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Legacy

Throbbing starts between my temples the second my eyes peel open. A rogue beam of sunlight blinds me through the windows, and my heartbeat echoes in my head. For a second, I think I’m hungover, but then I remember I barely made it through my second beer last night before a honey-blonde tornado whirled through the clubhouse.

Reagan Brady.

The moment I left her in the guest room last night, I had Ghost run everything from a credit to a background check on her. The few things she told me checked out. Her relation to Margaret, the fact that she was a secretary at an elementary school in Glendale, Arizona last year. Her records are spotless—not so much as one past-due payment on a credit card.

Still, I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something I’m missing. It doesn’t make sense for a twenty-one-year-old girl to just show up at a biker compound and offer to help take care of a five-year-old.

Not when everything about her life in Glendale seems perfectly fitting for a girl like her.

There’s opportunity.

A future.

A better survival rate.

Swiping my palm down my face, I close my eyes and wish I could go back to sleep. I shouldn’t even be in this bed right now. The whole plan last night was to wake up in my room at the clubhouse with a woman beside me—this tension no longer running through my system.

Reagan threw that thought out the window.

A smart man would have dropped her off at a hotel like she offered. I’m still not sure what I was thinking bringing her to my house. Except that when I considered taking her anywhere else, it didn’t sit right.

Downstairs, I hear dishes clattering, telling me she’s awake and making herself right at home.

This is Bea’s home—Margaret’s home.

My home.

Not hers.

There’s no way in hell I’ll keep my sanity if I have to share this space with her. Not to mention, letting her stay would be admitting that Margaret isn’t going to get better, and I really need a replacement. While I know the inevitable is coming, every fiber in my being resists what’s happening.

Margaret has lived with us since my daughter was two months old. She’s been a mother to Bea and a second mother to me. I trust Margaret with my daughter and the secrets of my club. But that doesn’t mean I can explicitly trust her great-niece.

Especially where Bea is concerned.

Reagan is a firecracker who’s sure to blow town the second she realizes she could be doing something so much better with her life. Bea has already had her mother walk out on her. She’s watched Margaret slowly get sicker. The last thing she needs is another woman to break her heart.

I sit up and swing my legs off the bed, knowing what awaits outside my door is inevitable. Still, I take a long shower and don’t hurry to get dressed. If I thought I could intercept Bea before she clings to Reagan, I would. But given the giggles already echoing up the staircase, there’s no chance of that.

Which means I’m going to have to go down there and make it clear Reagan isn’t staying.

The smell of breakfast starts to filter upward, dragging me out of my room. I pass by the front door and shrug my cut over my T-shirt. While I usually leave it hanging until I’m ready to leave for the day, today, it’s a statement more than anything.

Reagan needs to understand that this is who I am and what I represent.

Turning the corner, I pause as the kitchen comes into view. More specifically, when the woman in front of me comes into view.

Reagan doesn’t hear my footsteps over the music playing from her phone. Her back is to me, showing off her perfect hourglass figure. A trim waist turns to luscious curves as her round ass sways back and forth with every beat as she sings along to the music. A pendulum of bad ideas sway back and forth.

The kind of shit I really need to stop considering before I act on them.

Her honey-blonde hair is pulled up in a messy bun on her head, showing off the gentle curve of her neck. Her T-shirt and jeans hug her hourglass curves. Her entire outfit is so tight, it’s temptation at its finest.

I curl my hands into fists and swallow down the urge to sink my fingers into her hips, blaming it on the fact that it’s just been too long since I’ve fucked anyone. Except her beauty isn’t the problem. Yes, she’s got the looks, but what pulls me is something that pisses me off as much as it draws me to her.

She’s fiery—stubborn.

She’s fucking magnetic.

Reagan spins around and smirks because she caught me staring at her ass. The corner of her mouth curves with a sinful little smile that is practically a challenge.

“Enjoying the show?” She winks.

She fucking winks.

If I thought pushy Reagan was difficult last night, feisty Reagan might be the end of me.

Ignoring that thought—and her question—I step into the kitchen and turn down the music on her phone, hearing Bea’s giggles now coming from down the hall near Margaret’s room .

“It’s rude to blast music when people are still sleeping.” Not that I heard it upstairs, but it gives me something to say.

Her eyes narrow, annoyance blooming the most beautiful flicker of heat in her gaze. “Do you always sleep until almost ten, Jesse?”

“It’s Legacy,” I remind her, but my correction only widens her grin, making it clear she forgot on purpose. “And I fail to see how my sleep schedule is any of your business when you’re leaving.”

“Right… Leaving…” She rolls her eyes, stubborn as all hell. “How about breakfast first? Are you hungry? I made pancakes.”

She spins back to the stove, flipping one over. It’s perfectly golden brown.

Reagan doesn’t wait for me to answer as she continues talking. “I was planning on French toast, but you didn’t have cinnamon, so I had to get creative. I hope you don’t mind that I dug through the cabinets to find what I needed.”

“Why do I get the feeling that even if I did mind, it wouldn’t have stopped you?”

She glances over her shoulder, smiling at me. “It wouldn’t have.”

This girl is so fucking defiant.

Stubborn.

Mind-numbingly intriguing.

“Are you ready to head to the airport after this?” I stalk over to the island, taking a seat. “I have shit I need to get done today. ”

“I can get to the airport myself.” She shakes her head, and even if her back is to me, I imagine she’s probably rolling her eyes again.

While the Twisted Kings patch on my cut is usually enough to keep people from challenging me, this girl is utterly unaffected.

“I’m sure you could. But then I feel like we’d just be circling back to that thing where I don’t believe you’d actually do it.” At least if I drop her off on the curb, I’ll know she’s gone.

Reagan spins around again. This time, her chin is tipped up, and the sunny warmth in her smile has faded. She crosses her arms across her chest, but all it does is push up her full tits.

It takes everything in me not to look at them.

After all, I’m not interested.

She’s hot, but I’ve spent plenty of time being surrounded by beautiful women.

Fixing my stare on hers, I grit my teeth as she purses her strawberry-pink lips.

“I get it, Jesse.” Her eyes narrow. “Your fragile ego is making you an asshole who refuses to ask for help. But I promised Margaret I would be here as long as she needs me, so I’m staying whether you like it or not.”

“It’s my house.”

“Then I’ll find a place in the city and drive out here every day.”

My jaw tenses because I don’t like that idea at all.

“Either way, I’m staying.”

“I don’t need your help. ”

“So, you aren’t looking for a nanny right now?” Her gaze darts to a notepad on the kitchen counter, where I’ve been narrowing down the list of applicants.

“Didn’t say I wasn’t looking. All I said was you’re not it .”

“Why?” Her eyebrows pinch. “Did I offend you by stepping foot inside your precious clubhouse? Or by showing up unexpectedly? Or is it just that you’re in a mood this morning? Because I’ve got the experience with kids, a spotless record, and my aunt already vouched for me.”

I open my mouth to snap back, but little footsteps running down the hall cut me off. It’s probably for the best because everything about Reagan is offensive, but none of it is actually her fault.

“Daddy, Daddy!” Bea bolts down the hallway and into my arms in one jump.

I kiss the top of her head, brushing her blonde hair off her face. “Morning, Honey Bea.”

“Did you see Reagan’s teaching me how to flip pancakes? She says the trick is to wait for the bubbles, so that’s what I did. But then I flipped it, and the gooey part got on the stove and all over my dress. Don’t worry, Daddy. Reagan cleaned it up, and I’ve got on my new dress.”

“Sparkly.”

Bea steps back to spin in a circle, sending the shimmery blue fabric flowing out around her. “Like a princess.”

“Because you are one, Honey Bea. ”

She beams up at me with a smile. “We’re making breakfast. Are you hungry, Daddy?”

“I’m always hungry for whatever you’re cooking.”

From the corner of my eye, I don’t miss the triumphant smirk Reagan shoots me over her shoulder. Despite the fact that I’ve just spent the past few minutes shutting down the idea of her so much as staying, much less me eating what she’s cooking in the kitchen, I’m not turning down food made by my daughter.

Bea runs over to Reagan, lifting on her toes to see what she’s doing as she flips another pancake.

“That one’s perfect. Can I have it?” Bea asks.

“Of course you can. Why don’t you get a seat next to your dad at the island? They’re almost ready.”

“Daddy, scoot.” Bea frowns when she sees me sitting on the stool in the middle. “I want to sit next to Reagan.”

I shove myself over a seat, and it’s probably for the best that we have a buffer between us. We can’t seem to be in the same room without one of us saying something to irritate the other.

“Can Reagan have the room next to mine?” Bea blinks up at me. “I’ll move my toys, and we can play with them together. Please!”

“Reagan is only here for a quick visit. She’s not staying.”

Bea frowns, her gaze dropping to her hands in her lap. “But Margaret is sick, and you said family makes you better. Remember when you were sick, Daddy? I came and saw you in the hospital, and you said it made you better. What if Margaret goes back to the hospital?”

Guilt coils inside me .

I wasn’t actually sick. At least, not in the same way Margaret is. Taking a bullet and battling cancer are two very different things. But Bea doesn’t know the full truth of what sent me to the hospital, and that’s for the best.

Another lie stacked on top of another.

Something else to stir that phantom ache in my leg.

Reagan places a plate in front of Bea, watching me. Her gaze pauses where I’m gripping my thigh, and I hate that it feels like she can read my thoughts. Thankfully, she keeps any comments to herself, returning to the pancakes.

“Margaret has us, Beatrice.” I try to reassure my daughter. “We’ll take care of her.”

“We can’t make her pancakes like this.” Bea frowns at her plate. “And she can’t color with me when her hands hurt. Reagan said we can color.”

“I’ll color with you.”

“Today?”

“Sure. Today.” I mentally try to check off things I need to do that can be moved around to make that happen.

Reagan turns with a plate of pancakes in her hand, watching and not saying anything. Her sass and fire have relented, and while I didn’t think I’d miss them, I’d rather her annoyance than whatever she’s thinking about me struggling not to fail my daughter.

“I’m going to bring these to Margaret really fast, and then I’ll be back to make your plate.” She forces a smile and then disappears down the hall toward Margaret’s room.

Bea’s shoulders deflate .

Lately, it feels like I’m disappointing everyone, and there’s nothing I can do about it. But in Bea’s case, I don’t regret my decisions either. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.

Reagan walks back into the room and quietly starts stacking two more plates of pancakes. One stack is bigger than the other, and she hands it to me.

I’m an asshole. The least I could have done was serve us when she was bringing Margaret food, but I sat here staring at the counter, wallowing in my own problems.

Reagan slides onto her stool, adjusting her hair. And even with Bea between us, I can smell her flowery shampoo as she wrestles with her bun. It floods my senses, so I shove a bite into my mouth and try to focus on that instead, just as my phone starts to ring.

I pull it out of my pocket to see Steel’s name flashing on the screen.

“Yeah?”

“How fast can you get to Sapphire Rise?”

“Why, what’s going on?”

“The books are off from last night. Kansas called me this morning to tell me about it, and I don’t like it after everything else that’s gone wrong there. I need your opinion.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, and my temples throb harder. The last place I want to spend the morning is at the strip club, but if Steel’s already there, it can’t be good. He avoids that place more than anyone else in the club.

“I can be there in thirty. Let me just make sure Margaret doesn’t need anything before I take off. ”

“Sounds good.” Steel ends the call, and I shove my phone back in my pocket.

“Everything okay?” Reagan glances at me, sliding another bite into her mouth.

Her lips close around the fork, slowly teasing the length as she pulls it out, and I shove those thoughts down.

“I gotta run sooner than expected, so I need you to get yourself to the airport after all.”

“I can just stay if you need me to.”

“I don’t.”

“Not even for a babysitter?” Her gaze drops to Bea. “Margaret has a follow-up appointment this morning. She said Pearl will be here in ten minutes to pick her up and that you knew about it. She told you, right?”

She did. I just fucking forgot.

Everything is slipping through the cracks.

“If you have somewhere to be, I can help…” Reagan watches me. “Unless you have other plans?”

She rolls her shoulders back, taking another bite. But this one is more of a challenge. A silent standoff because she knows I don’t have anyone lined up to watch Bea, and I’m fucked. It’s not like I can drag my five-year-old daughter to the strip club with me to sit around while I work.

“Fine,” I grumble.

Reagan’s mouth fights her smirk. “Fine?”

Of course she’s going to make me ask. This girl is so damn irritating.

“Can you please stay with Bea this morning, Reagan? It would really help me out.”

The triumphant smile that brightens Reagan’s face is beautiful, and I hate it.

“Of course.” She nods. “Anything for Margaret and Beatrice.”

“Thanks. It’s just a few hours.”

“Even if you’re running late, don’t worry. I’ll be here. Like I said, I’m here to help .”

I want to tell her I don’t need her fucking help because I don’t want it. But I know that’s a lie right now. I’m drowning in conflicting responsibilities at home and with the club, and her being here is convenient.

“It’s really no trouble,” Reagan continues, setting her fork down as she offers me a beautifully wicked smile. “I can stay as long as you need. I was already planning on it. Took a leave of absence from work and everything…”

Bea bounces in her seat, looking between us. “Please, Daddy.”

The two of them are all bright eyes and big smiles, working in unison as they stare at me.

“Fine.” I drag a hand through my hair.

“Fine?” Reagan lifts her eyebrows with quiet amusement, relishing in my defeat.

“Just for the time being. Until I can figure this out and get a new nanny sorted. But you’re staying in the room I put you in downstairs. I’m not kicking Bea’s toys out of the playroom.”

And I really don’t need Reagan upstairs, that close to me .

“Of course.” Reagan nods, and I appreciate that she at least understands.

“Reagan’s staying?” Bea asks, bouncing in her seat, looking over at her. “Does this mean we can color? And play? I’ve got new dolls and a unicorn. It sparkles and makes music. You’re going to like Mr. Sparkles.”

“I’m sure I’ll love Mr. Sparkles.” Reagan places her hand over Bea’s on the counter. “But let’s get full bellies first. Eat your pancakes.”

Damn it, she’s responsible too. I appreciate it when I want Bea to have a routine, but I don’t need any more reasons to like Reagan.

Bea turns back to her breakfast, shoving a piece of sausage into her mouth, and I stand, kissing the top of her head. “I’ll be back later.”

“By dinner?”

“I’ll try my best.” Unlike my father, I never promise Bea anything I can’t deliver on, so I leave it at that.

Usually, that makes Bea frown, but this morning, she’s all smiles as she takes another bite, looking up at Reagan.

I turn to walk away before Reagan stops me. “Thanks, Jesse.”

Looking back at her, I’m met with her pinched expression. I don’t know what she’s thanking me for, and it eats at that part of me that can’t quite figure her out. After all, I should be the one thanking her.

But I don’t.

I walk away, leaving her words hanging in the air between us. She needs to understand this isn’t permanent, and this isn’t me being nice. She’s not staying. I couldn’t stand it.

Her in my kitchen.

Her smiling at my daughter.

Her waking up this hum in my chest.

Reagan is an itch begging to be scratched, but there’s no way in hell I’m dumb enough to do it.