That just pissed me off more. She thought she could outrun me? Outmaneuver me? Over my dead fucking body.

She whipped around a corner and bolted up a staircase, her hand skimming the wall for balance as she skipped steps two at a time. My lungs burned as I followed, muscles screaming at me to quit. But quitting wasn't an option, not with her pulling this shit.

By the time I hit the third floor, I saw her dart toward the Chevelle. She skidded to a stop and fumbled with my keys, scraping the edge of one against the glossy red paint as she tried to stick it in the keyhole, like a damn amateur. I froze for a second, caught between wanting to laugh at her panic and wanting to wring her neck.

Fury won out.

"Un-fucking-believable," I snarled, lunging forward.

The sharp rhythm of my fucking combat boots on the asphalt gave me away, and she spun around, wide-eyed—half fear, half that defiant, screw-you glare. The lock clicked, and she barely got the door open before I slammed into it, forcing it shut with a bone-jarring thud. She yelped, but I didn't give her time to react. My hand shot out, ripping the keys from her grip.

"What the fuck—" I gasped, doubling over for half a second before straightening, fury pushing me upright. "Are you out of your goddamn mind? Jesus Christ—I can't even fucking—" The words came in jagged bursts, raw and sharp, like every syllable was being punched out of me. "You think I'm gonna just fucking—run after you like this?"

"Give me the fucking keys, Edward," she snapped, reaching for them with that same infuriating stubbornness that made me want to tear my hair out.

I jerked my hands behind my back, glaring down at her. "Why? Where are you going?"

She glared right back, her expression practically daring me to keep up this tug-of-war. "Fine," she huffed, throwing her hands up. "Don't give me the keys."

Before I could stop her, she shoved me aside and yanked open the car door. I stood there for a second, in disbelief, as she climbed over the seat, disappearing into the car like a woman possessed. What the hell was she—

Then I saw her dig into the glove box. My stomach dropped.

"Fuck no. Fucking no!" The words ripping out of me like a goddamn growl as I reached for her.

My hands locked around her ankles, yanking her across the slick leather with a squeal that matched the seat's protest. She writhed, twisting and kicking beneath me, but I wasn't letting go—not with that fucking Colt sitting snug in her waistband.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I snapped, flipping her over. My fingers clawed at the handle of the gun, but she kicked at me, her knee slamming into my chest.

"Stop it! Leave it alone!" she screamed, shoving at me with all the strength her stubborn ass could muster.

"No, Goddammit, Bella!" I managed to get my hand on the gun again. She twisted her hips, using her weight to crush my hand against the seat, and a sharp bolt of pain shot through my wrist. I yelled a few curses in frustration and smacked her ass hard enough to make her flinch.

But she didn't quit. Stubborn as hell, she stayed on her stomach, and scrambled over the seats like her life depended on it. Her hands fumbled, then found the passenger door handle, throwing it open with a jarring creak. She was moving too damn fast now, too quick for me to just grab her and haul her back.

"Fuck!" I roared, desperate to beat her to the other side.

By the time I rounded the car, she was half in, half out, the seatbelt snagged tight around her ankle like it was trying to hold her back. She yanked at it with frantic, jerky movements, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Then, with one last furious tug, it gave way, and she flew out of the car, landing hard on the gravel, her palms scraping against the sharp edges as she hit the ground.

She was done. Finally fucking defeated. Relief settled deep in my chest, and for the first time all night, I could actually breathe. My steps slowed, my pulse steadying as I stalked over with an almost lazy ease. Towering over her crumpled form, I shook my head, a smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth.

"You good?" I asked.

She didn't answer, just glared up at me with that unrelenting defiance that made my blood boil and my heart race all at once.

I crouched down, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You want to prove to me you're badass?" I asked, my voice softer now, laced with a dark edge.

She nodded, still breathing hard, her glare unwavering.

Smirking at her cute ass, I slipped the gun from her waistband, holding it up just high enough to stay out of her reach. "Here's the deal," I said, a plan forming on the spot. "You walk into a store, of my choosing, and swipe a sexy little dress for me. Then we'll talk."

I used to think I was smart. Not a genius or anything, but not a total fuck-up either. Then again, I did get busted at twenty-two for carrying a pound of weed like a goddamn idiot. Three years in lockup. Good behavior and a GED got me out in a year and a half. After that, I tried to play it safe. Keep my shit together. Freedom felt better than being someone's bitch in a cell.

But now? Now, I was fucking everything up.

Big fucking time.

If I had half a brain, I would've hauled ass out of Missouri the second I saw Eleazar. Disappear. Ghost the past. But no, I was too goddamn pussy-whipped to think straight. Bella had me by the balls, and I wasn't even mad about it. My girl. My obsession. My fucking religion. If I had a spine, I'd look her in those big brown eyes and tell her, "What I say goes, Bella. Don't like it? Tough shit."

But try saying no to Bella. Just try it. She'd bat those lashes, pout those lips, and before you know it, you're on your knees, handing her the world. Or, in my case, helping her steal a 250,000 fucking Lambo because she needed to pop her "cherry."

Now? Now, that wasn't enough for her. Not cars, not cash. Bella wanted in. She wanted to be my partner in crime. My equal. Ride or die, she said. I just wanted to keep her hands clean. If the shit hit the fan—and it fucking would—I needed her out. Safe. Free. She'd play the victim. Cry about how I kidnapped her and held her hostage. I'd back her story. Do the time. Twenty, fifty, a hundred fucking years—whatever it took. As long as she stayed out of it.

But Bella didn't want out. She wanted blood on her hands, right next to mine.

And fuck me, I was weak for her.

She had this way of trapping me, like an animal backed into a corner. Threatening to do something stupid, something reckless, until I caved. Until I made it happen her way. So I had to get creative. Fast. No half-assed liquor store stick-ups that'd get us both shot. I needed something clean. Quick. Just enough to scratch her fucking itch.

Then Eleazar mentioned my parents. The Ritz-Carlton. Fat stacks of money, just sitting there. The idea hit me like a punch to the face. A visit to my dear old folks. Lighten their wallets. Bella gets her adrenaline fix, and I get a little revenge on the assholes who made me. Two birds, one stupid-fucking stone.

It wasn't a perfect plan. Hell, it wasn't even a good plan. But it was something.

The problem?

Bella.

The easiest way to my parents was through my dad. And the easiest way to him? Bella. Yeah, you heard me. I was using my girlfriend as bait. I hated myself for it, but what the fuck else was I supposed to do?

I stubbed out my smoke just as she strutted out of the department store, heels clicking like a goddamn soundtrack to my doom. She was a fucking vision, chin high, attitude dripping off her like perfume. She blew past me without a glance, her pace sharp and deliberate. I let her go for a second, gave her the illusion of space. She wasn't outrunning me, not in those shoes.

Half a block later, she slowed, realizing no one was following her but me.

I caught up easy, throwing an arm around her neck like I wasn't dragging her into my personal hell. Like I wasn't ready to torch the entire fucking world for her—and burn myself to ash in the process.

"I fucking love those heels," I said, smirking like the asshole I was.

"You should see the dress," she shot back, her voice calm, but her eyes were sharp enough to cut. "Are you gonna tell me why the fuck I just did that? Because it sure as hell didn't prove anything."

I ignored her, grin twisting because I wasn't about to argue. "Did Alice pack any makeup for you?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Yeah," she said slowly, like she already knew she wasn't gonna like where this was going. "It's in my purse. Why?"

I nodded toward a restaurant across the street. "Go get dressed. Do your hair. Do your makeup. I'll tell you when you come back."

Her arms crossed, defiance all over her face. God, she was a pain in the ass. "No. Tell me now."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Fine. You wanna play hardball? Let's play." I grabbed her by the arm and spun her toward the Ritz-Carlton. "That's where my parents are staying. My old man's gonna hit the bar soon, knock back a few drinks. I want you to go in there and seduce him."

She stopped dead, whipping around to face me. "What? No! Why?"

"I want you to get him alone. Lead him to a room. He'll pay for it. Just make him think you're ready to fuck him." I didn't even blink saying it. It was the truth. No point sugarcoating it.

"Are we robbing your father?"

"Yeah." No hesitation. "Think you can do it?"

Bella wavered for a second before answering. "He'll never go for it. What about that guy on the street? What's his name?"

"Eleazar?"

"Yes! That guy. What if he told your dad about seeing you? He'll recognize me."

"Eleazar definitely told him," I said, my voice flat. That little worm couldn't sneeze without my dad's approval. "Doesn't matter. Carlisle probably assumes I've already skipped town. He won't recognize you. My father's a sleazy piece of shit who cheats on the regular. He'll bite."

Her expression was somewhere between disbelief and disgust. "And you think I can actually pull this off?"

I stepped closer, grabbed her chin, forced her to look at me. "I know you can. You're hot. You're young. And he's a dirty old fuck who's gonna jump at the chance. He won't even think twice."

She flinched, her lips curling in something that looked like hatred—for him or me, I wasn't sure. Probably both. And I deserved it. Every goddamn ounce of it.

"So, what? I lead him to a room, and then what? What's your grand fucking plan, Edward?"

I shrugged, keeping my voice calm even though my stomach felt like it was being ripped apart. "Improvise. I'll be right behind you."

Her laugh was sharp and ugly, filled with disbelief. "Improvise? Are you kidding me? What if he tries to kiss me? What if he—"

"It won't get that far," I said, my voice cutting her off like a slap. "I won't let it. You just have to trust me, baby. You trust me, right?"

She stared at me, the fight draining out of her. She looked exhausted. Beaten. "Fine," she said finally, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"Good." I leaned in, kissed her quick and rough, then smacked her ass hard enough to make her jump. "Go get ready. I'll be here."

She walked off, and I lit another cigarette, watching her go, guilt churning in my gut. But guilt didn't fucking matter. Right or wrong didn't matter. All that mattered was Bella. Keeping her safe. Keeping her out of this, even while I dragged her straight into the middle of it.

Footsteps echoed close by. Some couple passed, arm in arm, speeding up like they couldn't get away from me fast enough. Their heads dipped, eyes on the pavement like they'd just remembered something real important down there. I could feel their nerves, the way their shoulders tightened when they saw me. People always kept their distance, and I fucking liked it that way. They clocked me for what I was—dangerous, untouchable. Not a guy you wanted to fuck with.

They weren't wrong.

Leaning back against the wall, I cracked my neck, shifting to kill time while I waited for Bella. She'd been gone ten minutes. Too long. My patience was wearing thin. I pulled out my phone to distract myself. One new text from Alice. Of course.

Edward, PLEASE tell me you and Bella are okay. I'm worried sick. Just say something, anything.

Alice never knew how to turn it off. High-strung, overbearing, but whatever. She cared. Too much. I tapped out a quick reply:

We're fine.

Sent. Done. Back to waiting.

The sharp click-click-click of heels snapped me out of my head. I glanced up, then back at my phone. Then I really looked. Holy fuck.

My head jerked up like I'd been sucker-punched.

Bella was walking toward me, her smirk sharp enough to cut glass. My eyes dragged over her—black mini dress, legs that went on forever, heels that screamed "look but don't fucking touch." Her hair was loose, spilling over her shoulders, daring me to lose my goddamn mind.

I swallowed, throat dry as sandpaper. "Jesus Christ, Bella."

She spun on her heel, slow and deliberate, the dress riding up her thighs just enough to make me forget how to fucking breathe. "How do I look?"

I didn't bother answering. Couldn't. My brain short-circuited. Instead, I grabbed her by the hips and yanked her against me. Fast. Forceful. She laughed, startled but not stopping me, her hands pressing against my chest. I dipped my head down, muttering into her hair, voice low and rough, "You have no fucking idea."

The thought of tearing that dress off her right here, in the middle of the street, hit me hard. My hands tightened on her hips, and she shifted, pressing herself closer. I swore, if we didn't have a job to do, I'd take her somewhere right now and ruin her in every possible way.

But this wasn't the time to lose my head.

I looked over her shoulder, my stomach twisting. Heat burned in my chest, the familiar hatred curling up inside me like smoke. Across the street, there he was—Eleazar. My father's lapdog. The "fixer." Climbing into some beat-to-shit sedan like the pathetic piece of shit he was.

I scoffed, twisting Bella slightly to block her view. "Eleazar's out," I muttered. "Cheap bastard probably stuck him in a Best Western off the freeway. Maybe gave him a twenty for vending machine snacks."

Her smile disappeared. "What does your father look like?" she asked, her tone colder now.

"Blond," I said flatly. "Armani suit. Smug as fuck. You'll know him when you see him."

"Blond?" Her brows shot up. "How old is he?"

"Forty-eight. My parents got married young."

She nodded, shifting her weight. The nerves were gone. Now she looked steady, dangerous. Bella always had this switch she could flip—soft one second, sharp as a fucking knife the next. "Anything else?"

I hesitated, the words clawing their way out of my throat. "He'll proposition you."

Her eyes widened, and for a second, I wanted to punch myself in the face for saying it. But she needed to know. Better she heard it from me than be blindsided by that asshole. "Go in, sit at the bar, order something fruity. He'll show up once my mom's knocked out on her meds. If you leave now, you might beat him there."

She didn't even flinch. Just squared her shoulders and nodded like I'd asked her to run an errand instead of sell her soul. She was tougher than anyone gave her credit for. Tougher than me. "Sounds simple enough. Where will you be?"

"Close," I said, my voice low. "Don't worry, okay? That bastard won't touch you. I fucking promise."

I grabbed her face, kissing her hard, like it was the last time. She melted into me, her hands clutching my arms like they were the only thing holding her up.

When she finally pulled back, her lips were flushed, her breathing unsteady. "You're a beautiful, consuming bastard," she whispered, her eyes locked on mine.

Damn right I was. The effect I had on her—it was addictive. She looked at me like I was everything, and it made me want to burn the fucking world to ashes for her.

Clearing my throat, I forced myself to focus. "Here," I muttered, pulling a few silk ties and stockings out of my pocket and shoving them into her purse.

She blinked at the pile, her mouth hanging open. "What the actual fuck?"

"I grabbed them while you were 'shopping,'" I said, smirking. "No one noticed."

Her eyes narrowed, flicking between me and the stolen lingerie. "Edward…"

I shrugged, brushing her disapproval off like it was nothing. "My father's into kinks. Blindfold him, gag him, tie him up. Keep him busy until I get there."

Her lips twitched, like she was trying not to laugh. "You're so fucked in the head, you know that?"

"I'm well aware," I murmured, the words heavy and tired. "Just… be careful, alright?"

She smirked, tossing her hair over her shoulder like a goddamn queen. "Careful is my middle name."

And then, because she always had to prove me wrong, she stepped into the street without even looking. A car honked, brakes screeched, and she stumbled back, her heels wobbling. My heart fucking stopped.

"Christ, Bella!" I barked, dragging a hand through my hair. She was gonna kill me before this night was over.

She glanced back, looking sheepish. "Starting now, I'm careful."

I groaned, watching her cross the street, her legs wobbling like she was seconds away from snapping an ankle. "Just make it across in one piece, okay? That's all I'm asking."

"Yeah, yeah," she called back, waving me off like it was no big deal.

I didn't move until she was on the other side, safe. My jaw was tight enough to crack my teeth, my chest felt like it was full of fucking lead, and the shame was eating me alive. What kind of man lets the woman he loves walk straight into hell? What kind of weak piece of shit stands by and watches?

I lit a cigarette, dragging hard even though I knew it wouldn't do a damn thing to help. Fucking useless. Just like me. Flicking the cigarette into the gutter, I shoved my hands in my pockets and jogged across the street.

The Ritz-Carlton gleamed like a palace, all marble floors and crystal chandeliers, the kind of place dripping in money and fake smiles. It smelled like expensive perfume and power, the kind of power that crushed people like me. I flipped the hoodie on my head and disappeared into the shadows. No one paid attention to a guy like me. I was as visible as the fucking wallpaper. Which, suited me just fine. I could watch without being bother.

In the corner, right outside the door of the bar, I stood guard. My eyes swept the room as I searched for my girl. Then I saw her. Bella. Sitting there like she owned the place, legs crossed, back straight, the soft glow of the lounge light turning her into something holy.

Holy and fucking dangerous.

That black dress clung to her like it was made for her, and those heels? Jesus Christ. She looked like every man's dream and every man's nightmare rolled into one.

My jaw tightened as I spotted the men at the other end of the bar. A couple of suits, sipping their overpriced scotch, sneaking glances at her like she was on the menu. I wanted to kill them. Rip their fucking eyes out. She wasn't for them. She was mine.

I couldn't do shit about it. She was there for a reason. It was all calculated. Just enough innocence mixed with raw sex appeal to reel my father in.

I knew it.

Hell, I fucking planned it.

But I also knew her. The way her fingers tapped lightly on the bar, the way her chest rose and fell just a little too quick. She was nervous. Scared.

And it was my fault.

I should've ended this. Should've stormed in there, grabbed her by the arm, and dragged her out. Told her to never do this for me. To never risk herself for someone like me.

Because this wasn't just a plan anymore. This was Bella. My Bella. The only goddamn thing in my mess of a life that wasn't broken. And I was throwing her to the wolves.

No, fuck that. I was handing her over. Offering her up to the biggest piece of shit I'd ever met and calling it strategy.

Being a selfish bastard wasn't new for me—it was practically second nature. But this? This was a whole new level of fucked-up. The worst part? There wasn't a chance in hell I was strong enough to stop it.

Stay on course, you little bitch.

Thank fuck, before I had a chance to do something stupid, the bastard showed up.

My father strolled in like he owned the goddamn world, his blond hair perfectly combed, his overpriced suit practically screaming, Look at me—I'm rich, I'm powerful, and I take whatever the fuck I want. My fists clenched so hard I thought I'd break something. That arrogant strut, the smug fucking smirk—it was all so goddamn familiar. No wonder I hated myself half the time. Entitlement? Yeah, I got that from him. The complete inability to give a shit about anyone else? That was his gift to me. First-class prick. Like father, like son.

He spotted her immediately. Of course, he fucking did. How could he not? Bella was a goddamn vision, sitting there like a beacon for every sleazy asshole within a hundred-mile radius. His eyes lit up like he'd just won the lottery, and my stomach twisted, bile clawing its way up my throat.

It only got worse from there.

He slid his hand onto her knee like it belonged there, casual as hell, like she wasn't mine. Like she wasn't the only good fucking thing in my disaster of a life. My entire body locked up, every muscle tight with rage, my heart pounding so loud I could barely hear.

He touched my girl.

The love of my fucked-up, worthless existence. The only reason I still believed there might be something halfway decent in this shitshow of a world. And this bastard thought he could just take her? Like she was up for grabs?

I took a step forward before my brain could stop me. The plan?

Fuck the plan.

But then Bella looked at me.

Just a glance. Her eyes found mine for a fraction of a second, steady and clear. It was enough to stop me dead. She was telling me to back off, to let her handle it. She had this.

I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood, forcing myself back into the shadows. My hands were shaking. Fuck, it was hard.

"Why did you call me that?" I heard him ask, his voice sharp, suspicious. She'd called him "Senator." He wasn't as dumb as he looked—he could smell a setup. But not smart enough to walk away.

Bella smiled, cool as ice, and tapped the stupid campaign pin on his lapel. Calm as hell, like she wasn't about to destroy him. He groaned, ripped the pin off, and tossed it onto the bar like it was the fucking pin's fault for exposing him.

What a joke.

Then he hesitated. His eyes darted around the room, and I could see it—the doubt creeping in. He was thinking about bailing. My chest tightened, my jaw clenching so hard I thought my teeth might shatter. If he walked out, everything we'd worked for would go to shit.

Bella saw it too. She didn't miss a thing.

With a dramatic sigh, she grabbed her purse and slid off the stool, her tone sharp and dismissive. "If you're not interested, I have other places to be."

I almost laughed. Fuck, she was good. Too fucking good.

He fucking stared at her, eyes dragging down her legs like he was measuring her up for a price tag. Fucking asshole. My fists clenched so hard my knuckles cracked. When she turned to leave, I thought maybe—maybe—he'd back off. But no, the dickhead grabbed her arm like he owned her. My vision went red. I wanted to tear his hand off her, slam his face into the nearest wall, and make him regret breathing near her.

"Meet me at the VIP elevators in ten minutes," he said, voice all low and smug like he thought he was in control.

She sat back down, shoulders dropping like the whole thing had sucked the life out of her. She looked done, like she'd been put through the wringer and still had miles to go. I wanted to grab her, drag her out of this bullshit, and tell her to fuck it all. But I couldn't. Not yet.

Then she grabbed that fucking campaign pin and shoved it in her purse, and something shifted. Her back straightened, her face went hard, and she walked toward the elevators like she was about to start a fight. No hesitation, no fear. Just pure fucking determination. It was insane. Even when she drove me up a wall, even when she made me feel like ripping my own skin off, she was still everything.

I stayed back, watching like some kind of stalker while she met my father at the VIP elevators. He swiped his card, all casual power play, and the doors opened with that stupid ding that made my teeth grind. She stepped in without even looking back, and the doors closed.

That was it. I fucking lost it. I bolted down the hall, adrenaline pumping so hard it felt like my chest might explode. I wasn't thinking anymore—just moving, chasing. I needed to know where they were going, what the fuck he thought he was doing with her. My head was a mess, every step pounding out the rage, jealousy, and straight-up madness she made me feel. She had me so twisted up I didn't even care if it made sense. All I knew was that she was mine, and I wasn't fucking letting anyone forget it.

I skidded to a stop at the elevator panel, my chest heaving as I watched the fucking numbers light up. First floor. Second floor. Third floor. Third fucking floor. Jesus Christ. Cheap-ass motherfucker. Of course, he wasn't wasting decent rooms on someone he probably thought was just another notch on his dickhead tally.

I spun and slammed through the stairwell door, the bang echoing down the concrete walls. My boots pounded against the stairs, two at a time, my lungs burning like hell, but I didn't stop. Couldn't stop. I had to see where he was taking her. Had to know what the fuck was going on behind that smug smile of his.

By the time I hit the third floor, I was barely holding it together. The hallway stretched out in both directions, quiet as a fucking morgue except for the shitty buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead. My eyes darted everywhere, searching like a goddamn lunatic until I finally spotted him.

There he was.

That arrogant prick, walking like he fucking owned the place, with Bella right behind him. She was trying to look cool, trying to hold her head high like she wasn't completely out of her element, but I could see the tension in her shoulders. She was on edge, and my blood boiled at the sight of her following him like that.

I ducked around the corner, breathing hard, my fists clenched so tight my knuckles popped. I wanted to storm down that hall and smash his face into the nearest wall, but I knew better. I wasn't gonna blow this by acting stupid. Not yet.

He stopped at a door at the end of the hall, pulled out his key card, and swiped it like the cocky son of a bitch he is. The door beeped, and then he fucking laughed. This low, smug sound that made my skin crawl. He held the door open for her like he was some kind of gentleman. Bella glanced back for half a second—just a flick of her eyes, searching for me—but then she stepped inside.

The door clicked shut, and I froze. My vision blurred with rage. She was in there. With him. My fucking father. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to kick that door down and drag her out of there, but I couldn't move. Couldn't think. My hands shook as I pressed them into my face, trying to keep the rage from boiling over and ruining everything.

I was pacing like a goddamn lunatic, boots scraping the carpet as I tried not to completely lose my shit. Then I saw it.

The fucking housekeeping cart.

Two doors down, parked right outside some open room. Towels, cleaning supplies, and there it was, right on top, like a fucking neon sign—a master key card.

The key card sat there like a goddamn miracle, practically daring me to take it. My heart pounded so hard it felt like my ribs might shatter. Was this real? Was the universe actually cutting me some fucking slack for once?

A quick glance around the hallway confirmed it—empty. The faint sound of the housekeeper's voice drifted from the open room, some humming or mumbling nonsense. She wasn't paying attention. My window of opportunity was closing.

"Fuck this."

Darting for the cart, my hands shook so bad I almost dropped the damn thing, but adrenaline kept me steady. The card was in my grip, and I bolted back to the shadows, slamming my back against the cold stairwell door.

Get your shit together, Cullen. Bella's in there. Our girl. You can't fuck this up now.

A deep breath didn't do much to calm the storm, but it was enough to keep me moving. Peeking down the hall, everything stayed quiet. The housekeeper stayed in her oblivious little bubble, blissfully unaware.

The card edges dug into my palm as I tightened my grip. Room 3032 loomed ahead, the door where my father had dragged Bella less than a minute ago.

Time's up, asshole.

The card slid into the lock, and the small green light flashed. A soft beep sounded, sharp and clear in the tense silence. The door opened just wide enough for me to slip inside. The click as it closed behind me felt loud as a goddamn gunshot.

The room was dark as hell. I could barely see shit except the bed and the shapes on it.

My blood went cold.

It was them. Him. And her.

I moved closer, slow as fuck, every step making me want to scream. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like my ribs were going to fucking shatter. The Colt was in my hand before I even realized I'd grabbed it, my fingers locked around the grip so tight it felt like the metal might crack.

And then I saw him.

That son of a bitch was on top of her. His weight pinning her to the bed, her body still as a goddamn corpse. I couldn't see her face. Couldn't hear her breathing.

Did he fucking kill her?

My father. That piece-of-shit bastard. Did he take the only thing in this world that mattered?

Every nerve in my body was screaming at me to rush him, to rip him off her and blow his fucking head off. But something stopped me. Don't ask me what. Instinct, maybe.

So I fucking waited.

His filthy hands moved, slow and deliberate, pushing her dress higher and higher, exposing her inch by inch. My stomach twisted into knots. Every breath burned like fire in my throat. Hatred boiled over, mixing with jealousy until I could barely fucking think straight.

I wanted to kill him. I wanted to unload every goddamn bullet into his head and leave him a fucking smear on the walls.

But then I saw Bella.

She was breathing. Thank fuck. She was alive. But something was off. She wasn't fighting. Wasn't screaming. She was too fucking calm.

Like a goddamn predator.

And then the bastard froze. His filthy fucking hands stopped moving, his whole body going stiff like he'd just realized he'd fucked up.

I saw why.

Her tattoo.

My name.

Bold as shit, inked on her skin for the whole goddamn world to see.

His head tilted, slow and stupid, like the gears in his tiny brain were finally starting to turn. And then it hit him. I saw it all over his face—confusion, rage, and that pathetic flicker of betrayal. Like he thought he was the fucking victim here. What a goddamn joke.

Bella didn't flinch. Didn't blink. She stared him down like he was nothing.

"Yeah," she said, her voice cold as steel. "You know exactly what this is."

Then she moved. Fast as hell. One second, he was on top of her, the smug bastard thinking he had the upper hand. The next, he was flat on his ass.

And there she was, on her knees, the Glock steady as a rock in her hand, aimed dead center at his forehead.

My chest burned with pride—raw, primal, unfiltered pride. That was my girl. Not just surviving. Owning the goddamn room. Taking it by the throat and making it hers.

But watching wasn't enough. Not for me.

Something cold and sharp settled in my chest, cutting through the rage like a scalpel. My hands stopped shaking. My breathing slowed. Every chaotic, wild thought in my head funneled into one single, clear focus: finish it.

The Colt felt perfect in my hand, like it had been made for this moment. My feet moved without a second thought, carrying me closer, silent and deliberate.

He didn't even notice. He was too busy staring down Bella's Glock, his face a twisted mix of shock and panic. The kind of face someone makes when they finally realize they're not the one in control. He couldn't fucking believe she'd outplayed him.

"Is he here?" he stammered, his voice cracking like the pathetic coward he was.

That's when I slammed the barrel of the Colt into the back of his skull. Hard. Not soft. Not careful. Hard enough to shove his head forward, his chin snapping down like a broken puppet.

"Hey, pops," I said, my voice low, steady, and dripping with hate. "Miss me?"

Thanks for reading.