Chapter 3
Harper
The September winds of New Mexico woke me up early. My pregnancy heartburn was getting worse, my father’s election rally was today, and there was no way in hell I could cover up my ‘bump’ any longer. The red clay mountains back dropped our venue for the afternoon, and I would have to listen to my father preach about familial values and how he loves this town for a fucking hour. My year off from school was almost up, my parents had isolated me from the world, and I was alone.
Completely and utterly alone.
When I had to tell my parents I was pregnant; they were livid. My mother cried, and my father flipped a chair. The local press in my hometown had a fucking field day with my pregnancy and tried to spin my character as the rebellious daughter who hated the very town my father loved. I had become the villain, and my father had become the hero, taking in a child that supposedly hated the entire world because she was carrying his grandson.
If only they knew what took place behind closed doors.
They kept hounding me as to who the father was, but I wouldn’t tell them. The press speculated, drawing off random pictures of me out and about in the town. If I walked by a man and the picture was taken at the right time, he was supposedly the father of my child. My parents got harassing phone calls on a regular basis from the families of these sons who ‘had higher standards than me’ and ‘would never touch the likes of a young woman like myself.’ And instead of defending me, my father simply agreed with them and pedaled his campaign.
On the backs of the people that hated me.
I had no intentions of telling Cade about the baby, either. Setting aside the fact that he lived fuck-knows-where, the press didn’t need any more ammunition. At one point, I thought I could confide in my mother. And I almost did. One night, I had been so sick with my pregnancy that I started throwing up blood. While my father fielded the press, my mother rushed me to the hospital. I didn’t know what was happening and I almost caved and told her.
Until a news segment came on the television in my hospital room.
It was a segment of my father talking about what was happening with me. How I was throwing up blood and very sick. He was demeaning the father of my child on television without even knowing who he was. Calling him a coward and talking about how I was ‘lucky’ my parents had stepped in to help me in my time of need.
It made me sick, and I vowed to never tell a fucking soul.
Tensions were high between us. My mother was running around the city trying to find me something to wear that would tastefully cover up my protruding stomach. My tits were getting bigger, which meant all my shirts now looked inappropriate, and my father couldn’t stand to look at me. I knew I was a disappointment to them. I could hear them talking about it every night. I’d sit at the top of the steps and hear my father say things like ‘what was she thinking?’ and ‘where did my little girl go?’
The person I was growing into broke their hearts.
But, there was nothing I could do about it. And I knew once the election was over, they would want nothing to do with me. I had coped with that reality. Come to terms with it. Cade, and the type of men like him, would never care for me either. I was on my own one hundred percent, and I preferred it that way. No one to answer to, no one to disappoint, and no one to ram their own beliefs of my life down my throat. Despite what my parents thought, I worked hard through school. I saved up as much money as I could. I was strong, I was intelligent, and I knew I would be able to care for this child on my own.
Which was what I intended to do after this election.
I was going to pack up my shit, throw it in my car, take what money I had, and leave. I could figure this out on my own, raise my child to be better than my own fucking parents, and stand in awe of who this little boy would grow to become.
That was my plan. But first, I had to get through this fucking rally.
My mother tossed me some clothes to get into and told me to put on a nice face of makeup. Even though I hated the shit, I obeyed their every word. Until this election was over, they were all I had. Following their lead was the only thing that kept the vultures of the media at bay, and I knew if I just kept my head down until the election was finally over, everyone in our town would move on, and I would be ancient history. Besides that, I needed to keep this roof over my head as long as I could. I put on the clothes and painted on the makeup, looking as good as I could for the cameras that would be focused on us.
Then, I rode with my family so we could stand backstage and be introduced.
I hated rallies. I hated this stupid ass campaign trail. I would’ve rather gone to law school four times over than dealt with this shit. But it was my decision, and I had to live with the consequences. It was all so fake. Smiling and waving for the cameras like the perfect fucking family. It was all pretend. All a sham to get people to shade in a box come November.
Finally, our family was introduced, and my mother took my hand as we walked out.
I got up on stage and plastered on a smile. My father was waving as people cheered, holding signs that bore his name. They chanted and clapped, and some people even whistled. They adored my father, and he adored them in return.
Too bad he didn’t fucking adore his own damn daughter.
I stood off to the side with my mother and slowly scanned the crowd. There was a circle of men in leather cuts, sitting on bikes with their engines running. They had sunglasses on and pistols on their hips, and I wondered why they were there. Everyone knew about The Black Angels. No one talked about them because they were fucking outlaws, but everyone also knew of the benefits they gave this town. They were guns for hire. Offered protection services at the right cost. They lived by a code that didn’t fuck around with women or children, and that was why the town tolerated their existence.
I was in awe of them. How they ran their lives and how protective they were of their own. I lived off stories about them when I was younger. How they would come riding into town, leave their mark, help someone in need, then ride off into the sunset. They were a real family. They stuck by each other’s side. They were devoted to their gang and their code, and they looked fucking hot in their leather cuts. The men were real men. Muscular men with attitudes and loyalty that ran as deep as the ocean.
And the women were strong. Thick-legged women with attitudes, a nurturing heart, and a mouth that could run down a sailor. Nobody messed with them or their town.
No one fucked with us because of them, and I loved that. But there was one man in a leather cut that didn’t have sunglasses on. One man who was looking right up at the stage.
And I held my breath as my eyes finally caught his. I would recognize those eyes anywhere.
Cade.
Cade was in the fucking crowd.