Chapter Two
King
“You wanna fucking repeat that?” I growled. “Because I know I didn’t hear what you just fucking said.”
“You heard me, Prez,” Tank confirmed.
“Jesus Christ, Tank. Does he know?”
Tank looked at the door to the hallway. The hallway where Sinclair was sitting, right now, waiting to see him.
“I imagine he does now.” Tank sighed, closing his eyes once more.
I stared at the man. I’d known him for years, and not once did I suspect he was someone other than who he said he was. When he’d asked to prospect, he told us what we thought was everything about him. Nav did a thorough background check and confirmed everything he told us.
His mother was Genevieve Thatcher-Morgan. His father was Theodore Morgan Sr. Both names were listed on his birth certificate. The couple had been married in 1990 and were still married when his mother passed away in 2022.
I’d fucking met them both.
There was no indication they were anything other than his parents. No adoption records, nothing. Tank had money. More money than most of us had. His mother came from old money. He was a trust fund kid who rebelled against his upbringing.
“How the fuck is that man your father?” I asked when suddenly a disturbing thought popped into my head. “Are you a child of the fucking Trick Pony?”
Tank inhaled deeply and winced. His hand went to his shoulder where he’d been shot. “Technically speaking, no.”
“I’m gonna need you to explain this shit to me before I lose my fucking mind.”
A few years ago, Tank had gone home to Florida when his mom was sick. While on her deathbed, his mother had decided to ease her conscience. A last-ditch effort to earn her way into Heaven she’d said.
She told Tank the truth about his father, and who he really was. She’d begged him not to say a word to anyone. Not even his father. As I listened to him, I thought about Jack and Samantha. And I had to wonder how fucking often women lied about who the father of their children was.
Maybe babies should have their DNA tested after they were born. It would solve a whole lot of fucking problems. Except, that would create a whole fucking lot more at the same time.
“He’s out in the hall,” I said, hooking a thumb over my shoulder. “Do you want to see him?”
“Fuck no.”
The knock on the door stopped Tank from saying more. The door pushed open, and Jonah stuck his head in. “I’m here, Prez.”
“Thanks, Jonah. I’ll be out shortly.”
Jonah nodded and closed the door gently. I stared at it a few moments before turning back to Tank. “You want me to get rid of him?”
“Yes. He may be the man who got my mother pregnant, but he’s not my father. My parents had their faults. They were typical rich bastards who believed they were better than the rest of the world. But they were my parents. They raised me. He’s nothing to me.”
“Just the man who saved your fucking life,” I said on a long, tired breath.
“I didn’t ask him to.”
“No, you son of a bitch. I did. You should have fucking told me. Especially after he walked into my house and took Amber’s brother.”
“He didn’t know who I was. There was no reason to bring it up.”
“Fuck you, Tank,” I growled.
“Would knowing have stopped you from calling him?” he asked.
“Would you have let me die? ’Cause I’ve made my peace with death.
I joined this club knowing that was a possibility one day.
Hell, my whole fucking life has been a risk.
I didn’t fucking tell you because I didn’t want him to know who I was. ”
“I don’t let my men fucking die. Hash was gone before I got back. That’s on me. And if you want to be pissed because I did the only thing I knew and called that motherfucker to save your stupid ass, then be pissed.”
I walked to the door and looked back. “And the answer to your question is yes. I still would have fucking called him if I’d known. I am your goddamn president. I will do whatever the fuck I have to do in order to protect you. Including kicking that fucker out of the hospital.”
I yanked the door open and closed it behind me quickly when I saw Sinclair stand up.
“Thank you for coming, Sinclair. Thank you for saving my brother’s life. You can go now.”
“I want to see him.”
“No.”
I felt Jonah move behind me to stand in front of Tank’s door. Sinclair had no hope of getting through it with Jonah in his way.
“He is my son!” Sinclair growled.
“Don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
“King,” he warned.
I lifted an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to finish his threat. He took a step back and inhaled deeply. I watched Sinclair change before my eyes. The arrogant, emotional narcissist pulled back, and I thought for a moment that maybe, just maybe, I had the power to bring this man to heel.
I had something he wanted. Something he’d been searching for. Something he thought he was entitled to have. Only, he wasn’t.
“I would like to meet my son.”
“He doesn’t want to see you.”
“He knows who I am?”
I didn’t answer him. I stood my ground and protected my brother.
“I’m not leaving,” Sinclair said.
“You aren’t wanted here. Dante isn’t here to plead your case. You remember Dante? The kid you raised? The son you had and treated like shit? The man whose husband you threatened when you walked into my clubhouse uninvited. You really think I’m gonna let you anywhere near my fucking brother?”
“You will regret keeping me from my son, King.”
“I’m not keeping you from anything, Sinclair.
You see, that’s where you and I are different.
I’m respecting my brother’s wishes. I’m protecting him in the way he asked me to.
If I were a selfish bastard like you, I wouldn’t have swallowed my pride and asked you to come here and save his fucking life.
Because make no fucking mistake, Sinclair, you were the last person I wanted to call. ”
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said and then turned and walked down the hall.
“Don’t waste your time,” I called out behind him. But I knew it was futile. I understood fathers who were selfish bastards. I had one of my own who, not long ago, tried to push his way into my own life uninvited.
Earlier in the year,
“Hello, son.”
He walked into my house as if he fucking belonged there. Him and his men. He’d called me son since the day he found out who I was. He wasn’t wrong. I was his son, but he wasn’t my father. I had a father. A damn good one.
Between Sal and Duncan, they believed Maureen’s daughter Colleen was in danger because her father, Maureen’s previous husband, had told her he’d found my mother. He didn’t tell her where, only that he’d found her.
I moved us into church, my officers following behind me, and they laid it all out.
“We think Tyran killed Duane after he got the information about Darcy’s location. He went to California shortly after Duane was killed,” Sal explained.
He focused on the table for a moment before looking up at me. I saw the hurt and anguish on his face as he said the words, “I’m sorry, son. Tyran said she died seven years ago.”
I stared at my father. My mother was gone. I would never get a chance to meet her. Emotions I wasn’t prepared for washed over me, and I stood, turning away from everyone.
“You okay, Prez?” Jack asked solemnly.
“Everyone out,” I ordered.
Chairs scraped against the floor as my men stood. Jack stopped beside me. His words were quiet, so only I heard him say, “I’m here for you, brother. I know what you’re feeling. It’s okay to grieve.” I nodded, unable to speak. Jack slapped me on the back before leaving the room.
“Give me a minute with my son,” Sal whispered.
“He needs to know the rest.”
Fuck, what else is there?
“I’ll tell him,” Sal rasped, his voice filled with the same emotion I was feeling. I heard the door close behind me. My eyes filled with tears I wasn’t prepared for.
She was gone.
Forever.
“Son.”
“I’m not your fucking son.” I turned my head when I spoke, not ready to face him.
My hands clenched. I wanted to punch him in the mouth. He wasn’t my father. Curran O’Rourke was my father. Declan was my father. The man standing behind me was no one to me.
“Whether you like it or not, it doesn’t change biology. You are my son. You were her son. She loved you.”
I spun around and snarled, “Loved me? She wanted to fucking kill me! The only reason she didn’t was because my grandmother, my real mother, talked her out of it.”
“Why do you hate me? I had no choice. I didn’t even know you existed until three months ago.”
“Fuck you, Sal! You knew I existed. I wasn’t good enough to meet as your little brother. But son? Well, that’s different, right? A fucking heir! You’re an asshole.”
His nostrils flared. He knew I was right. There was nothing he could say to deny the years he had ignored me.
“My mother fucking left me,” he said as he stood from his seat.
“For you!” His finger was directed at me to make his point.
“She walked away from her oldest child to raise her grandson, without a goddamn goodbye. Do you have any idea how that fucking felt? You didn’t know your mother.
I am so fucking sorry that you never will, because she was fucking amazing.
She was the best thing that ever happened in my life, and now she’s gone.
But you had my mother.” He slammed his hand on the table.
“I lost her twice. The day she left me and then again when she was killed.”
“I never fucking had my mother!”
“No, you didn’t. And I wish there were something I could do to change it. Had I known Duane was looking for her, I would have protected him. Had I known my best fucking friend was the reason she left, I would have killed the motherfucker then.” His eyes dropped to the table.
I knew he was grieving too, but I didn’t fucking care. He was the reason I didn’t have my mother. Either of them.
“I can’t change the past.” His fingers trailed over something in front of him that looked like maybe they were pictures. He lifted them and moved around the table to stand in front of me.
“I know this doesn’t make up for all the shit you had handed to you. But here.”
He held them out, and I stared at him. I couldn’t look at what was in his hands. I knew what they were. They were pictures of her. I closed my eyes and shook my head.
I didn’t want them.
I didn’t want to know what I was missing.
“I’ll leave them here for when you’re ready.”
I turned away, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing my grief.
“There’s more.”
“Of course there is,” I scoffed.
“She had another son that we know about.”
My eyes snapped to him. My grief quickly dissolved into anger that bordered on rage.
“What?”
“We don’t know anything about him. His name, his age, nothing. All we know is he died before she did. We’re still looking for her. We know she was in California, but she changed her name multiple times. I don’t know what name she was living under when she passed away.”
“Get the fuck out.”
“Son—”
“Get the fuck out of my house. And take the damn pictures with you.” I shoved them off the table, letting them scatter on the floor.
I heard his weary sigh.
Fuck you, asshole! I’m fucking tired too! Tired of this shit. Tired of the fucking secrets.
Sal left the pictures on the floor and walked around the table. I waited for the sound of the door opening. When it didn’t, I turned.
Braesal O’Malley, head of the Irish Mob, stood with his back to me. His shoulders slumped in grief and what I assumed was defeat. He didn’t turn when he spoke. He held his head high and stared at the doors in front of him.
“I know you hate me, but I fucking love you. If for no other reason than you’re all I have left of them both.”
He walked out the door, and I stood long enough for the doors to close before I fell into my chair.