Journey (Soulless Kings MC: Marble Falls, TX #2)

30. Wren

CHAPTER 30

WREN

Why?

“None of them are answering their damn phones.”

I’ve managed to make my way downstairs, but now I’m stuck in the coat closet with the damn curtain rods leaning against the wall. I have to time my attack just right, or I won’t be able to take all three of them out.

“They should’ve been back by now with Stone,” Jester snaps. “Dirty Boy, I need you to go?—”

“Wren!”

Journey?

“Who the fuck is that?” Jester demands just as the front door crashes open and gunfire erupts.

My knees buckle, and I slide to the floor. I glance around at my surroundings and recognize them as a closet I would hide in sometimes when I was a little girl, but I have no memory of how I got here. The last thing I remember is being on the side of the road after Journey was knocked unconscious.

Silence fills the air, and it hits me that the gunfire has stopped. I’m too afraid to move, so I remain still and wait for some indication that I’m alone.

“Wren, sweetheart, where are you?”

“Journey?” I ask quietly. “Journey, is that you?”

The closet door opens, and light filters in. Journey blocks most of it with his giant frame, and he looks like an avenging angel as he reaches for my hand.

“Come here,” he says, pulling me to my feet. I throw myself at him, and he lifts me off the floor. “Are you okay?”

I nod against his chest. “Yeah. I am now.”

“Are you sure? Because I can kill ‘em again if they hurt you.”

Leaning to the side, I spot my captors on the floor, blood leaking from holes in their heads.

“One of them slapped me, I think,” I admit. “I don’t remember it, but my face is sore like I’ve been hit.”

He pushes me away from him without taking his hands off my arms so he can look at my face. “Motherfuckers,” he mutters as he lifts his gun and shoots all three of them in the crotch.

“What was that for?” I ask, curious.

Journey shrugs. “Made me feel better.”

I can’t help but laugh at the matter-of-fact way he says that. “There were six of them, weren’t there?”

“Yep. We got them, too,” he informs me. “And your dad is back at the clubhouse.”

I stiffen. “Why?”

“Because one bullet to the head is too good for him.” He smirks. “Bastard already has a few in his legs, but he’s breathing.”

“Do I have to see him?”

“Not if you don’t want to. But Crow’s cool with it if you wanna join in on the fun. After all the man put you through, you deserve some justice.”

“Can I decide when we get there?”

“Absolutely.”

Facing my father is all I can think about on the ride to the clubhouse, and all too soon, I have to make up my mind.

“What’s it gonna be, Wren?” Journey asks as he leads me down the hallway to a steel door. “You can stay up here or come down with me and face your demons.”

“What if I switch in the middle of it?”

“Then you do. All I ask is that it’s Aaron who comes out,” Journey teases. “Dude could help fuck some shit up, I think.”

I smack him playfully, knowing he’s only kidding around. I’ve learned to joke about my alters when the mood needs a little lightening.

I think about it for a minute longer before nodding. “I’m in.”

Journey presses a kiss to my lips and then leads me through the door and down a set of concrete stairs. We stop in front of a monitor, and when I see my father strung up by chains attached to the ceiling, I gasp.

“This is the last chance to change your mind,” Journey informs me. “It’s not gonna be pretty in there.”

I square my shoulders. “It wasn’t pretty when he murdered my mom and baby brother. If I survived that, I can survive this.”

“Damn right.”

He grabs my hand as he hits a button on the wall, and a door slides open, revealing the Nightmare Room. I’ve heard stories about it, but seeing it in person is more exciting than I anticipated.

“I shoulda known,” my father snaps, blood seeping from a cut on his lip.

His prison jumpsuit is stained red from several wounds on his legs, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s also black thread where he was stitched up right through his clothes.

“Jackyl did a pretty good job,” Journey comments.

“What was the point of fixing him up?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Have you ever had stitches without anesthetic?”

“No.”

“Trust me, it wasn’t a walk in the park.”

“Just do whatever it is you’re gonna do,” my father snaps. “Let’s get this over with.”

“I don’t fucking think so,” I bite out, closing the distance between us.

I wait for the voices to start yapping, for the fear to make me tremble, but neither happen. I glance over my shoulder at Journey, and he gives me a reassuring smile.

“You’ve got this,” he says.

“Fucking pussy,” Dad accuses. “Letting a bitch do a man’s job.”

Without giving it a second thought, I haul my arm back and thrust a punch to his gut. He groans, and his body sways as his feet barely touch the floor.

“I’ve got one question for you, Stone.”

“And what would that be?”

“Why?” I ask. “Why’d you kill them that night?”

“You really wanna know?” I nod, and he sneers. “Because I could. I’d just formed Wingless Angels MC, and a wife and kids were only gonna hold me back. You were supposed to die that night, too, but some nosy neighbor called the five-oh when they heard screaming.”

“You could’ve left Ryan alone!” I shout, an image of my baby brother popping into my head. I wish I could remember him with a smile on his face, but the only image my brain has held onto is the one of him under a blanket on the living room floor, blood pooled around his tiny body. “Did you know I thought he was my doll?” I ask. “When the police officer carried me out of the house, I looked over his shoulder and saw Mom. And then I saw Ryan, only I thought he was one of my baby dolls.”

“He was as useless as a doll.”

I take a deep breath, then another, and another. “He was a child,” I seethe. “We both were!”

“Wren?” I whirl around at Journey’s voice. “Here,” he says as he thrusts a long double-edged knife at me.

I shake my head. “Got a hammer?”

Journey twists to grab a hammer off the wall and then hands it to me. “Will that work?”

“Perfect.” I look at my father with disgust. “You’re gonna feel what they felt.”

“You’re forgetting one thing, Wren,” he taunts.

“What’s that?”

“I don’t fear death. Do your worst because at the end?—”

His head falls to the side the moment the hammer connects with his skull. A sickening crack echos in the space, and blood spurts from the contact, covering me. I swing at him again and again, taking out years of fury and fear.

“You can’t hurt me,” I cry, tears streaming down my cheeks as I bludgeon every inch of his swinging body. “Not anymore, you sick fuck.”

I don’t know how many times I hit him, but my arms start to weaken, and my blows become less frequent.

“He’s dead, Wren,” Journey says from behind me.

Still, I don’t stop.

After another minute or two, arms wrap around me, and I’m pulled back against Journey’s chest.

“He’s dead,” he repeats. “You’re free, sweetheart.”

“Free,” I mutter. “I’ll never be free. I’ll always have reminders of what he did thanks to my fucking brain.”

“Maybe,” Journey admits. “But you did all that without switching. Same thing at the prison. Maybe, together, we can work on resolving your alters. And if not, so be it. I love you, every single part of you, and you’re free to be whoever it is you are with me.”

Slowly, I turn around and lift my eyes to his. “You love me?”

“I’ve loved you from the second I spotted you at Ballinger’s.”

“I…” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I love you, too.”