Chapter One
Derek
Six weeks after the attack on the clubhouse...
I sat on the front steps of my brother’s house, drinking a cup of coffee. Jack had opened his home to me ever since the Death Dogs had broken into Indie’s apartment and tried to kidnap her.
They were outside the apartment building I lived in, and I’d warned Mimic as I left, giving him the keys to my apartment. King believed they might come back, and as a favor to Jack, he’d let me stay on club property indefinitely.
I called Nebraska home, at least for now.
Jack and Sam had asked me to move here and build their house, giving Jack and me time to get to know each other.
I’d built Jack’s house and finished Ryder’s.
Now I was starting on Cash’s house. He and Kytten were having twins.
And with Grace pregnant, I assumed King’s house would be next.
It kept me busy and put money in my pocket, but I had no illusions that anyone on this compound, aside from Jack and Sam, wanted me here.
I had to remind myself that this was temporary. Nothing good in my life ever lasted long.
Eventually, I’d fuck it up like I did everything else in my life. It was only a matter of time before I said the wrong thing, made the wrong move, or let my demons get the best of me again.
Haizley, Gunner’s old lady, had been working with me on my past and the shit I’d done. She was patient, more patient that I deserved, sitting with me week after week as I unpacked all the shit I’d carried around with me for decades.
The day I found out Sam was pregnant with Charlie was the second biggest regret of my life. I clenched my hands around the cup as the memory of what I’d done to Sam flashed through my mind.
Still, my biggest regret was walking away from my kid.
I never wanted kids. Never wanted to be like my old man.
The thought of becoming a father terrified me because I knew I’d end up just like mine.
He was a bastard who beat me and my mother without mercy or reason.
Some nights it was because dinner was cold.
Other nights he was simply drunk and mean.
There was always a reason, and there was never a reason at the same time.
I’d always known somewhere inside me, in that quiet place you kept the truth you didn’t want to face, I had a brother or a sister out there somewhere. A forgotten memory that lived in my bones, a missing piece I couldn’t quite name.
On the day my mother died, as she lay bleeding in my arms, she confirmed I had a brother. Her voice was weak, barely a whisper, but her words hit me like a freight train.
A brother she’d given away. One she’d saved from the hell we lived in. She never saved me, though. Never thought I was worth the effort. I had to do that myself, had to claw my way out of that house and that life with nothing but sheer will and determination.
And I did it.
The day I turned eighteen, I left. Grabbed what little I owned, stuffed it in a duffel bag, and walked out the door without looking back.
I never asked her about the baby she had when I was six.
Never wanted to know who or where they were.
Not that it would have done any good. She didn’t know either. She’d made sure of that.
When my mother gave birth to my brother, she left him at a fire station, wrapped in a blanket. Just laid him down and walked away, hoping someone would find him and give him a better life than she could. She died, never knowing if he lived. If he’d had a good life or a bad one.
She would be happy to know he was alive and well. And that we were together. I still couldn’t believe it myself. After what I’d done, how he and Sam could forgive me was inspiring. Despite all the work Haizley had done with me, I still couldn’t forgive myself.
I met Sam when I was twenty-five years old and she was barely seventeen; I married her when she turned eighteen.
God, how I loved that woman. Everything had been perfect, except everything had been a lie.
I’d never told Sam I’d had a vasectomy. I knew she wanted kids.
She would have left me if I’d told her, and I didn’t want to lose her.
She reminded me of my mother. She was sweet and loving. No matter how much I fucked up, Sam always forgave me. The way my mother forgave my father for every slap, every cursed word.
The day she told me she was pregnant, I lost my shit.
She cheated on me and tried to pass the baby off as mine.
She spoke those words filled with joy and excitement, but the anger and the hurt I felt made her disappear until all I saw was my father.
Gone was the woman I loved, replaced with the man who had taken everything from me.
He was the reason I couldn’t have kids. The reason I couldn’t trust myself not to lose my shit and beat the hell out of them.
Instead, I’d done it to Samantha. I was just like him. When the rage had finally worn off, Sam was lying on the floor, bloody and broken. I walked out the door and left her there. Not trusting myself to help her, not trusting myself to touch her again.
I never knew how she’d gotten help, but when I came home hours later, she was gone. Every day I expected a knock on the door. I waited for the police to show up and throw my ass in a cell—just like my father. But they never did.
I didn’t hear from Sam again for five years, until I got the divorce papers, surprised she’d waited so long. But what surprised me more was that she’d had the baby and put my name on the birth certificate. Though I guessed she didn’t have a choice since we were still legally married.
When I saw the paper asking me to relinquish my rights to her daughter and have the birth certificate changed, I knew she was with the man she’d cheated on me with. What I hadn’t known until I came to Diamond Creek was, that man was my little brother.
What were the fucking odds?
The baby boy my mother gave away was the man my wife cheated on me with. Once I saw him, I knew why she’d chosen him. He looked so much like me, Sam must have thought I would never know.
It also reminded me of the little girl I lost.
The one I’d given away trying to keep her safe.
I’d lied to Sam when I told her I’d had a vasectomy when I was eighteen. I hadn’t done it until I was twenty-five, just before I met Sam. Not long after Marsha told me she was pregnant. I would have done it sooner, but it just never occurred to me.
Marsha knew I didn’t want kids. I didn’t know how she’d gotten pregnant, but the woman was bat-shit fucking crazy. I walked away, giving her money to get an abortion. A few years later, a woman knocked on my door, telling me I had a daughter in foster care.
She’d said I could take responsibility for her, or I could sign away my rights and let another family adopt her. A judge had already stripped her mother’s rights away after two years of abuse.
I was all she had left.
I couldn’t raise a child. Not on my own, and certainly not with my father’s blood running through my veins. But I went to see her. I held my daughter in my arms for a few minutes and said goodbye.
I didn’t meet her parents. Didn’t want to know anything about them. They had to be better than me and Marsha. You couldn’t adopt a child without a thorough background check. They didn’t do that shit when you had your own.
Maybe they should.
I stared into my daughter’s eyes, and I gave her a small stuffed animal. I wanted her to have something from me. A way to assuage my guilt, I guess.
She was so beautiful. She had my mother’s eyes. I’d gotten my father’s brown eyes. His dark brown hair. His temper. I was too fucking much like him to take a chance on hurting my little girl.
So I gave her back to the social worker, and I kissed her head and walked away from her. That was my biggest regret.
I knew now that no matter what my daughter had done, I’d never lay a hand on her. My niece, Charlie, had taught me that. The day Marsha had shown up at my hotel, Charlie in her arms, claiming she was our little girl, was the day I knew that I would protect any child with everything I had.
I killed Marsha that day. It wasn’t intentional; we’d fought over the gun she had, but that was one thing in my life I didn’t regret. Not only did I save Charlie that day, but I knew my little girl was safe. The woman who had poisoned her for two years would never find her.
My daughter was twelve now. Ten years had passed since I’d seen her and held her in my arms. Not a day went by that I didn’t wonder about her.
Where she was.
If she was safe.
If she was happy.
Maybe one day, when she was an adult, she’d come looking for me. Wonder about who her real parents were. Would she understand why I had to leave? Would she hate me for not protecting her?
“Hey, Derek,” Jack called out behind me. I turned to look up at my brother. “King called. He was wondering if you could go by Grace’s old house. There’s a pipe under the sink that’s leaking.”
“Sure,” I said, taking the last sip of my coffee.
“Thanks, man.”
“No problem, Jack.” I stood up, and he held his hand out for my cup. I placed it in his hand and studied him. He wouldn’t look me in the eye, and I wondered if he’d been having second thoughts about me being here. “Everything okay?”
Jack looked up, and a sad smile spread across his face. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Just a lot going on the last few months.”
“You’re sure you’re still okay with me being here? I can get another place until the houses are done.”
Jack stepped forward and placed a hand on my shoulder. He shook his head. “You aren’t going anywhere. I want you here. Sam wants you here. I want all my girls to grow up with their uncle.” I looked down at my boots. “You need to forgive yourself, Derek.”
“Easier said than done, Jack.”
“We’ve forgiven you.”
“I know. Though I still don’t know why,” I confessed. Jack was a better man than I would ever be. I’d never forgive someone who’d done what I’d done. Hell, I didn’t think I’d ever forgive myself.
“Because you’re family.”
It was that simple for him. We were brothers. Nothing else mattered. But he didn’t grow up like I did. He didn’t grow up being beaten by his father. He didn’t have the trauma from his childhood that I had.
That was what Haizley called it. Childhood trauma. It sounded like an excuse to me. I was a grown fucking adult when I beat the hell out of Sam. I knew that what I had done was wrong. And no amount of therapy would convince me I was worth forgiving.
I nodded at Jack and climbed into my truck. Turning the ignition, I drove toward the gate. Zero was on guard duty today. The man fucking hated me and made sure I knew it.
He’d seen me coming but ignored me. I sat in front of the gate, waiting for him to open it. This was a game he played. A way to assert his dominance. Letting me know I was nothing behind these walls. Here only because King deemed it acceptable because of what I could do for them.
I didn’t honk my horn. I’d learned quickly that only made him angrier, meaning it would take longer for him to get over himself and get bored with making me wait.
He lifted his phone to his ear and turned around. Looking in my rearview mirror, I saw Jack still standing on his front porch. A smile creased my face, and I knew he was cussing Zero out. The gate finally opened, and I moved forward slowly. I waved to Zero with a grin as I passed through it.
It was a short distance through town to Grace’s old house. She was living at the clubhouse now that she and King were officially together and having a baby.
I hadn’t heard much about the woman staying there. Only that one of Kytten’s friends had found her at the Death Dogs’ clubhouse and brought her here.
I pulled into the driveway and climbed out of the cab of my truck, grabbing my toolbox. I knocked on the front door, and when it swung open, I stared down at a little girl who looked an awful lot like my niece, Charlie.
The same black hair with loose curls. The same dimple in her cheek, and the same icy blue eyes. My mother’s eyes.
“Frankie! What did I tell you about opening the door?”
“Sorry, Mom. But it’s the guy to fix the sink,” she called back, her eyes never leaving mine.
“You don’t know that,” a voice called from down the hall.
“I saw his toolbox,” Frankie called back. She lowered her voice and asked, “You’re him, aren’t you?”
I nodded. Unable to find the words to answer as I stared at the girl.
My daughter.
“Still, you don’t answer the door.”
I looked up at the woman who had joined us, and I wanted to take a step back. She was beautiful. Her light caramel-colored hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her dark blue eyes were wide and expressive.
I’d never looked into the couple who had adopted my daughter. I’d trusted the system that was in place. The system whose sole job was to help children.
“Hi, I’m Kat. Are you Derek?”
I nodded again. The lump in my throat grew bigger.
“Please come in. It’s the kitchen sink that’s leaking.” She held the door and watched me cautiously as I entered. “Frankie, go do your schoolwork.”
“But, Mom,” the girl whined, and I smiled. She sounded just like Charlie when she didn’t get her way.
“Now, young lady.”
Frankie huffed and turned toward the hall. I watched as she stomped away.
“Sorry about that.”
“No problem,” I croaked out, finally able to speak. I moved into the kitchen and got to work, trying not to think about the fact that my daughter was here. And that her mother was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in my life.