Page 3

Where’s your dad?

Standing in front of them.

The words play through my head as I make my way back inside the clubhouse.

“Dad. I’m a dad. I have a kid. Two,” I mumble to myself, hoping the words will make it feel more real.

The heated temper of my rage beats under my skin as I think about it.

Six years. I’ve missed six years of their life.

She kept them from me. My Birdie.

Maybe she didn’t think I’d be a good father. Hell, I didn’t exactly come from a loving home. If anyone knows the demons I carry because of my childhood, it’s her.

Did she believe I’d be like them ?

Did she think I would ever put my kids through what my parents did me?

My stomach churns as memories try to shove their way through the barrier they’ve been locked behind.

I chastise myself because she doesn’t know half the shit that happened in my childhood.

I could never bring myself to open up to her for fear of how she’d look at me after.

Hell, I’ve never even been able to fill in Gavel.

The man isn’t stupid. I’m sure he knows from the way I showed up in Coral Cay, just like I’m positive Birdie knows something.

You can’t lie beside a person for years and not familiarize yourself with the monsters that haunt their sleep.

My parents weren’t just shit parents, they were shit people. You’d have to be to loan your only child out to a cult of religious fanatics to abuse anytime he didn’t fall in line.

They were getting the devil out of me. At least, that’s the lame excuse they used for my sexual assaults.

So many pathetic excuses.

It was his way.

He told them to do it.

It was the only way to purge the unholiness from my veins.

Sick excuse after sick excuse to fucking justify touching me in ways they shouldn’t have.

They hid their vile ways behind fanatical preachings. They worshipped a fucking deity who allowed them to do unholy things in his name. Personally, I’d rather worship the one under the ground than in the sky.

The last time I was left broken and bleeding, bent over the altar, was the day I finally gave up thinking anyone was going to save me.

The only one who could do that was myself.

So, I found the strength to grab the motherfucker’s leather belt from the ground and wrapped it around his neck.

I almost lost my hold on him a few times because of the pain.

Then the vile taste in my mouth and the stabs of agony in my ass gave me the strength I needed.

By the time he dropped lifelessly at my feet, I vowed no more.

It wouldn’t be long before his wife came back for another go at me, so I knew I had to get out of there.

I stole what money he had in his wallet and got out.

I didn’t even bother going to that soulless home to get shit.

They’d just use it as an excuse to hurt me more, and everything I needed could be replaced.

I knew they’d probably cover up the murder of one of their congregation members.

No way in hell would they want their sick little ways found out.

Back then, I didn’t know much about my grandfather because my parents didn’t associate with him. I’d grown up hearing plenty about him though. All the nasty, derogatory shit that would spew from their mouths about how he ran his own motorcycle ‘gang’ in Coral Cay, Florida.

I didn’t know whether he’d be receptive to me dropping on his doorstop, but he’d been the only place I knew to go when I ran.

To say Gavel and I had a rocky start would be an understatement.

He didn’t hesitate to take me in, but it took us a while to find our footing.

I was a surly teenager full of trauma, and he was an old biker who lived a volatile life. We made it work.

Trust took a while to build. Not just with him, but with the men and women around him. It got easier once Birdie and Cyanide came into my life.

Then Gavel let me start prospecting for the club, and I knew I’d found my peace in life. The Saint’s Outlaws gave me purpose and a way to purge my anger and need for blood.

Between the club and Birdie, I’d found my home. Demons stopped chasing me during the day and only haunted my nights. Memories of my childhood got easier to put in a cage. The longer I basked in Birdie’s warmth, the easier it was to stay connected to my soul.

It wasn’t until she was gone that the thread to it snapped.

At least, I thought it did. As soon as Cyanide said she was at our gate, I felt it rebound and smack me in the fucking face.

Birdie and I aren’t finished.

Hell, I doubt we’ll ever be.

Birdie has always been my endgame. That shit hasn’t changed. I just need to help her remember that.

There’s anger inside me at her for keeping my kids from me, but there’s more aimed at whoever put hands on her.

My gut is telling me there’s one person missing from their little family dynamic, and there’s a reason for that.

The only way we’re going to get to the bottom of whatever is going on is for me to put away my anger. That way, we can focus on what’s behind her bruises.

I slide a hair tie from my wrist and pull my hair up. Scrubbing a hand over my face, I take a deep breath before yanking open the door.

Valkyrie, Birdie, and the kids are standing on the opposite side of the room from everyone else, a clear divide between them and the club that sends my guts churning.

Legend stands in front of his mom and sister with his arms folded over his chest, his eyes are narrowed on Cyanide and Gavel as they watch him in turn.

I glance around, spotting all the eyes on them. Some are shocked, sad, worried, and even loving, while others sneer and smirk. I narrow my eyes at those, making a note in my head to keep my eyes on them. There should be no reason for those emotions aimed at Birdie, Kyrie, or the kids.

“Why hasn’t anyone gotten her a fucking chair?” I bark. “You’re not blind. You see she can barely fucking stand.”

“Don’t act like you care now,” Valkyrie mutters, guiding Birdie into the chair that Devious, another prospect, sets behind her.

I hold up a hand as discord rumbles through the room.

“Watch the disrespect,” I warn her gently.

She snorts. “Says the king of fucking disrespect.”

I grit my teeth, ready to snap, but I catch Legend backing up toward her with a wary eye on me.

Sighing, I clear my face of everything I’m feeling.

“Let it go, Ky,” Birdie husks, speaking for the first time since she came in here.

I’m so close to losing the fight against my need to go to her and shelter her in my arms. That’s the last thing she wants judging by the wariness written all over her.

Her fear of us and lack of trust tightens my throat.

“What happened to you? Where the hell is your husband?”

“Mister, who do you think did this to her? The Easter Bunny or something?” Legend snarks, his tiny lip curling back.

Hiding my humor, I lift a brow. “That’s what I was trying to determine, no?”

Legend raises his return. “Mom always says you should be direct when speaking to someone so they can’t ever mistake what you’re saying. It’s what you wanted to know, so you should’ve just asked her if it was him.”

Gavel’s laughter breaks the tension between me and my son.

My son.

Still fucking surreal.

“Boy’s just like you,” Gavel says, stepping next to me.

He faces Legend and his sister. My daughter.

What’s her name?

What do I call her?

I should have let Cypher do his deep dive five years ago, but I just wanted to fucking forget everything I’d witnessed the last time I saw her.

“Why don’t you two come with me so Pope can help your mom?” Gavel asks, holding out his hand.

I lurch forward when Birdie moves quickly. She jumps up and pulls her kids behind her, growling viciously at everyone. Through the slits of her puffy eyelids, her bloody eyes bounce around wildly.

We all hold up our hands, doing our best to appear non-threatening.

“It’s okay, little mama,” I soothe, the endearment rolling smoothly off my tongue. “No one is going to harm your babies. They can stay. Just, please, sit back down. You’re weaving on your feet, baby.”

My heart aches as she backs them away from us. She grabs the chair and drags it with her until it’s tight against the wall and she can see the exit. Despite the pain I know she’s in, she pulls the kids to her lap, holding them tightly as she watches us.

I take a seat on the floor so they know I’m not coming at them. An appreciative grunt leaves me when I notice the rest of the club doing the same. Hell of a thing seeing a roomful of deadly bikers who kill without remorse making themselves smaller for my woman and kids.

“Think you can let us know what’s going on? We can’t help if we don’t know what we’re up against.”

I didn’t think it was possible for a dead man to die again. When she tells us what led to her dropping at our step, I understand how easily it’s possible depending on the weapon.