Page 4 of Viking (Dixie Reapers MC #24)

My heart ached thinking about what might have happened to make her this way.

Kris would never have neglected her -- of that I was certain.

Had the woman who’d been caring for her done something?

The thought made my gut clench in protest. I’d never understand people who could harm sweet innocent children.

I glanced at the small pink suitcase the social worker had brought in, sitting untouched by the front door. Maybe there were answers there. At the very least, I needed to know what she had, what she might need.

Moving quietly so as not to wake her, I carried the suitcase to the kitchen table and unzipped it.

The contents were pitiful -- a few sets of clothes, most looking worn and slightly too small.

A pair of pajamas with faded unicorns. A toothbrush in a plastic case.

A small stuffed dog that had seen better days.

I had a hard time picturing my brother neglecting his daughter to this extent, which made me think it had been the caregiver’s fault.

And at the bottom, a plastic bag containing an envelope.

My breath caught when I saw my name written on the front -- Kris’s handwriting, the familiar slant of his letters making my eyes sting with fresh tears.

“Oh, Kris,” I whispered, running my fingers over the ink. It was real, tangible proof that he had existed, that he had thought of me. That he had trusted me with the most precious thing in his life.

With trembling hands, I opened the envelope and pulled out several sheets of paper.

The first was a formal-looking document -- legal paperwork naming me as Athena’s guardian and requesting that I adopt her in the event of his death.

It was dated just three months ago, as if he’d somehow known his time was running short.

Of course, I’d already handled paperwork like this from the social worker, but seeing a copy my brother personally sent to me hit me hard.

Behind this was a handwritten letter on lined paper, folded in thirds. I took a deep breath and unfolded it.

Lina ,

If you’re reading this, then I’m gone, and I’m so damn sorry for that.

I’m sorry for a lot of things, especially for not telling you about Athena sooner.

I wanted to. Every time we talked, every time I saw you, I wanted to tell you about this amazing little person who has my stubborn chin and your fiery hair.

But I couldn’t risk it -- not until I was sure it was safe .

Athena is my daughter. Her mother was someone I met during a mission four years ago.

It wasn’t serious between us, but when she told me she was pregnant, I stepped up.

When Athena was born, her mother decided she couldn’t handle parenthood and signed over full custody to me.

I’ve been raising her with help from friends when I’m deployed .

Here’s the part that’s going to be hard to believe, but I need you to trust me.

If I died during a mission -- and if you’re reading this, that’s what happened -- then there’s a chance you and Athena could be in danger.

The work I was doing was classified, and there are people who might think I told my family things I shouldn’t have.

They might think Athena knows something, or that I left information with her or her caregivers .

I didn’t. I never brought my work home. But these people don’t take chances.

So I need you to do something that’s going to sound crazy.

I need you to take Athena and go to Lief Hansen -- Viking, as he’s called now.

He’s with the Dixie Reapers MC in southern Alabama.

He’ll know what to do. He’ll keep you both safe .

I know I’m asking a lot. I know you probably haven’t seen Lief in years. But he’s family to me, and he’ll protect what’s mine. And Lina -- you and Athena are mine. My sister. My daughter. The two people I love most in this world .

Just go to Viking as soon as you can. He’ll explain everything .

I love you, Christmas girl. Take care of my little one .

Kris

I stared at the letter, reading it again, and then a third time, trying to make sense of the words. Danger? People coming after Athena ? It sounded like something from a spy movie, not real life. Not my life.

But Kris was dead. That part was all too real.

I glanced back at the couch where Athena slept, peaceful for the first time since I’d met her.

Could someone really want to hurt this innocent child?

Or me? It seemed impossible, paranoid even.

Yet Kris had never been the paranoid type.

If he thought there was danger, there must be some basis for it.

And Viking… Lief Hansen. The name sent a complicated flutter through my chest. In my mind, he was still the golden giant who’d called me “Little Kringle” and made my teenage heart race.

But he wouldn’t be that person anymore. According to Kris’s letter, he was part of a motorcycle club now -- the Dixie Reapers.

I’d never heard of them, but the name alone conjured images of rough men in leather, doing God knows what.

Could I really just show up there with a traumatized three-year-old?

What would I even say? Hey, remember me, your old friend’s little sister?

The one who used to follow you around like a lovesick puppy?

Well, my brother’s dead, this is his secret daughter, and apparently, we might be in danger from mysterious unnamed enemies. Can we crash with you?

It was absurd. All of it.

And yet…

I looked at the letter again, at Kris’s familiar handwriting.

I need you to trust me , he’d written. And I did.

Always had. From teaching me to ride a bike to helping me through my first heartbreak, Kris had never steered me wrong.

If he thought Viking was our best option, then that’s what we would do.

I folded the letter carefully and slipped it into my pocket. Then I walked back to the couch and knelt beside it, studying Athena’s sleeping face. Her long eyelashes cast faint shadows on her freckled cheeks. Her tiny hand clutched Hopper’s ear, keeping him close even in sleep.

“I’ll keep you safe,” I whispered, gently brushing a curl from her forehead. “I promise.”

I had no idea how to protect us from whatever danger Kris thought might be coming. But I knew who might. And no matter how awkward, how difficult it might be to face Lief Hansen after all these years, I would do it. For Athena. For Kris.

Tomorrow, we would find the Dixie Reapers.

* * *

The macaroni and cheese I’d made for dinner looked pathetically inadequate -- a bright orange pile next to some hastily sliced apple and carrot sticks.

But it was the most kid-friendly food I had in my pantry, and after the way Athena had picked at lunch, I wanted something familiar that might tempt her appetite.

She sat at my kitchen table now, perched on a stack of books I’d piled on a chair to boost her up, watching me with those solemn eyes as I placed the plastic plate in front of her.

She looked so small in my kitchen, her feet dangling above the floor, her hands folded primly in her lap as if she were afraid to touch anything without permission.

“It’s mac and cheese,” I said unnecessarily, sliding into the chair across from her. “Do you like mac and cheese? It was your dad’s favorite when he was little.”

At the mention of Kris, something flickered in her eyes -- a spark of recognition, maybe even interest. But she didn’t speak. Instead, she picked up her fork carefully and took a tiny bite, chewing slowly as if assessing whether it was acceptable.

“Is it good?” I asked, poking at my own portion.

“I’m not much of a cook, I’m afraid. Your dad was always better at it than me.

He used to make the best pancakes -- shaped like animals.

” I was rambling, filling the silence with words, desperate for some response.

“Maybe we can try making pancakes tomorrow. Would you like that?”

Athena took another small bite, eyes downcast. Not quite a rejection, but not agreement either.

“Do you like to draw? I have some crayons and paper. Or read? I don’t have my classroom books with me, but I bet I could find one on my phone.

” I was throwing out suggestions blindly, trying to find anything that might crack that silent wall.

“Or maybe we could watch a movie later? I don’t have many kid movies, but I’m sure there’s something on Netflix… ”

Her eyes lifted briefly at the mention of movies, then dropped again.

“You like movies?” I asked, seizing on that tiny reaction. “What kind? Princesses? Animals?”

She didn’t answer, but her next bite of macaroni was slightly larger, as if the possibility of a movie had improved her appetite marginally.

“How about some juice?” I stood and moved to the refrigerator. “I have apple or orange. Or water, if you prefer.”

When she didn’t indicate a preference, I poured a small cup of apple juice and set it beside her plate. “Careful, it’s full,” I warned gently.

For several minutes, we ate in silence. I kept sneaking glances at her, noting how carefully she ate, how she seemed to be counting her bites of each food item to ensure they were evenly distributed.

Everything about her spoke of rigid control -- highly unusual in a three-year-old, who should be messy and impulsive.

“Athena,” I said softly, “I want you to know that you’re safe here. I know everything is strange and new, but I’m your aunt -- your daddy’s sister -- and I’m going to take care of you.”

Her fork paused halfway to her mouth, and she looked at me directly for the first time since we’d sat down.

“I miss him too,” I continued, my voice thick. “He was the best big brother anyone could ask for. And I bet he was an amazing daddy.”