Grace’s eyes moved to the journal. “What does it say?”
“I need to know how much you know before I tell you that.”
“Why?”
“I loved your mother, Grace. So fucking much.” I laid my hand on the journal. “But the woman who wrote this journal—she isn’t the woman I knew. I don’t want you to experience that. Don’t want you to lose the memories you have of your mom.”
The color drained from Grace’s face.
My chest tightened. “How much do you know?”
Grace took a deep breath. “When we moved the first time, she stopped letting me go to the clubhouse. I would stay with the neighbor while she went without me. But after a while...”
“What, baby?” King asked.
“Eventually she stopped going, but the brothers came to the house.”
I looked up at King but couldn’t read the expression on his face. “Did you know Grace’s mother?”
“I don’t remember a Christina,” he said as he moved around the desk in front of Grace. I reached for my wallet and pulled out an old picture I kept hidden behind my ID.
“Her name was Scarlett then,” I offered, and handed him the image.
“Fucking hell,” he cursed.
My daughter’s eyes filled with tears. “King, you didn’t...” Her hand covered her mouth as if she couldn’t say the words.
“No, baby,” King rushed out as he squatted in front of her, dropping the picture on his desk. “I never slept with your mother, Grace. She hung around the club for a couple of years after I joined, then one day she just disappeared.”
“How long, Grace?” I asked, my voice rough.
“How long?” she asked, confused as to what I was asking. I didn’t want to elaborate, but I needed to know.
“How long were the brothers coming to the house?”
Grace glanced at King, and I saw the apology in her eyes as her bottom lip trembled. “Until we left Arkansas.”
King closed his eyes and dropped his head to Grace’s stomach. His arms went around her, and her fingers ran through his hair.
“Do you know who they were?” I asked.
King’s head snapped up, and he turned a glare on me. “What the fuck, Popeye? Christina is dead. I’m sorry she fucking ran and hid Grace from you. But my old lady is not going to sit here and relive that shit, giving you a play-by-play of her mother’s fucks.”
“What the fuck are you afraid of?” I asked.
King stood up and towered over me, thinking he could intimidate me. I’d spent my life under George Stone’s thumb; it took a shit ton more than this kid to fucking scare me. I stood up slowly and looked him in the eye.
“Who are you trying to protect?”
“My old lady,” he growled. “She has a few fucking weeks left; she doesn’t need this shit right now.”
“King,” Grace said, reaching up to take his hand. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. You’ve been through enough, Grace.” The two of them stared at each other, having a silent conversation that didn’t include me. It was an uncomfortable moment knowing I’d missed so much of her life that I’d never been the one she ran to, and I never would be.
King rubbed his hands over his face and moved behind Grace, placing his hands on her shoulders. Giving her his strength. I looked up at him and nodded. I didn’t want to do this, but I needed a place to start.
“Mostly it was Steele and Stone. Titan sometimes.” Her eyes dropped to her lap, and I reached out and squeezed her hand.
