Page 41 of Vengeance

Second...

If Dante's going after Chloe, then he finally became exactly what I always knew he'd become.

Vengeance's pulse quickened because Savage knew—he’d always known.

He never wanted my territory. He never wanted my club. He wanted revenge. Men like Dante can't stand losing. They especially can't stand losing to someone they think is beneath them.

Vengeance clenched his jaw because that sounded exactly like Dante.

If he comes for Chloe, she'll need somebody willing to die before letting him touch her. I hope that's you.

The room disappeared. All Vengeance could see was Savage standing outside Doc's clinic all those years ago. One hand wrapped around a cup of terrible coffee, and the other holding a wrench he'd been using to fix Vengeance's bike.

"What happens if he comes back?" sixteen-year-old Vengeance asked.

Savage hadn't even looked up. "Then somebody stands in front of the people he wants."

"Who?"

"Whoever's got the guts."

His breathing became uneven, and he forced himself to finish the letter.

One last thing.

You aren't responsible for the sins of your father. But you are responsible for what you do next. Make me proud.

—Savage

The only sound in the cabin was the crackling fire. Vengeance slowly lowered the letter. He couldn't speak or even think. For twenty years, he'd believed Savage had forgotten about him. Instead, the man had planned for this day.

"He believed in you." Chloe's voice was barely above a whisper.

Vengeance laughed, and it sounded broken. "I never understood why."

"I think I do." He looked at her. "My dad—” She smiled through tears. "Had a habit of adopting people."

That made him smile. "He really did,” Doc agreed.

"He saw the good in people before anyone else could,” Chloe said.

Doc nodded. "He sure as hell did." Vengeance folded the letter carefully and slid it back into the envelope. His eyes drifted to the Colt lying inside the box, and he frowned.

"What's this?" he asked.

Doc picked up the pistol. "He left this too."

"It's his,” Chloe said. “Or it was his.”

Doc turned the weapon over before offering it grip-first. "He wanted you to have it."

Vengeance didn't take it. "I can't."

"You can,” Doc insisted.

"No."

Doc sighed. "He carried this gun for nearly thirty years."