img Old Lady of the Iron Crown  /  Chapter 2 | 1.64%
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Chapter 2

Word Count: 1179    |    Released on: 22/09/2026

y P

d spike of pain drag

k my shoulder, wr

leared-I curved my upper body over the t

set man wearing a faded leather c

r's enforce

, slapping a crinkled stack of pape

vocable Surrender of Parental Rights a

mattress, knocking the pap

t o

, crossing tattooed

s chapter property, and you walk with fifty bucks and your skin in

re Viper's arrogant scrawl was a

augh scraped past

t page, brought it to my chest, a

, meeting his ugly stare,

19 from his hip and jammed the cold steel m

inger tightening on the trigger. "Sign the back

up against the barrel, locking m

to look me in the eye w

d drop, the door swung

epped into th

led neatly to his forearms, dark trousers, and

e carried a heavy s

effortless silence of a man

him. "Who the fuck are you? This is

t waste a sin

ed fingers clamping around the thug'

ed through the room as bone

g the Glock as his hand floppe

ished boot, the newcomer kick

o freeze blood. "Or I will sever the radial artery in your

whimpered, scrambled backward out the doorwa

icked shut. Silen

glinting across his gold-rimmed glasses b

aring my teeth like a cornered wolf. "Who sent

stainless tray, popping the

a pre-fill

nd vibrating in the small space. "And Jaxson Vance doesn't hav

s blotting out the harsh fluorescent

apped, lashing out to

torn gown down my left shoulder, b

and froze

mes, his pupils nar

scar etched deep into my shoulder blade-th

his chest in a s

es and yanked the fabric back up, wincing as pai

breath, a muscle ticking vio

ished from his face, replac

to a low, reverent rumble. "I am going to stop your bleedin

ped gently but immovably around my bicep, smo

ns, instantly blunting the r

ds grew heavy as thirty hours of

ncet, prick my ring finger, and press a bead of crimson

portable black diagnostic a

er

ross the analyzer's LCD scr

45%..

against my ribs

ngers dug into the rusted metal table,

e

shed solid, bl

RECT DESCENDANT: 99.98% PATERNAL C

utal seconds, swallowing the

ty y

tate lines from California to Maine, hunting for

ere s

clinic, discarded like roadkill by a two-bit, botto

back to

her arms still locked around her newborn twins with the feroc

ood ran pure

d in asphalt and iron, and these b

of my custom cut and pulled out t

y toggle and slammed t

y, low, and deadlier than a hollow-point round.

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