Chapter 3 - Wrath
I follow Lucy's car through the quiet streets, my mind racing faster than my bike. A daughter. I have a fucking daughter. Every heartbeat seems to echo her name: Anna. Anna. Anna.
The rage I felt earlier – about Lucy keeping her from me, about those two lost months – is still there, simmering beneath the surface. But it's tangled up with something else now. Something that feels like purpose. Like redemption.
An hour ago, I was executing Outlaws. Now I'm about to meet my baby girl. The blood on my cut feels wrong suddenly, like it doesn't belong anywhere near her. I should've changed, but I couldn't wait. Not for this.
Lucy's little Honda pulls into a driveway of a modest house in the suburbs and I park my bike behind it.
Everything about it screams 'normal' – flowerbeds, welcome mat, child's tricycle on the porch. It's a different world from mine, but it won't be for long. They belong with me now.
"Sarah's probably asleep," Lucy whispers as we approach the door, keys jingling in her nervous hands. "She has early shifts at the hospital."
I grunt in acknowledgment, too focused on what's waiting inside to care about her sister's schedule. My daughter is behind this door. My blood.
The house is dark except for a small lamp in the living room. Lucy leads me down a hallway, her steps hesitant. She pauses outside a door decorated with pastel butterflies, and something in my chest tightens.
"She's a light sleeper," Lucy warns softly.
I nod, not trusting my voice. Lucy turns the handle, and the door opens silently.
The room is small but cozy. A nightlight casts soft shadows on pale pink walls. And there, in a white crib, is my daughter.
Something breaks open inside me as I move closer. Anna lies on her back, one tiny fist pressed against her mouth. Her honey-colored hair – Lucy's hair – forms wispy curls around her face. But even in sleep, I see myself in her features. In the set of her jaw. The shape of her eyes.
"She's perfect," I breathe, reaching out to touch her cheek with one finger.
My hand looks massive next to her delicate features, rough and dangerous. But she turns into my touch, sighing softly in her sleep.
"She's strong," Lucy says quietly. "The doctors say she shouldn't be doing as well as she is, with her heart, but..."
"But she's got biker blood," I finish, pride swelling in my chest. "She's a fighter."
As if hearing us, Anna's eyes flutter open. My heart stops for a second – they're exactly like mine, dark and intense. She blinks at me, and for a moment I expect her to cry at seeing a stranger. Instead, she gives me a gummy smile that has my hands trembling.
"Hey, little girl," I whisper. "I'm your dad."
The word feels foreign on my tongue, but right. So fucking right.
Without thinking, I reach into the crib and lift her into my arms. Lucy makes a small sound of protest, but Anna just snuggles into my chest, apparently unbothered by the leather or the blood or any of it.
"She never lets strangers hold her," Lucy says.
"I'm not a stranger." I press my lips to Anna's forehead, breathing in her baby smell. "I'm her father."
And in this moment, looking down at this tiny piece of me I never knew existed, I make a silent vow. Nothing will ever hurt her. Nothing will ever come close enough to try. I'll burn down the whole fucking world to keep her safe.
Because she's mine. My daughter. My blood.
Her tiny hand reaches up, patting my cheek with curious fingers. Her touch is feather-light, innocent – everything I'm not. Everything I haven't been since I was a teenager.
"Has she..." I clear my throat, fighting past the emotion threatening to choke me. "Has she been in pain?"
Lucy moves closer, her familiar scent mixing with Anna's baby powder. "Some days are harder than others. The medication helps, but..."
A soft wheezing catches my attention. Anna's breathing isn't quite right – too labored for a sleeping baby. My arms tighten around her, as if I could protect her from something inside her own chest.
"Three months?" I ask, thinking of the deadline Lucy mentioned.
She nods, worry lines creasing her forehead. "The surgeon said the sooner the better, but three months is the absolute limit."
"She'll have it next week." The words come out like an order. "I'll make some calls tomorrow."
"Wrath, the waiting lists—"
"Don't exist for people with the right connections." I look down at Anna, who's drifting back to sleep against my cut. "Money opens doors, Lucy. And the club... we've got friends in high places."
She opens her mouth to argue, then seems to think better of it. Smart woman. When it comes to Anna's health, there's no room for discussion.
"We should pack some essentials," I say, reluctant to put Anna down but knowing we need to move. "Enough for tonight. The prospects will get the rest tomorrow."
"I still think we should take some time to—"
"No." The word comes out sharper than intended, making Anna stir. I soften my voice. "Every minute she spends away from me is another minute I can't protect her. The clubhouse is secure, and we always have an extra room for emergencies. She'll have everything she needs there."
Lucy bites her lip, a gesture I remember from that night a year ago. "And what about what I need?"
"You need our daughter to be safe and healthy." I meet her eyes. "I can give her both. Let me do this, Lucy. Let me be what she needs. What you both need."
Something shifts in her expression – resignation mixed with something else. Hope, maybe. Or fear. With Lucy, it's hard to tell.
"Start with the dresser," she sighs. "Top two drawers are clothes, bottom one has diapers and supplies."
I lay Anna back in her crib, my hands lingering on her small form. She makes a soft sound of protest that tears at something deep in my chest.
"Pack everything," I tell Lucy as I pull out my phone. "I'm calling for backup."
"Backup?"
"Angel," I explain, already dialing. "She'll help get the nursery set up tonight. No daughter of mine is sleeping in a bare room."
Lucy starts pulling items from drawers, "You don't have to—"
"Yeah, I do." I wait as the phone rings. "Because that's what fathers do. And I've got two months to make up for."
Anna makes another wheezing sound in her sleep, and my resolve hardens. By this time tomorrow, she'll be settled in her new home. By next week, she'll be scheduled for surgery. And by the time she's grown, she'll know exactly how far her father will go to keep her safe.
Angel picks up on the third ring. After a quick explanation and some excited squealing about having a niece, I end the call and turn back to Lucy. She's folding tiny clothes, her movements careful, controlled. Too controlled.
"Why didn't you tell me?" The question comes out before I can stop it. "When you found out you were pregnant. Why keep it from me?"
Her hands still on a small pink onesie. For a long moment, she doesn't answer, just stares down at the fabric like it holds some secret message.
"I saw the news," she finally says, voice barely above a whisper. "Three weeks after... after that night. A shootout at some bar. They said it was between rival motorcycle clubs. Three dead."
I remember that night. The Outlaws had ambushed us, tried to take our territory. We'd put them down hard.
"That's business," I say flatly. "Club business."
"That's exactly why." She turns to face me, green eyes blazing. "I was already suspicious I might be pregnant, and then I saw that. Saw what your world was really like. I'm a kindergarten teacher, Wrath. I spend my days teaching kids their ABCs and making sure they don't eat paste. I didn't want..." She glances at Anna's sleeping form. "I didn't want my baby growing up in a world of violence."
Anger flares in my gut, hot and familiar. "So you decided she shouldn't have a father at all?"
"I decided she should be safe!"
"Safe?" I step closer, lowering my voice when Anna stirs. "You think she's safe now? Sick, needing surgery you can't afford? You think that's better than having a father who could protect her? Who could give her everything she needs?"
"A father who comes home covered in blood?" Her eyes fix on the stains on my cut. "Who carries guns and gets into shootouts?"
"Everything I do – everything – is to protect what's mine." I reach out, catching her chin with my fingers, making her look at me. "And she's mine, Lucy. My blood. My daughter. You can't change that, no matter how much you might want to."
"I don't..." She swallows hard. "I don't want to change it. Not anymore. But this life, your life... it scares me."
"Good." My thumb traces her jawline, feeling her pulse jump. "It should. Because this life is dangerous. But it's also family. Loyalty. Protection. Anna won't just have a father – she'll have uncles, aunts, an entire club ready to die for her."
"That's what scares me most," she whispers. "That someone might have to."
I let my hand drop, step back. "The only people who need to be scared are the ones who'd try to hurt her." My voice hardens. "And trust me, Lucy, they'd only try once."
She shivers, though whether from fear or something else, I can't tell. "Once is enough. I don't like it."
"You don't have to like it." I move to the dresser and start pulling out more clothes. "You just have to accept it. Because I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you. Not anymore."
Lucy's hands slam against my chest, frustration evident in every line of her body. I don't move an inch – her push is like a kitten batting at a lion.
"Who do you think you are?" she hisses, careful to keep her voice down for Anna's sake. "You can't just march in here and take control of our lives. You're so... so cold about all of this."
Cold. The word hits harder than her push did. She has no idea – no fucking clue – what made me this way. She doesn't know about the old man, drunk and raging, fists flying. Doesn't know about the endless parade of foster homes, each one worse than the last. How Crow, all of sixteen, would take the beatings meant for his little brother, because I was too weak to fight back.
Never again, I'd promised myself. Never weak. Never vulnerable.
I step forward, ready to tell her exactly why I am the way I am, why Anna will never know that kind of fear or helplessness—
"What the hell is going on here?"
We both turn to find a woman in scrubs standing in the doorway, her expression a mixture of confusion and alarm. The family resemblance is clear – same delicate features as Lucy, though her hair is darker.
"Sarah," Lucy breathes. "I... we..."
"Who are you?" Sarah demands, her eyes fixed on me. They widen as she takes in my cut, the blood stains, the obvious tension in the room. "Lucy, what's happening?"
"He's Anna's father," Lucy says quietly.
Sarah's face goes pale. "The biker? The one-night stand?" Her hand moves toward her pocket – probably reaching for a phone. "Lucy, get away from him. I'm calling the police."
"You really don't want to do that. Not today."
"Like hell I don't," Sarah spits, pulling out her phone. "You show up in the middle of the night, covered in blood—"
"Sarah, stop," Lucy steps between us. "He's here because... because of Anna's surgery. He's going to help."
Sarah's finger hovers over her phone. "Help? Look at him, Lucy! He's dangerous!"
"Damn right I am." My voice comes out as a low growl. "Dangerous to anyone who'd try to keep me from my daughter."
Anna stirs in her crib, making that wheezing sound again. The noise cuts through the tension like a knife, reminding us all why we're here.
"Your daughter?" Sarah laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Where were you for the past two months? Where were you during the endless doctor visits? The sleepless nights? The hospital stays?"
"I didn't know." The words taste like ash in my mouth. "But I know now. And I'm not going anywhere."
"We're moving in with him," Lucy says softly. "Tonight."
"Are you insane?" Sarah's voice rises, making Anna whimper. "Lucy, think about what you're doing. This man, this... this biker, he's—"
"The only one who can get her the surgery she needs," I cut in. "The only one who can protect her. You think your nurse's salary and my club's resources are even in the same league?"
"Oh, so you're buying them?" Sarah sneers. "Is that how this works in your world? Throw around some blood money and—"
"Enough." Lucy's voice is firm, surprising us both. "Sarah, I love you. You've been amazing with Anna, with everything. But this is my decision. She needs this surgery, and she needs her father."
"Even if her father is a criminal?"
"Even then." Lucy turns to look at me, something fierce in her green eyes. "Because he's right. Anna needs more than I can give her alone."
I meet Sarah's glare steadily. "You don't have to like me. Just know that everything I am, everything I do, is for my family. And that includes Anna now."
"And if your 'business' follows you home?" Sarah demands. "If your enemies—"
"Then they die." The simple truth of it silences her. "Nobody touches what's mine. Nobody."
Anna starts to cry, the sound wheezy and strained. Before anyone can move, I'm at the crib, lifting her into my arms. She settles almost immediately, tiny fingers gripping my cut.
"Keep packing," I tell Lucy, not taking my eyes off our daughter. "We're leaving in ten minutes."
"Lucy, please," Sarah tries one last time. "Think about this."
"I have." Lucy picks up the bag she's packed. "I've thought about nothing else since the doctors told me how much the surgery would cost. This is happening, Sarah."
I shift Anna gently, reaching into my cut with my free hand. I pull out a thick envelope and toss it to Sarah. She catches it.
"What's this?"
"Ten grand," I say. "For everything you've done for them. For taking care of my daughter when I couldn't."
Sarah stares at the envelope, then at Lucy.
"You're really doing this?" she asks Lucy. "Moving in with him?"
Lucy looks at Anna in my arms, then at me. "Yes. We are."