Shattered Dynasty

There’s no way I’ll get my hands or feet free before she gets down here.

But this time, when my sister steps into the basement, regardless of my tied hands, I intend to charge her.

I would rather die this way than see what Brad has in store for me. He’s a monster. They both are.

As Erin walks closer, I wait until she’s within range before I jump off the couch and plow my body into hers.

It’s one swift hop.

I can’t manage more with the way my ankles are bound together.

Erin is taken off guard.

She falls to the floor, yelling when her arm hits the floor at a weird angle. “You fucking bitch!”

She’s howling, calling out, cursing me, and fighting back.

I don’t care.

She’s no longer my sister. She doesn’t deserve mercy from me.

I jump on top of her. I still haven’t gotten my hands free, but I use the fall to my advantage and hit her on the head, repeatedly, with my tied hands that are now clenched together to form a fist.

I’m kneeling on top of her stomach with all my weight. It’s brutal, and her dominant hand is too broken to lift and block my blows. She fights back with her left arm, but this is a fight I refuse to lose.

My knuckles burn. My wrists feel like they are being torn apart, but I keep going. I keep thrashing. I keep hitting.

I go for every inch of her flesh I can make contact with.

I do anything to stop her, to help myself, to escape so I can tell Trent I love him.

Erin wrestles against me.

Muscles flex, bodies collide.

Neither of us is willing to give up.

Her unbroken hand tries to grab at my bicep, but I never stop pounding her with my tied fists.

I only stop when her blood seeps onto my fingers.

It comes from her face, escaping in slow drips.

She’s not dead, but I knocked her out.

Now I just need to get out of this house.

Using the knife she dropped when I charged her, I cut the rope around my ankles first, then put it between my legs for leverage and jimmy at the binds around my hands.

When they are loose enough, I break free and rub at my red wrists.

Then I run.

I take the stairs two at a time and am almost out the front door when I hear the click of a gun cocking.

“Not so fast.”

I turn.

Brad is here.

50

Trent

* * *

I waste no time getting to Erin’s house.

As soon as Jax gave me the address, I was in my car on the phone with the police.

They weren’t as eager to help me, seeing as I had no way to tell them whether she was in the house or not.

That’s when I called Lorenzo.

I don’t know what I’m walking into, so I need to be prepared, and having an army of men is the best way to do that.

The drive feels like it takes forever. But Jax fires off directions through the car speakers as I race to get there.

Throwing the car in park, I hang up and head toward the house.

I’m supposed to wait for my backup.

But if Payton is in there, she might not have enough time.

Then I hear her, and I know I don’t have the time to wait.

I bust open the door and charge.

I allow the full weight of my body to collide with Brad’s, knocking us both over. The sound of the gun falling to the floor echoes around us. His shock wears off as soon as it clatters to the hardwood.

We start to struggle for it.

I throw the first punch.

He throws the second.

Blood sprays all around us.

Payton moves across the room, her hand stretching out to grab the gun.

Brad’s hands loop around her ankle. He pulls her back out of range of the gun.

She hits the floor with a thud, and I want to make sure she is okay, but I don’t have enough time.

Brad is back on me, heavy, tall, and built like a tank.

He moves to grab my head, an attempt to kill me, I’m sure.

But I’m too fast.

I head-butt him, knock him off me, and charge for the gun.

I can feel the metal in my hand. Brad shakes his head, bringing himself back to the present, and charges me.

I only have a second to move.

A second to think . . .

And I don’t.

I just lift my hand, and the gun goes off.

Brad’s body slumps to the floor. Payton is lying on the rug, not moving. I drop beside her in a second, leaning over her and pressing my fingers to her neck, searching desperately for a pulse.

“Please wake up, princess,” I beg.

I plead.

I cry.

“I can’t do this without you, Payton.” I chant her name against her temple. “I don’t want to be without you. Please. I love you.”

“You do?” she whispers.