Chapter 2 - Lucy
I shift nervously on the hard wooden bench, trying to ignore the heavy stares from the bikers scattered around the clubhouse.
Their cuts bear the same patch I remember from that night – a bloody fist crushing a skull, "Iron it still makes my skin tingle and my heart skip a beat.
He's got new tattoos creeping up his neck, and a fresh scar near his right temple that wasn't there before. His dark hair is longer now, tied back at the nape of his neck. Everything about him screams danger, yet my traitorous body remembers how gentle those hands can be.
The room goes silent. Even the prospects seem to shrink behind the bar.
"Lucy," Wrath says, my name rolling off his tongue like smoke. His voice is exactly as I remember – deep, rough, with an edge that sends shivers down my spine. "Long time no see."
I stand on shaky legs, fighting to keep my voice steady. The photo in my pocket feels like it weighs a thousand pounds.
"We need to talk."
His eyes narrow slightly, scanning my face. Looking for what, I'm not sure. Threat? Deception? Whatever he sees makes his jaw tighten.
"Private room," he barks to no one in particular, already moving toward a hallway. "Now."
I follow him, my heart thundering against my ribs. The weight of Anna's photo seems to grow with each step. My fingers brush against it, drawing strength from the image of my little girl – our little girl. The hallway feels endless, each step taking me closer to a conversation that will change everything.
I catch my reflection in a grimy mirror – I look pale, nervous, completely out of place in my sensible sweater and jeans. A kindergarten teacher in a den of wolves.
I just pray I'm doing the right thing. Because the man leading me down this dark hallway isn't just Wrath of the Iron & Blood MC anymore. He's not just the stranger who gave me one perfect night of passion and freedom. He's my daughter's father.
He pushes open a heavy wooden door marked "Reunion Room" and gestures for me to enter.
The room is dominated by a long table, carved with what looks like decades of knife marks and cigarette burns. Motorcycle club logos cover one wall, some crossed out with violent red X's. This must be where they hold their meetings.
"Sit," he commands, closing the door behind us. The click of the lock engaging makes my pulse jump.
I take a seat, trying not to fidget as he walks around the table. He doesn't sit. Instead, he leans against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, studying me like a predator sizing up prey.
"You look exactly the same," he says finally, his voice softer than before but no less intense.
I swallow hard. "You don't."
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Rough night."
The dark stains on his cut suddenly seem more prominent. I force myself not to look at them. "I wouldn't have come if it wasn't important."
"Yeah?" His eyebrow rises slightly. "Important enough to track me down after a year of silence?"
There's an edge to his words that makes me wince. "I never planned to come back into your life."
"But here you are." He pushes off the wall, moving closer. His presence fills the room, making it hard to breathe. "Why?"
My fingers tremble as I reach into my pocket, pulling out the photo. Anna's smiling face looks up at me – his eyes, his jaw, but my honey-colored hair. My heart feels like it might explode.
"Because," I whisper, placing the photo on the table between us, "she needs her father."
Wrath goes completely still. For several heartbeats, the only sound is the muffled music from the main room and my own thundering pulse. Then, slowly, he reaches for the photo.
His hands, still bearing traces of whatever violence he committed tonight, cradle the picture with unexpected gentleness. I watch as recognition dawns in his eyes, as he sees himself in our daughter's features.
"How old?" His voice is barely audible.
"Two months."
He does the math quickly, his jaw clenching. "That night..."
"Yes."
"Fuck." He sinks into a chair, still staring at Anna's photo. "What's her name?"
"Anna." I wet my lips, nervous. "Anna Rose Martinez"
His head snaps up at that, eyes blazing. "Martinez?"
"My mother's maiden name," I explain quickly, confused by his sudden intensity. "I... I didn't know if you'd want—"
"Change it," he cuts me off, voice hard. "Today. That name... that name dies tonight."
There's something dark and dangerous in his tone. What happened tonight? What am I getting myself – getting Anna – involved in?
But I didn't come here to question him. I came because I had no choice.
"She's sick," I force myself to say. "That's why I'm here. She needs surgery, and I can't... I can't afford it. My insurance won't cover it. I've tried everything, but..."
Wrath's expression shifts, something fierce and protective replacing the shock. "How bad?"
"Heart defect. If she doesn't get the surgery in the next three months..." I can't finish the sentence. Can't voice my greatest fear.
He stands abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. "She'll get the surgery."
"I can't accept money without—"
"She's my daughter." His voice brooks no argument. "My blood. And Iron & Blood takes care of its own."
This is what I wanted – help for Anna. But something tells me I've just changed more than I intended. Because the man standing before me, this dangerous biker with blood on his clothes and violence in his past, isn't going to be content with just paying for a surgery.
He's going to want everything.
And looking into those eyes – Anna's eyes – I'm not sure I have the strength to deny him. After all, he is her father. How could I say no?
"Where is she now?" he demands, his fingers still gripping the photo.
"With my sister. I work mornings at the kindergarten, she watches Anna while I'm—"
"You work?" His tone makes it sound like an accusation. "While our daughter needs surgery?"
The flash of anger surprises me. "Of course I work. I'm a single mother trying to—"
"Not anymore." He pulls out his phone, thumbs flying over the screen. "You're moving. Today."
"Excuse me?" I stand up, finding my backbone. "You can't just—"
"My daughter isn't living across town while she's sick." His eyes meet mine, challenging. "You need help with the surgery. Fine. But it comes with conditions."
"Conditions?" My voice rises. "She's not a bargaining chip, Wrath. She's a baby who needs—"
"Exactly. She's a baby. My baby. Who needs her father." He moves closer, until I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "You kept her from me for two months, Lucy. Two fucking months I could have been there. Could have protected you both. That ends now."
The intensity rolling off him is almost physical. Part of me wants to step back, to retreat from this force of nature disguised as a man. But I think of Anna, of her tiny body struggling with each breath, of the mountains of medical bills.
"I have a lease," I say weakly. "My job..."
"The club will handle the lease. As for your job..." He pauses, jaw working. "If you want to keep teaching, fine. But Anna stays with me during the day. The clubhouse is secure, and Angel's good with kids."
"The clubhouse?" I glance around the room, thinking of the rough bikers outside. "You want our daughter in a biker clubhouse?"
"Our daughter," he repeats, something soft flickering in his eyes. "Yeah, I do. Because here, she'll have a family. Protection. Everything she needs."
My head spins. This is too much, too fast. I came for help with the surgery, not to completely upend our lives.
"I need time to think," I whisper.
"You've had two months." His hand comes up, fingers brushing my cheek with surprising tenderness. "Time's up, Lucy. I want to meet my daughter. Tonight."
The touch of his fingers sends electricity through my body, awakening memories I've tried to forget. One night of passion that created Anna. One night that's about to change everything all over again.
"She'll be sleeping," I protest weakly.
"Then I'll watch her sleep." His thumb traces my bottom lip, and my breath catches. "Pack what you need. I'll have prospects move the rest tomorrow."
"Wrath—"
"Please." The word seems to cost him something. "Let me do this right. Let me be her father."
And looking into those eyes – those damn eyes that Anna inherited – I feel my resistance crumbling. Because deep down, isn't this what I've wanted? Someone to share the burden, to love Anna as fiercely as I do?
Even if that someone is a dangerous biker with blood on his clothes and secrets in his eyes?
"Okay," I whisper. "Okay."
His smile is both triumphant and tender. "Let's go meet our daughter."