Page 78 of Tiny's Testament
17
SYVANNAH
“Come find me.” The words leave my lips like a prayer cracked in half. They dissolve into the cold air, swallowed by the hum of flickering lights and the faint metallic groan of chain-link fencing. My breath shakes, and for a moment, I shut my eyes, willing the world to stop spinning.
But the world doesn’t stop. It gets worse.
A metal door at the far end of the cold room unlocks with a slow, deliberate click. The sound slithers along the concrete, sinking into the cages like poison. Every woman around me tenses. One begins to whisper a prayer to a God who has let us down. Another one curls in on herself, pulling her knees tight to her chest, hoping they don’t spot her. I force myself to sit up straighter, fingers tightening around the fence until the wire bites into my flesh.
I already know who it is before he even steps inside. The footsteps don’t echo, theyinvade.The air shifts the same way it used to in the motel. A pressure change, a chill that slides down the spine like a hand that isn’t touching you, but still feels like it is. My body remembers fear before my mind catches up.
Lattimer enters with an easy stride. He’s taller than I remember. His tailored dark suit hugs his lean, but not thin,frame. His dark hair is styled neatly, like he’s arriving for a business meeting instead of a graveyard full of the women he’s broken. His eyes skim the cages with familiarity, like he’s checking inventory, checking which toys he still owns.
Then those dark eyes land on me. Recognition flashes first. Then satisfaction. Then something colder, like a possession reclaimed.
“Well,” Lattimer murmurs, a slow smile curving across his lips. “If it isn’t Syvannah Blake. My stray who slipped the leash.”
My stomach twists. Old terror claws at my ribs, memories I’ve spent years fighting in therapy, memories of being locked in a dirty motel room beside Nadia and Exleigh. Memories of waiting for footsteps out in the hallway.
I refuse to let him see the crack.
“You remember,” I manage to say in a low voice.
“Of course I remember.” He crouches beside my cage, fingers tapping the chain-link like he’s greeting an old pet. “You were one of the ones who ran. One of the three tiny miracles the RBMC stole from me. Nadia got herself a biker husband. Exleigh rebuilt her spine. And you…” His head tilts, studying me with cruel interest. “You clung to the biggest savior complex of them all.”
My breath stutters, but I keep my chin high.
His smile deepens. “Yes. Tiny. The gentle giant who thinks he can save anything with a pulse.”
My heart squeezes at the sound of Tiny’s name in Lattimer’s mouth. It feels wrong there. Filthy.
“You know,” Lattimer continues conversationally, “I didn’t expect him to survive my men. Yet here we are…”
I grip the fence until the metal digs into my palms. He notices and leans closer, voice dropping to a soft, poisonous whisper. “But we both know something about Tiny, don’t we?”
I refuse to answer.
His smile sharpens. “He wasn’t there when you needed him the first time. He didn’t come for you then. Red and Trigger stormed in. Bones and Aftermath carried the bodies. Tiny?” A slow shrug. “He wasn’t even one of the men who saved you.”
My heart pounds in my ears.
“He didn’t know us yet,” I whisper.
“Exactly,” Lattimer purrs. “He didn’t know you. He didn’t choose you. And now?” He lifts his brows. “Now he has something to lose.”
He drags a finger along the bars. Once. Twice.
“When Tiny is forced to choose between you and the club, he will choose them. He always will. That’s who he is. That’s who they all are.”
“That’s not true,” I hiss, but my voice betrays the tremor inside.
“Oh, it is.” A quiet, clinical, confident smile forms on his lips. “He’ll save the Bastards.” His eyes lock onto mine, cold and cutting. “But you? You’re the girl he didn’t even know existed when your life first fell apart.”
The words punch through layers of healing. Old fractures I thought were mended begin to ache again. For a heartbeat, the room tilts as fear and shame claw up my throat. My mind flashes to the motel room, the smell of mold, Exleigh’s broken voice, Nadia’s trembling hands. And I feel that old helplessness trying to drag me under.
But then Tiny’s laugh flickers in my memory. The way he looks at Peanut. The way he looks atme.And the fear doesn’t vanish, but it loses its teeth.
“You escaped me once,” he says softly. “That won’t happen again.” Lattimer stands, brushing nonexistent dust from his hands. “Tiny won’t come for you, Syvannah Blake,” Lattimer says, turning toward the door. “Not before it’s too late. Not before the choice crushes him.”
