Chapter One Deacon #3
When I refused to give her any drug money, she started fucking some guys in one of our rival clubs.
Because of my love for her, I didn’t kick her to the curb when I found out.
No, I paid for her to go to rehab. She got out, and we had one good month together.
During those few weeks, I actually thought of making her my old lady.
And then she fell off the wagon with alcohol. I told her it was either the alcohol or me—she chose the alcohol and left. That had been five years ago, and I hadn’t heard anything from her since. Until now.
“Let me guess. She OD’d or died of alcohol poisoning?”
Mrs. Martinez slowly shook her head. “She murdered.”
My brows rose in surprise. “By who?”
“Police, they don’t know,” she replied. But from the fear that burned in her eyes, I knew there was more to the story than she or the authorities were letting on. “I bring you something of hers.”
“Trust me, there’s nothing of hers I want.”
“You want this. It is yours, too.”
I racked my brain trying to think if there was something that Lacey had taken from me all those years ago. But I kept drawing a blank. Then for the first time, I saw there was someone with Mrs. Martinez.
A tiny, dark-haired girl was hidden within the many folds of the woman’s skirt.
“Willow, come out.”
The moment the little girl stepped into my line of sight, I felt like I’d been hit by a fucking lightning bolt. My body shuddered from the aftershocks. It was as if I was looking at the female version of myself when I had been that age.
“Fuck me.”
“This belongs to you. Willow, she your daughter.”
At that moment, the room tilted and spun, and if it hadn’t been for Rev behind me, I probably would have done a pansy-ass thing like fucking passing out.
I momentarily leaned on his strength until I could recover.
Although the physical evidence showed that the kid was mine, I immediately went on the defensive.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I don’t have any fucking kids.”
Wide-eyed, the little girl stared up at me. From her expression of wonderment, I knew she was putting the pieces together. Regardless of my denial, she knew the truth—I was her father. As I glared down at her, an unwanted feeling of pride coursed through my veins.
Mine.
I’d created the angelic looking thing before me.
As I mentally counted the months and years in my mind, I couldn’t help but think she had been conceived during that one perfect month with Lacey.
We’d fucked morning, noon, and night, so I guess it wasn’t hard to imagine I’d knocked her up.
I’d certainly been barebacking, and she was off all meds.
I guessed now that had included her birth control.
At that moment, Mama Liz came barreling through the crowd with Bishop at her side. I guess Rev had sent him after her. When her gaze fell on Willow, a strangled cry erupted from her lips before her hands came to cover her mouth. “Oh David,” she whispered.
Mrs. Martinez nodded before reaching into the large bag on her shoulder. After taking out a piece of paper, she thrust it at me. “You on Willow’s birth certificate,” she argued.
Just hearing the girl’s name caused a stabbing pain to shoot through my chest straight to my heart.
Willow…my daughter’s name was Willow.
The first time Lacey and I had ever fucked was under one of the willow trees in the field down the hill from the compound. Before we’d fucked, we’d sat under one for hours, talking and laughing. Like a lovesick pussy, I’d even carved our initials into one of the trees.
Taking her hand in mine, I’d traced her finger over the initials. “This is our willow tree just like you’re always mine.”
“Always,” she’d murmured.
Then everything had gone to fucking hell, but she’d remembered enough to name our daughter something meaningful.
“Look,” Mrs. Martinez instructed, flashing the paper in front of my face.
I grabbed it from her and stared down at it. There it was in bold, black ink. Under “Father’s Name” was David Malloy.
Fuck me. Willow was mine.
I was a father.
I’m not sure why I needed to see it on a paper to believe it. Just one look at Willow, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt I was her father.
What the fuck had Lacey been thinking? She put my name on a legal document, yet she never fucking picked up a phone to tell me I had a kid?
There were a thousand things I wanted to scream at her at that moment, but I couldn’t. I’d never get to have the answers I so desperately sought because she was dead. Worst of all, she’d been murdered. What the hell had she gotten herself into that had ended with her murder?
Without a word to Mrs. Martinez, I folded the birth certificate up and slid it into my back pocket. The one thing Preacher Man had always taught me was to acknowledge your responsibilities.
After glancing at Willow, her wide-eyes were still locked on me.
A ragged sigh erupted from my lips. I’d never really thought about being a father.
More than anything, I’d thought about how not to become one.
Since the time I’d started fucking, I’d taken all the necessary precautions to prevent pregnancy.
At almost twenty-eight, I was still looking far into the future when it came to settling down and having kids.
But fate had forced my hand.
With my heart threatening to beat out of my chest, I knelt down in front of Willow. “So, I guess I’m your dad, huh?”
Slowly, she bobbed her head up and down in acknowledgment.
“Look, I’m sorry it took losing your mom for you to get to meet me. If I had known about you, I would’ve come around.”
Willow remained silently appraising me. With everyone’s eyes boring holes into my back, I wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of the roadhouse and escape where I could be alone to process my out of control emotions.
“Would you like to get out of here and see your new house?” I asked.
When Willow nodded again, I replied, “Okay, cool. Then let’s get the hell out of here.”
“David, language,” Mama Liz chided.
“Whatever,” I grumbled, as I rose to my feet.
Mrs. Martinez closed the gap between us. With a grave expression, she grabbed my shoulder. “There’s more I tell you.”
“More than my ex was murdered and I have a kid?” I retorted before I could stop myself. After her nod, I crossed my hands over my chest. “Then spill it.”
“Not with Willow.”
After her meaning registered with me, my gaze fell on Mama Liz. “Will you take her?”
Her face lit up. “I would love to.”
After walking over to Willow, Mama Liz held out her hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go find you something to eat in the kitchen. You can have ice cream or candy or anything you want.”
I grunted at her already spoiling Willow. When they were gone, I eyed Mrs. Martinez. “Okay. What is it it?”
“Willow don’t talk.”
My brows creased in worry. “Is she on the spectrum?”
Most people wouldn’t expect a biker like me to no shit about autism. But one of our members had a nonverbal son, so I’d learned how to communicate with him.
To my surprise, Mrs. Martinez shook her head. “No. She talk fine.” With a laugh, she replied, “She talks better than me.”
“So is it like a grief thing?”
Mrs. Martinez’s amusement faded. “She scared.”
“Of me?”
She shook her head. “She saw Lacey…”
“Fuck,” I muttered at the picture painted in my mind.
“And no more talk.”
Once again, I could only reply, “Fuck.”
To my surprise, Mrs. Martinez patted my arm reassuringly. “You get her help, and she be fine. She a smart, sweet girl. Just scared now.”
With a cast-iron resolve pulsing through me, I replied, “As long as I draw breath that little girl will never have to fear anything ever again.”