Chapter 4 - Emma
"She's good for him, Emma. She's brought back parts of him I don't think even he knew were still there."
I stare at the woman standing beside my father.
She can't be much older than me, early twenties at most. Curvy like me, with flowing dark hair and an ethereal beauty that seems out of place in this compound of violence and testosterone.
The way she stands close to my father, her hand lightly touching his arm, tells me everything I need to know.
My stomach twists with a complicated emotion I can't fully name. Betrayal? Disgust? Jealousy? A toxic cocktail of all three bubbles up inside me as I watch them.
For years, I told myself I didn't care what my father did, who he spent his time with. I convinced myself I was beyond caring about a man who chose his criminal lifestyle over his family. But seeing him with this woman, this girl barely older than me, ignites something primal and painful.
He left us. He let Mom take me away without a fight. He abandoned his role as my father when it became inconvenient.
And now he's what? Playing protector to some girl my age? Finding love while I've spent years building walls around my heart because of the damage he caused?
"Emma?" Wilder's voice sounds distant through the roaring in my ears. "You okay?"
I grab my backpack from the car floor, slinging it over my shoulder with enough force to make my arm ache. Without answering him, without acknowledging anyone, I slam the car door and stride toward the clubhouse.
My father steps forward, his face lighting up with an expression I haven't seen in years. Hope, relief, something almost like joy. "Emma—"
I brush past him without a word, not even slowing down. Past Evelyn with her wide, uncertain eyes. Past the cluster of leather-clad men watching curiously from the clubhouse steps. Into the building and down the first hallway I find, my vision blurring with tears I refuse to shed.
Behind me, I hear my father call my name again, confusion replacing the warmth in his voice. Good. Let him be confused. Let him wonder. Let him feel a fraction of the uncertainty I've lived with for years.
I have no idea where I'm going in this maze of corridors.
The clubhouse is larger than I expected, the interior surprisingly clean and well-maintained.
I pass what looks like a common room with pool tables and a bar, a kitchen, several closed doors that must lead to bedrooms or offices.
I just need to find somewhere private, somewhere I can breathe and process the storm of emotions threatening to drown me.
A door at the end of the hallway stands slightly ajar. I push it open to find a small bedroom. Clean, with a double bed, dresser, and a window overlooking the back of the compound. This will do.
I drop my backpack on the floor and sink onto the edge of the bed, finally allowing myself to exhale.
The tension I've been carrying since the moment Wilder met me at the train station.
No, since my father's phone call three days ago, releases in a shuddering breath that's dangerously close to a sob.
A soft knock at the door makes me stiffen. If it's my father, I'll scream. If it's that woman, I might actually throw something.
"Emma?" It's Wilder's voice, gentle in a way I haven't heard before. "This is my room. Yours is across the hall."
Of course I would stumble into his room of all places. I stand quickly, embarrassed at the intrusion, but he remains in the doorway, not entering.
"Sorry," I mutter, grabbing my backpack. "I didn't know."
"It's fine." He leans against the doorframe, still favoring his injured arm. "But Reaper had a room prepared specially for you. Might be more comfortable."
"I don't care where I sleep." I move toward the door, expecting him to step aside. He doesn't.
"You want to talk about what just happened out there?"
"Not particularly." I cross my arms defensively.
"Your father's worried."
"My father can worry all he wants. It's about five years too late to start caring."
"That's not fair, and I think you know it." His voice remains gentle, but there's an edge of steel beneath it. "He's always cared, Emma. Whether you wanted to see it or not."
"Is that what he tells his little harem of followers?
That he's just a misunderstood daddy who loves his little girl?
" The bitterness in my voice surprises even me.
"He abandoned us. He chose this—" I gesture around the clubhouse "—over his family.
And now he's, what, playing house with some girl barely older than me? It's disgusting."
Something changes in Wilder's expression, a flicker of anger quickly controlled. "You don't know anything about Evelyn or what she's been through."
"I know my father has a pattern of collecting broken people and making them loyal to him." I step closer, challenging him. "Isn't that what he did with you? Found you doing some crazy stunt and decided to make you his newest disciple?"
"That's not how it was."
"No? Then tell me, Wilder. How does a normal guy from Pine Haven end up willing to take a knife for the daughter of a criminal? What kind of hold does he have over all of you?"
Wilder's jaw tightens, but he doesn't rise to my bait. "The kind that comes from respect and brotherhood, not manipulation. Your father is a lot of things, but he's not the monster you want to paint him as."
"You don't know him like I do."
"Maybe I know parts of him you never bothered to see.
The man who stood up against human traffickers when no one else would.
The man who sits by his VP's hospital bed every time Ghost's PTSD lands him there.
The man who's been keeping your college tuition paid even though you return every check he sends. "
I blink in surprise. "How do you know about that?"
"Because I'm the one who handles the club's finances. Every month, like clockwork, he writes you a check. Every month, it comes back uncashed."
I look away, unsettled by this revelation. Those checks always arrive in plain envelopes with no note, no message—just money. I'd convinced myself it was his way of assuaging guilt, not genuine support.
"That doesn't change anything," I insist, but my voice lacks conviction.
"Maybe not. But before you judge him for finding some happiness with Evelyn, you might want to know their story." Wilder finally steps aside, clearing the doorway. "Your room is the second door on the right. There's a club meeting in an hour to discuss security. Your father wants you there."
"I'm not part of this club."
"No, but you're part of this family, whether you want to be or not." He says it matter-of-factly, not unkindly. "And right now, family is all that stands between you and Charles's men."
With that, he walks away, leaving me standing in his doorway with my righteous anger suddenly feeling less righteous and more childish.
I find my assigned room exactly where he said it would be.
It's larger than Wilder's, with a queen bed covered in what looks like new linens, a dresser, desk, and attached bathroom.
Someone has placed a vase of wildflowers on the nightstand, an oddly thoughtful touch in this testosterone-fueled environment.
My father's work? Or maybe this Evelyn person?
I set my backpack on the bed and unzip it, pulling out the few clothes and toiletries I hastily packed when my father's warning call came.
Three days ago, my biggest concern was finishing my forensic toxicology paper.
Now I'm hiding in an outlaw motorcycle club from biker traffickers who want to kidnap or kill me.
The absurdity of my situation hits me all at once, and I sink onto the bed, a hysterical laugh bubbling up from my chest. What am I doing here? This isn't my life. I don't belong in this world of violence and brotherhood and blood oaths.
Except, by birth, I do. Jackson Kane's daughter. Born into the life whether I wanted it or not.
I force myself to stand, to move, to do something other than spiral into panic. The bathroom calls to me—a hot shower might clear my head, wash away the lingering fear from the diner attack and the emotional overload of seeing my father with Evelyn.
The bathroom is surprisingly modern, with clean white tiles and a large shower stall. I turn the water as hot as I can stand it and step under the spray, letting it pound against my tense muscles. As steam fills the small space, I close my eyes and try to sort through the chaos in my mind.
The Vultures MC who knew my name.
Wilder bleeding to protect me.
My father with a woman barely older than me.
The trafficking victims he supposedly saved.
None of it fits the narrative I've constructed over the years. The selfish criminal who chose his club over his family. But neither can I reconcile it with the father who let me walk away without a fight.
When the hot water begins to cool, I reluctantly shut it off and wrap myself in a towel. The mirror reveals a pale face with shadows under amber eyes. My red hair hangs in wet tendrils around my face, making me look older than my nineteen years.
I dress quickly in clean jeans and a sweatshirt from my backpack, then sit at the edge of the bed, dreading the inevitable confrontation with my father. Part of me wants to stay locked in this room for the duration of my forced stay. The more rational part knows that's impossible.
A soft knock at the door interrupts my brooding. I tense, expecting my father, but the voice that calls through the wood is female.
"Emma? It's Evelyn. May I come in?"
My first instinct is to refuse, to tell her to go away. But curiosity wins out. I want to see up close what kind of woman has captured my father's attention after all these years.
"It's open," I call, remaining seated on the bed.
The door opens slowly, and Evelyn steps inside. She's even more beautiful up close. Delicate features, luminous skin, dark eyes that hold a depth of experience at odds with her youthful appearance. She's dressed simply in jeans and a loose sweater, her dark hair falling in waves past her shoulders.
"I thought you might be hungry," she says, holding up a plate with a sandwich and some fruit. "The meeting's in twenty minutes, and you haven't eaten since the diner."
"I'm fine," I say, even as my stomach betrays me with an audible growl.
She sets the plate on the desk. "Your father says you're studying criminal forensics."
"That's right." I'm surprised he remembers. "What are you, his secretary?"
The barb doesn't land as I intended. Instead of looking hurt, Evelyn just smiles.
"No," she says simply. "I'm someone who knows what it's like to be angry at the world. To feel like you have no control over your own life."
"Look," I say, softening my tone slightly, "I'm sure you're very nice. But I don't need a heart-to-heart with my father's..." I trail off, not sure what to call her.
"Girlfriend?" she supplies. "Partner? Those labels seem so inadequate for what we are to each other."
"And what exactly is that?" I can't keep the edge from my voice.
"Survivors." She says. "Your father saved my life, Emma. Not just by rescuing me from that auction house, but by seeing me as a person worth protecting when I'd forgotten my own worth."
"Wilder told me you were one of the trafficking victims."
She nods, her expression grave. "Three months in captivity. I won't burden you with the details. They're not something anyone should have to hear. But your father found me when I'd lost all hope. He and his men rescued more than twenty women that night."
"Why did you stay? The others left."
"Some had homes to return to. Families searching for them." A shadow crosses her face. "I had nothing. No one. Your father offered me protection until they caught the men responsible."
"And now you're with him." It's not a question.
"Now I'm with him," she confirms. "It wasn't planned, Emma. It just... happened. We found something in each other that neither of us expected."
I want to be angry, to lash out, to tell her she's being used or manipulated. But the quiet dignity in her voice stops me. This isn't some naive girl swept up in the dangerous allure of an older man. There's a strength in her that reminds me, uncomfortably, of myself.
"He abandoned me and my mother," I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "He let us walk away without a fight. And now he's moved on, playing hero to someone else."
Evelyn sits on the edge of the desk. "Did he ever tell you why he didn't fight for custody?"
"He said it was to protect us. The usual MC bullshit about keeping family separate from club business." I roll my eyes. "Fat lot of good that did, considering I'm here now with Vultures MC trying to kill me."
"It wasn't just about protection from enemies." Her voice gentles. "It was about protecting you from himself. From what he might become if he lost you in a custody battle."
"What does that even mean?"
"Your father has darkness in him, Emma. Violence he controls through strict codes and rules.
He was afraid that if your mother took you away through the courts, if he had to watch you slip away legally and permanently.
.." She pauses. "He feared what he might do to keep you.
The lines he might cross. So he let you go, believing it was the only way to keep his darkness from touching you. "
"That's no excuse," I whisper, but the conviction in my voice wavers.
"No, it's not," she agrees, surprising me. "It was still a choice that hurt you deeply. One he regrets every day. But understanding why people make the choices they do doesn't mean excusing the pain those choices cause."
Before I can respond, another knock sounds at the door, harder and more insistent than Evelyn's gentle tap. Without waiting for an answer, the door swings open to reveal Wilder.