“No, I don’t share,” Silas cuts out, his pistol poised against Patch’s temple. “And if you so much as look at her ass as we walk out of here, you’ll find out why they call me The Reaperback home.” With two patronizing slaps to his face, Si pops up, hand outstretched to the woman next to me, before turning to leave.
“Always great seeing you, man,” I say with a nod and follow the two idiots for the exit.
A BLEEDING HEART
JOSEPHINE
“You lost?”I call out.
Today’s heat still ripples off the lot. So thick the air wraps around my skin, working its way under my thin layer of clothing.
He looks back at the front door before shaking his head and closing the distance between us. Plumes of dust follow in his path from dragged feet, the crunch loud in the quiet afternoon. His hesitant gait’s a contradiction to the threatening pounds against the door a few seconds ago.
When we’re a mere two feet from each other, he stops and throws his sweatshirt hood back. His bright blond hair’s a stark contrast to the dark clothing he wears head to toe. How the kid isn’t sweating bullets in this weather, I have no idea. The sun beats down on us mercilessly. I can feel sweat sliding down my spine, but he acts as if we’re lounging in the cool AC.
“Anyone here?” He points over his shoulder to the front door again, the heavy steel slab scarred with old dents from rowdy men.
“You looking for someone in particular?”
Without knowing why he’s here, pounding on the door of the Vipers MC clubhouse like the four horsemen are nipping at his heels, I’m not giving up any information until I know more.
My hand tightens instinctively around Haley’s, while I angle just slightly in front of her, creating a barrier.
“I’m looking for Viking.”
The blood in my veins thickens to ice, my stomach bottoming out at his name. The noise from the highway beyond the trees vanishes, instantly replaced by a dull ringing in my ears.
“He’s looking for daddy?” Haley asks innocently, pulling at my hand to get my attention while she looks up at me. Her blue eyes are so much like her father’s. She tilts her head, curiosity written all over her small face, unaware of the bomb she’s just dropped.
I draw in a steadying breath, averting my eyes back to the kid in front of me. He can’t be any older than fifteen. Youthfulness still fills out his full cheeks, but his blue eyes are hardened. They tell a tale without him saying a word. His blond hair’s a mess, curled around his ears in shaggy disarray. It matches the oversized clothes hanging loose on his tall frame, which I would bet doesn’t have enough weight on it. He looks like someone who’s had to fight to survive on little.
It hits me like a freight train at full speed, and the nausea creeps up the back of my throat. I swallow it back, refusing to let my little girl feel the panic beating against my ribs. I force myself to stay relaxed and my face neutral, even as my pulse hammers like a stampede of wild horses.
He eyes my daughter, examining her the way I just did him. His gaze lingers, searching, comparing. I see the sparkwhen it hits, recognition lighting his expression for just a split second, and I want to collapse on the spot.
Everything is about to change.
When he finally shifts his gaze back to me, he reaches into his hoodie’s pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. His hands shake as he does it, fingers tight around the edges, like he’s afraid it might vanish if he loosens his grip. With trembling resolve, he extends it in my direction in a silent offering.
The silky smoothness of the paper against my fingertips doesn’t prepare me for the photo revealed when I unfold it. The world tilts as the image comes into focus.
My husband, years younger, eyes wide and excited, with his head thrown back. A laugh I can hear in my mind pushing from his lips. His arm’s thrown around a leggy brunette whose hand splays intimately across his chest, while she looks at him like he’s hung the damn moon.
The backdrop looks the same today, except the barstools are now reupholstered. I can almost hear the music, smell the leather, and feel the reckless energy frozen in that moment.
And the beautiful, happy world I’ve created with the man in question comes crashing down around me.
“Your mom?” I choke. The words scrape their way out because I know what comes next.
He nods, his stature growing stiff, like he’s anticipating my breakdown—a boy used to handling other people’s emotions. His jaw clenches, ready for whatever reaction I’m about to give him.
I can’t bring myself to ask. To say the words that will finalize what I already know.
He steps closer, leaning forward. “She told me he was my dad… and that I should find him,” he says, voice just above a whisper.
And there it is, the words that tilt my world on its axis, throwing my entire system out of orbit, spinning wildly into a black hole of nothingness. My vision narrows, almost blacking out, but my tether pulls me back, yanking on my hand in hers.
“Mama?”
