Chapter 7 - THE STITCHED RABBIT
Camille froze. The color drained from her face as she stared at her father.
“Dad?” she whispered, her grip on Rosie loosening.
“Drop the gun, Camille,” Patrick said, his voice heavy with disgust. “And step away from the child.”
Arthur reached for his waist, but I stepped out from behind the crates, firing a single shot that shattered his kneecap.
Arthur screamed, collapsing onto the concrete floor, clutching his bleeding leg.
“Don’t move,” I commanded, keeping my gun locked on him.
Camille looked wildly between me and her father. “Dad, you don’t understand! Roman was going to ruin us! He was weak!”
“The only weakness I see is a woman who needs to threaten a five-year-old girl to feel powerful,” Patrick said, stepping closer. “You sold out our family to the cartel. You conspired to murder a mother, and now you’re trying to murder her children.”
“I did it for the legacy!” Camille shrieked, raising her gun.
She didn’t aim it at me. She aimed it at Jack.
“If I can’t have the empire, neither can he!”
Time slowed down.
I saw Camille’s finger tighten on the trigger. I saw Jack squeeze his eyes shut.
But I was too far away to reach her.
Suddenly, Naomi, bleeding and tied to the chair, threw her entire body weight sideways. The chair tipped over with a crash, slamming directly into Camille’s knees.
Camille stumbled. The gun went off, the bullet sparking harmlessly against the concrete ceiling.
I fired.
The bullet struck the gun in Camille’s hand, shattering the metal and tearing through her palm. She screamed, dropping the ruined weapon, falling to her knees in agony.
I didn’t look at her. I sprinted to the pillar, pulling a knife from my pocket and slicing through the thick zip-ties binding my children.
Jack fell forward into my arms, sobbing uncontrollably. I grabbed Rosie, burying her face in my neck.
“I’ve got you,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I’ve got you. It’s over.”
Patrick’s men swarmed into the warehouse. They hauled Arthur up by his collar, dragging him toward Patrick’s car.
Camille sat on the floor, cradling her bleeding hand, looking up at her father with tear-filled, pleading eyes.
“Daddy, please,” she whimpered.
Patrick looked down at her. His face was a mask of pure stone.
“You are no longer a Sloane,” Patrick said quietly. “You are nothing to me.”
He turned his back on her and walked away.
I knelt beside Naomi, cutting her free. She groaned, holding her head, but managed a faint smile when she saw the kids were safe.
I stood up, holding Rosie in one arm, keeping Jack tucked against my side. I walked over to Camille.
She looked up at me, terrified.
I didn’t yell. I didn’t hit her.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small, crooked stuffed rabbit that she had tormented my daughter with. I handed it back to Rosie, who clutched it tightly to her chest.
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“You wanted my empire,” I said softly, looking down at Camille. “But you didn’t understand what it was built on. You thought it was money. It was love. And that is why you will rot.”
I turned and walked out of the warehouse, leaving her bleeding on the floor, waiting for the police sirens wailing in the distance.
