So that was the real reason he’d been showing my photos around, acting like the doting fiancé? It wasn’t love. It was strategy. I was just a shield—for Malissa.
The gang wasn’t playing games. One of them grabbed my hand and, without a word, sliced off one of my fingers. Blood gushed instantly, hot and blinding.
I went white from the pain, but I never looked away from Milford.
“Are you sure you won’t regret this?” I asked, voice low and shaking.
Milford flinched under my gaze. He looked away, unable to meet my eyes.
“Lori… Lisa has no one else. I promised her I’d protect her,” he said, like he was the noble one here. “Just hang on for a while, okay? I’ll make it up to you. I’ll get the money. I’ll come back.”
Without hesitation, he took Malissa’s hand and walked away with her—never looking back.
I watched them leave, numb. My hand throbbed with pain, blood soaking through my sleeve, but the agony inside me ran deeper. In that moment, our entire marriage—the years, the promises, the child we had together—felt like a cruel joke.
Two hours passed. Two more fingers gone.
The gang leader grew impatient. He sent one of his men to check in with the Wright Clan.