King
“Fuck!”
Grace was related to fucking everyone. Not only was Reaper correct in assuming she was his cousin, but if Popeye was related to Devlin Scott, that meant Malice was also her cousin.
“Does Malice know?”
“He does.” Popeye chuckled. “He’s never acknowledged Scott as his father, so he doesn’t acknowledge me as his uncle. I’m his former VP. That’s it.”
“I have family?” Grace asked quietly.
“You do, baby. Though most of it isn’t worth claiming. You have a cousin in California, who is batshit fucking crazy, but she would be there if you needed her. You also have a cousin in New York; she’s married into the Bratva. But she’s very sweet, and probably the only one worth anything aside from you.”
A knock on the door interrupted us, and Kytten stuck her head in.
“Sorry to interrupt, but, Grace, I have those results.”
“Come in, Kytten,” Grace said.
Grace looked at her father, tears in her eyes. “I have to tell you something.”
“Baby, you don’t have to,” I urged.
“No, depending on what the tests say, he should know.”
“What is it, Grace? Are you sick?”
Kytten stood at the end of the table, a folder in her hand. Grace inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. I could almost hearher counting in her head. She’d come so far in the last two weeks. Depending on what the tests said, she could backslide.
“Two weeks ago, Karlyn, Jackson’s woman, went with me to the bakery in town. There was an ambush, and Karlyn and I were taken.”
I saw Popeye stiffen. His hand held on to Grace’s, but his eyes were hard. He was a father about to find out how his little girl had been hurt.
“I was raped.”
Popeye didn’t speak at first. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. When he opened them, they were directed at me as he said, “Baby, that was not your fault.”
Grace looked up and followed his gaze. “It wasn’t King’s fault either.”
“He didn’t protect you.”
“I wouldn’t let him. He told me to stay in the clubhouse, but I was angry. So I asked Karlyn to go get a coffee with me. Please don’t blame him.”
“I have to blame someone,” he said.
“Blame the man who did it.”
“Where the fuck is he?”
“Dead,” I answered.
Popeye snapped his eyes to mine. “You killed him?”
“Fuck yeah, I killed him. I wish I hadn’t, though. He died too fucking fast, but getting to Grace was more important.”
Popeye nodded, then turned to Grace. “I can give you some privacy.”
“No.” She grabbed his hand. Her other hand sought out mine, and I scooted closer to her chair and wrapped my arm around her shoulders.
