Blade turned and glared at King. “I don’t know what the fuck you were thinking, Prez, but I’m standing with Ryder when he demands penance in the ring.”
“Me too,” Jackass growled, arms crossed over his chest.
Minutes crawled by, each tick of a clock a hammer blow against the suffocating silence. Then Ryder reappeared, his grim face a prelude to the scene unfolding. Ellie followed, a storm brewing behind her eyes, Tabby’s weight against her chest, the child’s eyes wide as she looked around the room.
The air itself seemed to hold its breath as Ellie, her movements precise and deliberate as a surgeon’s, set the small girl on her feet. The little girl walked toward King, a broken figure hunched over, his shoulders sagging with the weight of what he’d done.
The child’s small hand, clutching her worn, threadbare teddy bear, reached out.
“Teddy?” Her innocent voice, soft, cut through the oppressive stillness of the room like a shard of glass.
King’s head snapped up, his eyes, bloodshot and hollow, met hers. A tremor ran through his frame as he accepted the bear, its coarse fur a stark contrast to his trembling fingers. A choked, barely audible “Thank you, Tabby” was the only sound that escaped his lips.
His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken regret.
Ryder, a man carved from granite, wasted no time. He scooped his daughter into the air, her small body disappearing into the protective embrace of his arms. The sound of their retreating footsteps was a merciful reprieve before Ellie turned, the rage radiating from her like heat from a furnace. Her eyes, glacial pools of fury, locked onto King’s.
“Look at me,” she commanded in a low growl.
King, his face etched with shame, flinched but obeyed.
Then, with a speed that belied her controlled fury, Ellie’s hand lashed out. The sharp crack of her palm against his cheek echoed in the stunned silence. The scent of his own fear, sharp and acrid, filled his nostrils as King recoiled under the weight of her contempt.
She didn’t linger.
With her head held high, an image of quiet, seething power, Ellie strode out of the church, leaving behind a wreckage of shattered pride and broken trust. The silence that followed was absolute, a void deeper than any words could ever express only to be shattered by the sharp tongue of another pissed off woman.
I watched as King’s head snapped up right before he jumped to his feet as Jingles dragged Grace into church, kicking and screaming. “Get your fucking hands off me before I cut your fucking balls off!”
“Let her go,” King snarled, the low rumble vibrating from his chest like a tectonic shift that had brothers moving away from the man. We all watched as King moved with the predatory grace of a panther, a coiled spring of barely contained rage, towards the woman whose fury crackled in the air like static electricity. Her hand, a blur of motion, lashed out—a claw aimed at the president’s throat. But King was faster. His fingers, calloused and strong, clamped around her jaw, tilting her face up before his mouth descended. This wasn’t just any kiss; it was a conquest. A desperate, feverish claim, burning with the intensity of a thousand suns, stealing her breath, stealing her anger, leaving her trembling in his grasp.
“Pay up, you worms!” Jackass’ raspy chuckle, a sound like gravel grinding on bone, sliced through the air. The groans of the brothers, a symphony of reluctant compliance—vibrated through the dusty floorboards.
King, his face a mask of smug triumph, released the woman. His smile, a wicked twist of his lips, was a prelude to the explosion of agony that followed. The air crackled with anticipation, a tangible tension that prickled every skin.
Then Grace moved. A blur of fury, a whirlwind of righteous rage. The sharp crack of bone on bone echoed in the stunned silence, a sound that ripped through the sanctimonious hush of the church like a gunshot. The collective gasp of the men, a guttural wave of pain, was almost deafening. Their hands, desperate, scrambled to shield their own vulnerable flesh as the sheer force of Grace’s knee sent King sprawling.
He landed on his knees, a broken puppet at the foot of his own arrogance. Before he could even register the searing pain, Grace’s fist connected with his jaw, a brutal right hook that sent him reeling. The force of the blow resonated through the church, shaking the very foundations.
“YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!” she shrieked, her voice raw with fury, each syllable a venomous barb. The fury in her eyes was as real as the searing pain in King’s broken body. Her rage was the fire that burned away any doubt that she ever wanted anything to do with him.
She spun on her heel, a whirlwind of righteous indignation, leaving King clutching at his balls, a picture of abject humiliation. A heavy silence descended, punctuated only by the ragged gasps for air from the men and King’s low, guttural groan that echoed through the stillness of the room.
“Damn it all to hell,” Jackass groaned, his voice laced with frustration as he gave back the brothers’ money he’d collected.
“I’m sorry for interrupting.”
“Princess.” Ghost quickly got to his feet. “Now isreallynot a good time.”
“I know, but this can’t wait.”
“What is it, Mellie?” Gunner asked as he and Cash helped King to his seat. I really felt for the man. He was batting two for two. It took a lot to piss off Ellie and apparently King pushed the right button with Grace. The level of anger in those two women was unprecedented, even considering my mom’s and Stella’s notoriously volatile dispositions.
Turning to face me, Melissa said, “You need to finish this, Danny.”
Confused, I looked at the woman. “I am trying to.”
Melissa shook her head. “No. I mean, end it for good. Dante needs Sypher now. You know I’m speaking the truth. It’s the only way.”
