Emma wouldn't even know what hit her.
She would be sorry, Sorry she ever stood up for herself.
Sorry she ever dreamed she could walk away from them.
Without wasting another second, Violent's mother stood up, dusting her dress with a faint, calculated smile.
"I have some things to handle," she said lightly, hiding the storm raging in her heart.
Emma's father barely glanced at her, lost in his own bitter thoughts.
Violent simply shrugged, uninterested.
Good.
They wouldn't suspect a thing.
With her bag in hand and a dark glint in her eyes, Violent's mother walked out of the house.
Her heels clicked against the pavement with purpose as she headed straight for one destination
**
The Bushman's house, because the Bushman, in all his arrogance and pride, had something she needed, Something that, if she could twist it the right way, would shatter Emma into pieces.
She knew the Bushman's weakness.
