Chapter 78 — Fiona, Covered in Bruises
"Whatever. As long as it numbs everything that hurts, you can do whatever you want with me."
Some things… once you've lived through enough of them, you stop resisting.
And after everything William had intentionally—or unintentionally—put her through these past weeks, the carrot-and-stick routine had reshaped Fiona's state of mind into something new.
William was more than satisfied with the current progress.
After all, a change like this isn't achieved overnight—only slowly, step by step.
"Alright. Wait here for a moment. I need to grab something from my car."
It was just an excuse—he simply didn't want Fiona to see his storage ability at work.
Pulling a long whip out of thin air would be pushing realism a bit too far.
He left the room and headed downstairs to the old Honda parked outside.
Just as he reached it, a compact van rolled up beside him.
Svetlana leaned out of the window. "Boss, you need something?"
Her showing up didn't surprise him—she and Mandy were living at this motel anyway.
"No, not today. I'm not here for you two."
William replied casually, then pretended to open the trunk and took out a coiled black whip.
Svetlana's eyes narrowed slightly—shocked for a brief moment—
but she said nothing.
She merely filed away the fact that her mysterious boss apparently liked… this sort of thing.
Before long, William was back at the room.
Fiona was lying across the bed, a cigarette between her lips.
When she saw what he was holding, she sat up straight—wariness flickering in her eyes.
"What… what is that?"
She was clearly nervous.
"Think of it as a kind of therapy," William said calmly.
"Sometimes, pain helps drown out the pain you can't escape from.
But if you don't want to do this, I won't force you."
He set the whip down on the table.
---
Fiona stared up at the ceiling afterwards, her expression strange.
She was aching everywhere—a patchwork of marks and bruises.
Yet for the first time in what felt like years, she felt… light.
As if something inside her had loosened.
And with that looseness came a terrifying impulse—
a sudden desire to walk away from her siblings, from the Gallagher house, from all the crushing responsibilities that defined her—
and just disappear somewhere with William, the two of them alone and free.
The thought scared her.
Across the room, William watched her carefully.
He could tell she was reeling—
questioning herself, questioning her life.
Exactly what he wanted.
"What's wrong?" he asked gently, feigning concern.
Fiona shook her head, refusing to voice the dangerous thought in her chest.
"It's nothing… it all just feels a little unreal. Heh."
The laugh was self-mocking—
perhaps because she felt ashamed for even thinking of abandoning her siblings.
But what worried her far less was how naturally she obeyed William…
and how little that bothered her.
William noticed the change—
and was quite satisfied.
"We can talk," he said. "Tell me what's going through your mind."
Fiona glanced at him, hesitated, then took another cigarette from the table and lit it.
She inhaled slowly.
And finally—
she began to speak.
---
After listening to Fiona's recounting, William found it largely aligned with the original events—no dramatic deviations.
Monica had suddenly come back, pretended to be a loving mother, and ultimately only wanted to take Liam away so she could build a "new family" with her girlfriend.
As for why she returned to North Wallace in the first place—Fiona had no idea.
But William could guess: nine times out of ten, it was because of Frank.
To be honest, he was grateful to both Frank and Monica.
If they hadn't been such walking disasters, reshaping Fiona's personality wouldn't have gone nearly as smoothly.
Once she poured her heart out, Fiona curled up against William's chest like a kitten.
William gently stroked her roughened hair, and—where she couldn't see—allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.
Time passed quickly; morning arrived before they knew it.
Fiona didn't stay the night.
Her entire family still depended on her—she couldn't give all her time to William.
And William didn't mind that at all.
---
South Side — Black Neighborhood
Following the imprint he'd placed on Liam, William tracked him to a street in the Black-dominated district.
Plenty of wary eyes watched him and Mandy from porches and street corners.
Two white faces showing up here?
That alone was enough to draw attention.
Territory meant everything in these blocks.
Unfamiliar outsiders—especially white ones—were treated with automatic suspicion.
And this wasn't just any neighborhood—this was the South Side, where crime was never far.
William wasn't intimidated.
This place, frankly, was a jungle, and the rules of the jungle were simple:
the strong eat the weak.
With his skills, there was almost no scenario where he'd come out on the losing end.
As for Mandy—being a Milkovich meant fear didn't come easily.
The only time a Milkovich backed down was when they met someone with bigger fists.
Otherwise, they were always the most reckless people on the street.
Across the way, according to the imprint, Liam was inside that house.
William didn't rush in—he watched from afar.
Soon Monica and Bob emerged.
The two exchanged a kiss, and Bob climbed into her black truck cab—heading off to work, most likely.
"That's Ian's mom?" Mandy asked, recognizing Monica from the neighborhood.
"Yeah," William said, flicking away his cigarette.
A trucker's job was still solid money in this era.
Money enough to start a new life—money enough to take Liam away.
One side of the street held Monica and Liam.
The other held Bob—alone.
William made his choice instantly.
He started the engine and eased onto the road, following the truck.
Today's vehicle was a Subaru BRZ STI—
not bought, not rented, but boosted.
When you need a disposable car, you call Jimmy.
He'd steal one for anyone, but at least selling to William meant he'd get paid fairly.
And because of that, Jimmy liked doing business with him.
The BRZ's flat-four purred smoothly, and William's WRC-level driving skills made the rear-wheel coupe feel as obedient as a scalpel in his hands.
He didn't rush.
He simply shadowed Bob's truck—patient, steady.
After about twenty minutes, the truck cab rolled into a meat-processing plant.
William parked nearby and waited.
Half an hour later, Bob reappeared—
but this time with a full trailer hitched to the back.
Clearly, she was hauling cargo.
"Why are we following her again?" Mandy asked, puzzled.
William's voice was calm, almost indifferent.
"Simple.
We're making sure she doesn't live to see tomorrow."
He pressed the accelerator.
Moments later, the truck merged onto the highway.
Unlike back home, American interstates stretched through endless open wilderness—
flat, empty land as far as the eye could see.
William kept the BRZ trailing her at a safe distance.
An hour passed.
Eventually, they reached the kind of stretch where nothing moved for miles—
just two vehicles in the vast horizon: the truck ahead, and William's car behind.
No witnesses.
No interruptions.
William knew the moment had come.
He shifted his grip on the wheel.
Showtime.