Chapter 214
King
I shove War back with a palm to his chest. "Stop. This is what he wants."
War grits his teeth, his eyes still fixed on Silas. But he steps back.
Just enough.
I grab Silas by the collar and rip him up from the chair, slamming him face-first onto the desk.
One hand pins the nape of his neck. The other reaches down.
He struggles. Pathetic, twitchy movements—but he's got no strength left.
I kick his legs apart and yank his pants down in one hard pull.
I glance over my shoulder at War, deadpan.
"Wanna do the honors?"
He shrugs, his mouth twitching into something half between a grin and a snarl.
"You know what—fuck it."
I step aside.
He grabs a pair of gloves.
Then picks up the severed piece.
Pressing down on Silas's lower back, he whispers low in his ear, "Don't worry, it isn't a random dick. It's family."
Then he shoves it in.
Silas screams—high, strangled, inhuman.
His body bucks, trying to escape, but I shove him back down.
"Stay still," I growl. "You're getting exactly what you deserve."
The screams rise. Break. Collapse.
I spot the earpiece still jammed in his ear.
Good.
Let the last of his men hear what a bitch their boss really is.
War leans over, his voice jagged with fury. "This is what you wanted her to sound like, right? When you thought I was part of your little rape party?"
Silas doesn't answer.
Just screams louder.
War laughs darkly. "Well, it's your turn now."
After what feels like hours—both War and I enjoying every single fucking second of it—War finally pulls back, leaving the severed dick jammed inside him like a trophy.
Silas is sobbing now—broken noises leaking from his throat as he writhes on the desk, red-faced, shaking, stripped of everything but pain and shame.
I yank the cock free and shove it back into his mouth.
Before he can spit it out, I tear a shred from his blood-soaked shirt and tie it around his jaw like a muzzle.
An image flashes in my mind: Alyssa gagged and restrained just like this. Forcefully having sex with War in front of a bunch of sick fuckers while she wondered if we were actually coming to save her or not.
Fuck.
My hands shake with rage as I slam Silas back into the chair.
Then I walk around the desk, grabbing two lighters and a small metal container.
The sharp sting of gasoline floods the air the second I unscrew the lid.
Silas smells it too.
His good eye flares with pure panic.
"Playtime's over," I mutter. "I've got a family waiting downstairs for me—unlike you. Your son's dead, and your wife...well, I hope you're forced to watch her fuck someone else while you're in hell."
I tilt the tin. Let the fuel pour—slow, steady—soaking his saggy, two-inch punisher.
It splashes over the torn skin around his ass and thighs.
He shrieks—twitching like he just got hit with a live wire.
"Damn," War mutters. "That's gotta sting a little."
I snort. Yeah. Just a little.
After dousing the rest over Silas's head and chest, I flick my lighter.
Then I hand the other to War and he does the same.
He glances at me, amusement glinting in his eyes. "On three?"
Silas sobs and gags louder, shaking his head.
"One," I say.
War smirks. "Two."
I look at Silas one last time, burning the sight of our revenge into my memory.
"Three," we say in unison.
Burn in hell, motherfucker.
We drop the lighters.
Woosh.
Flames explode across his body, devouring the gas-soaked flesh in an instant. His muffled screams increase, higher than anything we've heard from him yet.
The fire leaps higher within seconds, licking the walls.
Paint bubbles. Smoke mushrooms toward the ceiling.
"Shit," I mutter, already moving. "We need to go. Now."
War throws one last glare at the burning corpse. Then he's at my side, both of us charging out the door as smoke chases us out into the hall.
I shove it shut behind us, locking the fire inside—for now.
But the air's already thickening. Black smoke curls under the frame. The hallway groans as if it's dying too.
"Stairs," War growls.
We sprint toward the corridor—boots slamming against the ground, smoke hot on our heels—then hit the stairwell.
By the time we hit the first landing, the windows glow orange.
By the time we reach the ground floor, the whole north wing is engulfed in fire.
And Silas?
He's still up there.
Burning.
Like he should've been a long fucking time ago.
As we push past the front doors I'd broken earlier, the cold night slams into us, fresh air cutting through the smoke that clings to our clothes.
War bursts out laughing. His eyes gleam like he just got off a damn rollercoaster.
"Holy shit," he pants. "You are one scary, crazy motherfucker. That was straight nightmare fuel...but I loved every second of it. We should hang out again—less dick-stuff next time, though."
I smirk, shaking my head as the adrenaline starts to wear off. "Deal."
I tap my earpiece. "Prez, Silas is dead."
"Copy that," he replies, sounding out of breath. "We'll finish the sweep. All survivors are already loaded and being taken to the safehouse. Your mother's with them."
Good. Glad she's still alive.
I grunt into the mike. "Copy. We'll meet you back at the clubhouse."
By the end of the night, this house will be burned to the ground.
It doesn't take us long to find the others.
Some of our team pass us carrying gallon jugs toward the house, nodding grimly.
Others are scattered across the lawn, tending to each other's injuries or taking a break after a long night of bullshit.
We lost brothers tonight.
That grief will hit tomorrow. When the smoke clears.
But for now, we handle the cleanup. Get out before the cops show.
Niko and Mason are sitting on the bumper of the Charger, Alyssa placed between them. A blanket's wrapped around her shoulders. Their hands grip hers like they're afraid she might slip away.
They all look up as we approach, relief flickering across their faces.
Alyssa's eyes are still haunted—but fierce.
Alive.
She gets up to meet me.
But two steps in, she collapses.
"Fuck—Alyssa!" I'm already sprinting, hitting my knees hard as I catch her just before her skull cracks against the pavement.
Her body curls in on itself, her hands clutching her belly like she's trying to hold something in.
"What's wrong, kitten?" My voice is raw. I scan her body, searching for blood, wounds—anything.
Her eyes flutter. "My stomach...it hurts—" Her voice is barely a whisper. "Something's wrong. King—something's wrong with the babies..."
My heart crashes like a fist through glass.
No.
She sucks in air, but it doesn't stick. Her whole body trembles.
"Fuck," I mutter, brushing the hair from her face. "Breathe, kitten. Come on. Just breathe for me."
War drops beside us, tense. "What the fuck happened?"
Niko's already dialing. "I don't fucking know, but I'm calling Dr. Meadows."
"Summers," Mason corrects under his breath, stroking her cheek.
Niko scowls. "Whatever. I knew it was something girly."
He steps away, his voice urgent and sharp as he speaks into the phone, his eyes never leaving Alyssa.
She looks up at me. And in her face—I see it.
Pain. Terror. Grief.
"It's happening again," she chokes out, her lips trembling. "I-I'm losing them, King."
My chest tightens. Hard.
Like the air just disappeared from the fucking world.
"No, you're not," I tell her, cradling her closer. "I kept my promise. We're safe now. That means you are too. I didn't burn that sick fucker alive just to lose you or our kids."
But she doesn't respond, the tears continuing to fall.
Silent. Endless.
"We need to move," War snaps, already throwing open the car's back door.
I scoop her up—blanket and all—and slide into the backseat, her head tucked beneath my chin.
Mason climbs in beside me, his arm already around her, anchoring her against me.
War peels out.
Niko shouts something into the phone I can't hear over the blood pounding in my ears.
I look down at her—pale, trembling, her tears soaking my shirt.
"Hang in there, kitten," I whisper, kissing her temple. "We're almost there. We're gonna get you help. You and our babies are gonna be okay."
But in the back of my mind, I know the truth.
This isn't something I can stab.
Or shoot.
Or burn to the ground.
And for the first time tonight, I feel absolutely fucking helpless.