Page 28

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Reagan

Bea holds up a neon-green tutu and grins. “What about this one?”

Jesse stands with one hand on the clothing rack and the other tucked in his pocket. “We’re here for school clothes.”

“I can wear this to school.”

“Not according to the dress code.” He narrows his eyes.

She returns it with a smile that is so big I sense Jesse’s defenses already faltering. “Please…”

He glances up at me when I laugh. I can’t help it. There’s something about Jesse arguing with his five-year-old daughter over tutus and cowgirl boots that is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.

He might be a member of the most dangerous motorcycle club on the West Coast, but Beatrice King sure can bring her father to his knees .

“Fine. One tutu,” he concedes. “But only if you go look at school uniforms next.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” She gives him a quick hug before darting to the uniforms.

I open my mouth, but he cuts me off. “Don’t even say it.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” I grin.

He owes me later, anyway, considering I was right. I told him that it didn’t matter if he reminded her all afternoon that our shopping trip was for school-appropriate clothes only, he was bound to break within the first thirty minutes.

It took Bea a record-breaking ten minutes to get a tutu out of him.

It’s impressive, to say the least.

Jesse’s phone chimes, and he pulls it out of his pocket, frowning at the screen. It’s rare he looks anything but annoyed when his phone starts making noise, which I’ve come to learn is often. The club takes more of his time than anything else. And even if he’s taking a day off or is home for the night, he’ll frequently get called back or need to pull out his laptop to work on something.

Bea always just continues whatever she’s doing, unaffected by it. Jesse might not notice, but Bea is more in tune with his world than he would like to think.

“I need to call Steel.” Jesse’s frown deepens as he looks to where Bea has diverted from school clothes again in favor of trying on headbands.

“You go deal with that.” I smile. “I’ve got Bea. ”

Something flashes in his eyes, and I wish I knew what it was. But it fades just as fast as he leans in to steal a quick kiss since Bea’s back is to us. The heat of it lingers as he turns to make his call.

I try to bury the butterflies and walk over to Bea, pausing when a text chimes from my pocket.

Lincoln : A biker, Reagan? Really? Come back, and I’ll give you your life back. One you can be proud of.

My hands shake as I read the message again. Bile rises in my throat.

Lincoln is watching.

It’s something I’ve known since the incident at the bar, but it hits deeper with his direct confirmation.

After the night at the bar, Jesse had more pressing things to deal with regarding Sera. I assumed he’d all but forgotten about Lincoln. It wasn’t until he updated me a few days ago, letting me know there was still no sign of him, that I realized he hadn’t forgotten at all.

As if he doesn’t have enough on his plate, dealing with his own enemies. Now he’s feeling the burden of taking on mine.

Guilt courses through me, knowing I’m adding stress to his shoulders. Or worse, that I’m bringing threats to his and Bea’s life.

I scan the store for Lincoln, but he’s not there. Always just out of reach but still close enough to remind me that I’m not free of him.

What happens if Lincoln escalates? What if he targets me when Bea is around? I won’t be able to live with myself .

“I like this one,” Bea announces when she spots me standing nearby.

She spins a neon-green headband between her fingers, not noticing that my smile is forced as I shove my phone back into my pocket.

“We’re here for pants,” I remind her. “You’ve ripped holes in two pairs this week.”

She plays soccer at recess like she’s aiming to win a World Cup, which is wreaking havoc on her wardrobe.

“This one matches the tutu.”

“I’ll tell you what…” I cross my arms over my chest, pursing my lips. “You can get one headband as a present from me because you helped me with the house last weekend. But that’s it. No more asking for things. Only school clothes. Deal?”

“Deal.” She lifts her chin with her wide smile. “Thank you, Reagan.”

“Mm-hmm.” I smirk. “Now let’s find pants before your father makes you put everything back for not listening.”

At that, I finally manage to get Bea to the pants, and she picks them out quickly. The school uniform only allows for two colors, and neither is colorful like Bea’s usual wardrobe choices. Still, I grab four pairs, anticipating needing them soon if her track record on the soccer field is any indication.

Once we have pants, we linger by the shirts while we wait for Jesse to get off the phone.

“You okay?” I ask when I realize she’s been staring at a shelf a little too long .

Her eyes meet mine, and she frowns. “Mommy doesn’t want to see me.”

“Why do you say that?” I look up, hoping Jesse is headed our way, but he’s still on the call.

“Austin heard Jameson and Tempe talking about my mommy. She was at the club, but she didn’t come see me.”

I squat down to meet her eye level. “Have you asked your dad about this?”

“Daddy worries if I’m sad.”

“Because you’re the most important person in the world to him.” I squeeze her hand. “But even if he worries when you’re sad, he would want to know so he could talk to you about it.”

“I don’t want to see her. She doesn’t sound nice.” Bea’s eyes are glossy as she holds back tears. “I wish you were my mommy instead.”

My heart lodges in my throat at her comment. It takes everything in me to hold tears back as I brush her blonde hair out of her eyes.

“Just because I’m not doesn’t mean I’m not here for you.”

“Even when you leave?”

I nod. “You’re forever a part of my life, Beatrice King. I promise if you ever need me, I’ll be there. Just like Margaret has always been there for me. We look out for family. Blood or not, that’s what you are.”

Bea reaches for a hug, and I wrap her in my arms. Her little body slams against me, almost knocking me over. I pat her back and wish I could be everything she just said. If only it were that simple .

My mouth opens to say something— anything —but I’m cut off as I catch gazes with someone across the store. He’s wearing a leather cut, like Jesse’s, but the symbol is different, and the look in his dark eyes is anything but friendly.

“Bea.” I rub her back, trying to sound calm. “We need to go to your dad.”

She pulls back, wiping the tears from her eyes as I slowly stand. Her face pinches with confusion, but before I can say it again, I see the man across the store lifting a gun.

I move without thinking, shoving Bea behind me.

I shield her with my body and hope that’s enough.

The shot rings out, and my heart stops.

Bea’s arms tighten around my legs, and I wait for the bite of the bullet to rip a hole through me.

I wait for pain.

But my eyes blink, and it doesn’t come as a river of blood slowly spills from a hole in the middle of the biker’s forehead.

He wasn’t the one who fired the shot.

One second, he’s standing, and the next, his body drops to the ground.

“We need to leave now.” Jesse rushes beside me, tucking something behind him.

Jesse pulled the trigger.

People are screaming and rushing around the store. Jesse ignores them, picking Bea up and tucking me under his arm. He has us both wrapped in his grasp as he hurries us to the truck .

“It’s okay, Honey Bea, I’ve got you.”

I didn’t hear her say anything, but he soothes her over and over.

He hurries us into his truck, not worrying about the things we leave behind at the store. We’re gone before I even hear sirens ringing. And as Jesse drives, he continues reassuring Bea, while I sit frozen, doing my best to hold her and comfort her.

It’s going to be okay.

It’s going to be okay.

But no matter how many times Jesse says it, I see the truth. Someone just took a shot at his daughter in public. Nothing is okay.