“Good morning, Angel.”

My daughter walks out of her bedroom, her eyes barely open and her feet shuffling across the floor, before plopping down on the couch beside me. She yawns and rubs her eyes. I take the blanket off the back of the couch and place it around her.

Her eyes open and she gives me a sweet smile. I wrap my arm around her, pulling her close. Every single morning, I make sure we have a moment like this. I want to have every moment with her I possibly can, because I missed so much.

“Love you, Daddy,” she whispers.

My eyes close as I try to bite back my anger. My daughter came into my life when she was eight years old, and I missed a huge part of her childhood. I didn’t even know she existed until a year ago.

I am the president of the Grim Sinners MC. I took over after my father stepped down three years ago. My daughter came into my life under the most fucked-up circumstances.

My mind wanders back to the moment I got the phone call…

“Two fuckers ran through that door,” my VP yells and I charge through the door, my gun drawn. The men stop running and turn around. Their hands are raised, their eyes wide with pure fear. “I’m sorry,” the one on the left stammers, and I roll my eyes. What do they think I will do? Leave them alone? Dumb fucks.

The one on the left stares at me, and his knees start to buckle. The other guy looks like he has already shit his fucking pants. Judging from the brown stain on his pants, this isn’t the first time. Both of them look fucking rode hard and hung up dry.

I tilt my head—I am going to play with them a bit. I point my gun at the one on the left, and he screams. “Please! I won’t do it again!”

I laugh out loud. “Do what, fucker?”

He turns pale and looks to his buddy with the shit on his pants. He swallows, and the sweat on his throat glistens like a nasty fucking beacon. “Traffick women and girls.”

I freeze in my tracks. “Girls?” Rage is something I have become accustomed to. Rage is a part of my being.

“Teenagers,” he whispers. This makes killing them so much fucking easier; they don’t deserve to breathe another second.

My phone ringing in my back pocket interrupts my thoughts. I keep my gun trained on them and bring my phone to my ear. “Everything go okay?” I ask the president of the Devil Souls MC.

“Yeah—man, I have to tell you something.”

I brace myself , thinking of what could have happened. “What is it, Kyle?”

“There is a little girl down here in the basement. She says she’s seven years old. She’s saying she is your daughter and her mother’s name is Marie. There was a letter next to her with your name on it, it seems like she was going to be used to extort ransom money from you.”

Pain and fear hit me all at once. I swallow hard. “I have a daughter?” I repeat to make sure what I am hearing is fucking true. She might not even be my daughter.

“I guess so, man,” Kyle says wearily.

“Fuck!” I pace around the room, making sure not to take my eyes off the men on the floor. “I am on my way there now. If she is mine I will know.” I hang up and stuff my phone in my pocket.

One of the men sniffles. I turn my full attention to him, look him dead in the eyes, and pull the trigger; then I turn to the other man. In seconds they are both on the ground in a heap, with a bullet to the forehead.

I run out of the room. My men are all standing around the living room waiting on me to tell them what to do next. “Let’s ride.” They don’t hesitate; they run outside with me close behind them; my bike is closest to the house.

I spin out of the driveway and head straight to Kyle. Pain is what I feel, pain so fucking bad at the thought of this being my kid. I think about what she could have been through. Just so fucking much goes through my mind.

We arrive at the house ten minutes later, and all of the Devil Souls are on the porch waiting for us. My hands are tight against my sides as I stalk over to the porch.

My men wait near my bike, on edge; they don’t know what’s fucking going on. I don’t even know what the fuck is going on myself.

Torch stands up and helps a little girl off the porch. She has long brown hair, and she’s wearing a man’s shirt that hangs down to her shins and holding a blanket. She lifts her head, and I suck in a sharp breath.

My daughter.

She looks so much like me and my sister. She has my moss-green eyes, my chin, and my dimples, and the rest of her features are my sister’s.

Fuck me.

My legs turn to fucking Jello and I fall to my knees. I can face many fucking things, being a SEAL. I can face the odds of one hundred men against me, but not the sight of this little girl before me.

My daughter.

A daughter I didn’t know about, a daughter I missed everything with for years.

“That’s my daughter,” I whisper, without taking my eyes off her. She drops the blanket and charges in my direction. Does she know me? She stops when she reaches me, and it takes every bit of my being not to grab her.

I let out a deep breath and soften my face. One thing I don’t want is for her to be scared of me. “Come here, Baby.” I reach out and grab her hand. That’s all she needs before she falls into my chest. Her little arms wrap around my neck, and she starts crying loudly.

My heart shatters into a million fucking bits.

“Can I live with you now? I don’t like Mommy’s house.” She doesn’t lift her head. Anger sweeps through me, and I am ready to fucking kill everything that took my daughter away from me all these years.

“Yes, Baby, you won’t ever have to leave me again,” I promise her and I mean it with every bit of my being. I will take down whoever fucking tries to stand in my way with this little girl. I am not missing another second.

She is my daughter. There is no fucking denying it.

“Can we go home now?” she whispers, and I feel her stiffen like she is afraid of my answer. I pick her up and don’t let her go. “I am taking her home.”

That was the moment that changed my life forever.

“Daddy, can I have some pancakes?”

After laying her back down on the couch, I go into the kitchen and get started making the batter. She has to be at school in an hour. Once the pancakes are done, I yell for her to come into the kitchen. She shuffles into the room, her hair sticking up on one side of her head, and gives me the doom and gloom look. She is not a morning person—not one fucking bit. I turn around, trying not to laugh at her.

“You know, Daddy, I know a way for us to spend more time together.”

My hip propped against the counter, I fold my arms across my chest and look down at her. I bet it’s something to do with not going to school.

“You could homeschool me, and I could spend all day with you.” She smiles and gives me the eyes. The eyes get me a fuck of a lot of times, but I won’t budge on this. “Daddy, please.”

I burst out laughing and kiss the top of her head. “Try again, Baby.”

She huffs and goes back to her pancakes.

She tries something new every day. She does like school once she’s there; it’s the process of getting up and going that’s her problem.

Her bedroom is set up for weeks at a time with outfits. I tried to dress her myself, but that didn’t go over well. Apparently, an AC/DC T-shirt, jeans, and biker boots aren’t good for little girls. My sister took over that department.

I grab her clothes for the day and her shoes and set them on the edge of the bed for her. I hear her walk into her bedroom to get dressed. I take a moment to get my gun off the nightstand, put it in its holster, and slip on my boots.

I minute or so later, my door creaks open. “Daddy, can we do a braid today?”

I nod and follow her to the bathroom. I lift her onto the counter, and she turns to the mirror, giving me her back. I take the hairbrush and a hair tie out of the drawer. I run the brush through her hair until it’s knot-free, which takes a fucking minute because she rolls in her sleep.

“French braid?” I ask and she nods. I may look like a fucking pussy, braiding my daughter’s hair, but I will look like the pansiest fucker in the world if it makes my daughter happy. That’s the least she deserves.

A minute later: “Done.”

She turns around and hugs me. “You’re the best.”

God, I love that little girl.

“Can I see Pops later?” My daughter is obsessed with my dad, which pisses me the fuck off.

“I think we are all going out to dinner.” We usually get together once a week—me, Dad, my sister Shaylin, and her man, Butcher. “Let’s get you to school.” I help her off the top of the counter. She runs out of the room to grab her backpack.

When we arrive at her school twenty minutes later, I open her door and help her down. She slips her hand in mine and squeezes my fingers. Sensing something is wrong, I look down at her. “What’s wrong?”

She looks at the entrance to her school and back at me, her eyes wide. “You’ll be here once school ends, Daddy?”

I look up at the school, trying to control my anger. I hate that she still has that worry that I will leave her life suddenly. My anger disperses, and I bend down until I am eye level with her. “Nobody can take you away from me, Angel. Nothing can keep you away from me. You’re my baby girl.”

She smiles, flashing her missing front tooth.

“Tiffany!”

My eyes narrow. Why is a little boy yelling for her? The fuck. “Who’s that?”

“Greg,” she says through little giggles. “Don’t worry, Daddy, he can write little notes to me all he wants. I am always going to check the ‘no’ box.”

The fuck she say? I look down at her and then at the little shit across the parking lot. “That’s right.”

She steps away from me and slips her backpack on her back. “I better get to class. See you later.” She smiles and turns her back to me, walking to the entrance of the school. As I lean back against my truck, I see moms, who are dropping off their kids, staring at me.

I like a fucking chase, not being chased. The door shuts behind Tiffany, and I step inside the truck, slamming the door shut behind me.

Time to get to work.