Chapter 4 - Lucy
Sarah's face crumples, and guilt twists my stomach. She's been my rock through everything – the pregnancy, the diagnosis, the sleepless nights.
But watching Wrath with Anna, seeing how naturally she fits in his strong arms, I know this is right. Even if it terrifies me.
"The prospects will be here in the morning for the rest," Wrath says, his voice softer now that he's holding Anna. "They'll pack everything carefully."
"Prospects?" Sarah asks weakly.
"Club members in training," I explain, remembering what Wrath told me that night a year ago. It feels like a lifetime has passed since then.
A rumble approaches, and Wrath nods. "That'll be Angel."
"His President's daughter," I tell Sarah, though I'm not sure why I'm trying to make this seem more normal. Nothing about this situation is normal.
Footsteps on the porch, then a sharp knock. Sarah opens the door to reveal a stunning woman in a leather cut, her long dark hair streaked with purple. Her eyes light up when she sees Anna.
"Oh my God," she breathes, moving closer. "She looks just like you, Wrath. Except cuter, obviously."
Despite everything, I find myself smiling. There's something genuine about Angel's excitement that puts me at ease.
"I've got the nursery basics in my truck," she continues. "We can get the rest tomorrow."
"You didn't have to—" I start.
"Of course we did." Angel cuts me off with a warm smile. "She's family now. Iron & Blood takes care of its own."
There's that phrase again. The same one Wrath used. It should frighten me, this fierce loyalty from people I don't know. Instead, it makes me feel... safe.
"We should go," Wrath says, still cradling Anna. "It's late, and she needs her rest."
Sarah steps forward suddenly, pulling me into a tight hug.
"Call me," she whispers. "Any time. If you need anything..."
"I will." I squeeze her back, fighting tears. "Thank you. For everything."
He nods, already moving toward the door with our daughter. I grab the bag I packed and follow, feeling like I'm stepping off a cliff into the unknown.
Outside, Angel's truck is parked behind my Honda.
"Ready?" Wrath asks, looking down at me with those intense eyes – Anna's eyes.
No, I want to say. I'm not ready for any of this. Not ready to leave my safe, normal life behind. Not ready to enter a world of bikers and violence and blood money.
But Anna makes that wheezing sound again in her sleep, and I remember why we're doing this. For her. Everything is for her.
"Ready," I say, and follow him into the night.
The drive to the clubhouse feels surreal. I follow Angel’s truck while Wrath rides beside us on his bike, Anna securely strapped in my backseat. Every few seconds, his head turns slightly, checking on us. Protecting us already.
The clubhouse looms ahead, a large two-story building set back from the main road. Several bikes are parked out front, their chrome gleaming under the security lights. My Honda looks ridiculously out of place among them.
"Home sweet home," Angel shouts, killing the engine. "At least for now."
Wrath is already opening my door, reaching for Anna's car seat with ease, as if he's been doing this her whole life instead of just the past hour.
"The room's upstairs," he says, leading the way. "End of the hall. Used to be storage, but..." He glances at Angel. "You got it cleared out?"
"Already told you." She sounds almost offended. "Ruthless and the prospects took care of everything."
Inside, the clubhouse is quieter than earlier. A few members are still around, their conversations dying as we pass. Their eyes follow us – follow Anna – with curious interest. These dangerous men, who hours ago looked ready to throw me out, now nod respectfully. Amazing what being Wrath's daughter can do.
The stairs creak under our feet as we climb to the second floor. Voices drift down the hallway – male voices discussing furniture placement.
"Little to the left," Angel directs as we enter the room. "No, my left, you idiots."
"Language," Wrath growls, glancing at Anna. "Not around my kid."
The big bad biker worried about cursing in front of his sleeping daughter – it would be almost funny if it wasn't so endearing.
The room is larger than I expected, and surprisingly clean. The walls are a neutral beige that will work for a nursery. A plush rocking chair sits in one corner, and bags from what must have been a very rushed shopping trip are scattered around. Two prospects are positioning a white crib under Angel's direction.
"We'll paint it whatever color you want tomorrow," Wrath says, carefully transferring Anna from her car seat to the newly positioned crib. "Get some of those wall stickers kids like. Whatever she needs."
Through the open window, I can hear motorcycles in the distance, can smell leather and cigarette smoke. This is about as far from my quiet suburban life as possible. Yet watching Wrath lean over Anna's crib, his large hand so gentle as he strokes her cheek, I feel something shift inside me.
"First thing tomorrow, I'm calling in favors about that surgery." His jaw sets in a determined line. "No daughter of mine is going to struggle to breathe."
Anna stirs slightly, making that worrying wheeze again. Wrath's face darkens at the sound.
"I know it's not what you're used to," he says, turning to me. "The clubhouse, the lifestyle... but she'll be safe here. Protected. The entire club will make sure of it."
As if to prove his point, I notice the prospects have positioned themselves by the door, standing guard. Angel is already organizing baby supplies with frightening efficiency. Even the muffled voices from downstairs seem protective rather than threatening now.
This isn't the life I imagined for Anna. Not even close. But watching Wrath with her – this dangerous man who's already so fiercely devoted to our daughter – I realize something: He might be an Iron & Blood's member, but he's also a father.
And maybe that's exactly what we both need him to be.
Angel glances between us, a knowing look in her eyes.
"Well, I'm heading back downstairs. You two look like you need to talk." She pauses at the door. "And Wrath? Try not to growl too much. You'll wake the baby."
Wrath's jaw tightens, but he says nothing until Angel's footsteps fade down the stairs.
"You can take the chair," he says gruffly, nodding toward the plush rocker. "I'll sleep on the floor. Done it plenty of times."
I sink into the chair, watching as he positions himself against the wall, legs stretched out, ever-vigilant even in rest. "I probably won't sleep tonight anyway."
"Yeah?" His eyes find mine in the dim light. "Why's that?"
"Too much..." I wave my hand vaguely. "Everything. And honestly, I was terrified about how you'd take the news. About Anna."
He's quiet for a long moment, his gaze drifting to our sleeping daughter.
"I'd never..." He stops, clears his throat. "No kid of mine will ever go through what I did. Ever."
"What..." I hesitate, then gather my courage. "What did you go through? I mean, I don't know anything about you, really. Just that one night, and now..."
His laugh is bitter, barely more than a breath. "Not much to tell. Drunk father who liked using his fists. Mother who disappeared when I was four. Foster homes that were worse than the old man." His fingers absently trace a scar on his forearm. "Crow... my brother... he protected me. Took beatings meant for me because I was too weak to fight back."
My heart clenches. "You were a child."
"Yeah." His eyes harden. "But I grew up. Got stronger. Learned that the only way to protect what's yours is to be the scariest thing out there." He looks at Anna again. "She'll never know that fear. Never wonder if today's the day daddy drinks too much and decides to use her for target practice."
Tears burn in my eyes. "Wrath..."
"That's why I earned this name," he continues, voice low and intense. "Because once I got strong enough, I made sure everyone who hurt us felt my wrath. The old man, the foster parents, all of them." His eyes meet mine. "I protect what's mine, Lucy. Whatever it takes."
I find myself sliding from the chair, moving to sit beside him against the wall. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."
"Yeah." He sighs. "Me too. But we can't change that now. All we can do is make sure she has everything she needs going forward." His arm brushes mine. "Including her father."
Anna makes a small sound in her sleep, and we both tense, but she settles again.
"Tell me more," I whisper. "About you. About how you and Crow ended up here."
He's quiet for so long I think he won't answer. Then, in the darkness of our daughter's new nursery, surrounded by the sounds of the clubhouse below, he begins to talk.
"We were just kids," he says, his voice rougher than usual. "Crow was sixteen, I was fourteen. Hitching rides, stealing what we could to survive. Then we hit Cedar Falls." He pauses, and I can feel the tension in his shoulder under my palm. "Got caught trying to steal food from a convenience store. But instead of calling the cops, the owner called Hellfire."
I stay quiet, afraid any interruption might make him stop sharing.
"He took one look at us – two beat-up kids, starving, scared – and said 'Follow me.' Brought us here, to this clubhouse. Fed us. Gave us a place to sleep." His jaw works. "First time in my life I felt... safe."
Anna wheezes in her sleep, and his eyes snap to her crib.
"Hellfire taught us everything. How to fight, how to ride, how to be men instead of victims." His fingers curl into fists. "How to be family. That's what I want for Anna. Not just a father – a family. People who'd die to protect her."
My hand squeezes his shoulder gently. He tenses further but doesn't pull away.
"The violence, the blood – I know it scares you," he continues. "But everything I am, everything I do, is because of what I learned here. Hellfire showed me that family isn't just blood. It's loyalty. Protection. Love." He turns to look at me, his eyes intense in the darkness. "That's what Anna will have here. What you'll both have."
My breath catches at his words, at the fierce protectiveness in his voice. Without thinking, I lean my head against his shoulder. He goes completely still.
"Lucy..."
"Thank you," I whisper. "For telling me. For wanting to protect her. For..." I swallow hard. "For being nothing like your father."
He makes a sound deep in his throat, and suddenly his hand is covering mine on his shoulder. His palm is rough, calloused, but his touch is gentle.
"Get some sleep," he says gruffly. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
But neither of us moves. We sit there in the darkness, watching our daughter sleep, his hand warm over mine, and for the first time since entering the clubhouse, I feel completely at peace.
Maybe this is exactly where we're meant to be.