In His Keeping (Slow Burn #2)

Without knowing whether Beau was alive, she had to operate under the assumption he was so she made the right choices. This was no time to allow emotion to interfere with cold logic and what she knew to be absolutely true.

This man would order her mother’s death and suffer not one iota of remorse. And God only knew what they’d then do to her father when they no longer had her mother to force her compliance with.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” she said with calm she had no idea could be summoned in a situation that would normally have her paralyzed with fear, helpless to do anything but be some damn shrinking violet.

Fuck violets. She’d never liked them anyway. And the use of the F-word just strengthened her resolve to be the warrior Beau was. The warrior her parents needed. The warrior she must become.

Hardening herself for the ordeal ahead so she wouldn’t be incapacitated afterward would be the toughest test of her endurance yet. Beau wasn’t here to pick up the pieces, to coddle and comfort her.

But for her parents. For herself. For Beau. She could and would endure. And God help them all when she finally unleashed the full fury of her powers. Her gift. One, that for the first time in her life, she was grateful for and that she wholly embraced.





THIRTY-ONE

GAVIN Rochester flinched when he heard the telltale sound of the door leading into the hallway where the cells were aligned open. Then the thump of booted feet. More than one set.

His entire body was still on fire, but this time . . . he’d kill the bastards with his bare hands. Rip out their spinal cords and force them down their throats.

They’d put their filthy hands on his wife. They’d made her bleed. Worse, they’d terrified her, and he’d been rendered incapable of stopping any of it. He’d been stripped of power. Any decisions or choices. Not since he was a child eking out a living in squalor had he had his choices taken away and no say-so in his future.

Since the day he’d killed the monster—his sperm donor, because he would not give such a man the honor or respect of ever naming him father, biological or not—he’d taken control of his own destiny. His mother, too far gone into the murky world of drugs and addiction, had been grateful to Gavin for ridding them of the man who abused them both. Grateful, for fuck’s sake. A polite thank-you rendered unemotionally as though she were thanking a stranger for a small act of kindness.

When he’d begged her to leave with him. To seek out better. A better life. A better existence, panic had swirled in her eyes, and he knew the source of her panic was being cut off from her drug supply, something more precious than even her own child.

After that, Gavin had left his old life behind. Every single aspect of it. Not even Ginger knew the whole of it. Only that his parents had been the worst sort of people. People who should have never been allowed to procreate. But he’d never confessed to her that he’d killed his own father in cold blood.

She knew much about his past. Knew he was steeped in gray and that he’d crossed a lot of lines, or blurred them at the very least. But she didn’t know he was a murderer, and until now, until that little selfish, spoiled rich brat bastard had gone after his daughter, until a man had drawn his wife’s blood, he’d never considered descending into the world of cold-blooded killing again.

But now he craved it with every part of his heart and soul. He burned with rage and the need to shed the blood of the men who’d made his wife and daughter—the two people he loved most in the world, the only people he loved—hurt and afraid.

He knew the point had come when he had to act. Had to take a calculated risk and escape as quickly as possible. Because God, somewhere out there, scared and alone, was his precious daughter. Who likely thought her mother and father had simply abandoned her. At a time when she needed them the most.

He couldn’t even think about what circumstances Ari might presently be in without going insane. He had to focus on only what he could control. His and his beloved wife’s escape so they could see to their daughter. And when this was over, he was moving his family as far away as possible. Never to return here. Complete identity changes. Completely new lives. In a place where he could be certain they’d never be touched by violence again. He should have never returned to the States. But it was useless to indulge in regret for actions already taken. But he could ensure he never made the same mistake again.

When Ginger cried out, Gavin soared to his feet, his head coming up, searching for what threat was posed, what had made his wife cry out in anguish. But no one was even in the cell at this moment and yet Ginger’s face was writhing with pain, stress and fear radiating from her in tangible waves. He could feel her utter panic, see her body tremble in extreme agitation.