GOING DEEP

A Bad Boy MC Romance

PROLOGUE

Knox

If there's one thing I've learned in all my years on this planet, it's that nothing good ever comes from a phone call at three in the morning. Nothing. I grabbed my phone off the table and through bleary eyes, looked at the screen.

Unknown number.

I rolled my eyes and sighed loudly. I had half a mind to ignore it and let it go to voicemail. And I would have except for the fact that some of my guys were running a job tonight – it was the main reason I was still awake at this God-awful hour in the first place.

It was a routine run and we hadn't expected any trouble. But if they had run into some, they knew who to call – me.

I stared out at the trees from my back porch. At that hour, the world was cloaked in utter darkness. The only light for miles came from the lightning bugs that darted between the trees, and the only sound I could hear came from the large population of bullfrogs and crickets. I often sat on the back porch and enjoyed the serenity of a dark, cool, evening.

The peaceful, tranquil feeling I usually got sitting out there however, evaporated the moment I picked up the phone.

“Who's this?” I said, my voice curt.

“Hello? Is this Mr. Nolan Sheppard?” an unfamiliar female voice asked me.

“This is Knox Sheppard. Not Nolan,” I corrected her. “Who the hell are you?”

“Oh, I'm sorry, your brother put you down as Nolan on his contact sheet,” the woman said. “I'm Officer Whittaker with the North Carolina Highway Patrol, and I –”

“Curtis?” I asked, taking a long pull from my beer. “Listen, if my brother is in some trouble, let me save you a little time. Me and him ain't talked in years. I don't know where he is or –”

“Your brother isn't in any trouble, sir,” the woman said.

I heard her draw in a deep breath on the other end of the line and let it out before she spoke. She was making a concerted effort to remain calm and when she spoke again, her voice was softer, filled with a compassion that sounded well-practiced, but still relatively genuine.

“He's not in trouble,” she said again. “In fact, I'm very sorry to have to inform you that your brother passed away around midnight here at Hope Memorial Hospital in Charlotte.”

“North Carolina?” I asked, my voice sounding a million miles away, even to my own ears.

My head was spinning as I processed what she'd just told me and the full weight of her words still hadn't hit me yet. The only coherent thought that popped into my head was probably about the least relevant thing I could have possibly thought of in that moment.

“Damn,” I said. “What the hell's he doing in Charlotte?”

“The last address that we have for him on file was 1345 Tryon, in Charlotte,” she said. “So, I'm guessing he lived here.”

“And you're sure it's him? Curtis Martin Sheppard?”

I scratched at the stubble on my face as I racked my brain, trying to remember the last time I'd heard from Curtis. It had been a while. In fact, the last I'd heard, he was still living down somewhere in Atlanta – or at least near it. But hell, that had been five, maybe six years ago.

“Unfortunately, we're positive, Mr. Sheppard,” Officer Whittaker said. “Again, I'm very sorry.”

The woods all around me seemed to grow quiet all at once and the night seemed to grow darker. It almost felt as if the world around me was holding its breath. Gripping the arm of my chair with my free hand, my entire body tensed up as the reality of the cop's words slowly started to sink in around the edges of my mind.

“What happened?” I asked. “How did he die?”

“He was in a terrible car accident, Mr. Sheppard. He very likely died on impact and didn't suffer,” she said quietly.

Her voice was soft and friendly, which was probably the reason she was given the task of informing the next of kin. She seemed nice. Compassionate. I knew that she'd probably been through this same spiel a thousand times, but she still sounded like she cared.

“I'm really very sorry for your loss,” she said.

Taking another long pull from my beer bottle, I laughed and shook my head as memories of Curtis, and some of the terrible things he'd done came flooding back into my mind. My relationship with Curtis was complicated. Which was probably just another, kinder way of saying we pretty much hated each other – and had for most of our lives, truth be told.

“I'm not all that sorry, to be perfectly blunt. But listen Officer Whittaker,” I said. “I appreciate your call and you letting me know. Hope Curtis wasn't any trouble for ya'll up there, but I really need to get going. I'm expecting an important call.”

“Wait,” she said, stopping me before I could hang up the phone. “We still need to discuss your nephew. You're the next of kin on your brother's contact form and so far, as I can tell, his only living relation –”

“Nephew? Curtis didn't have kids,” I scoffed, my mind racing.

My gut told me to hang up and be done with it, but I stayed on the line just the same. I couldn't believe Curtis had a kid – and that this was the first I was hearing of it. We weren't close, of course, but we did still have some friends in common and I would have thought word would have gotten around to me at some point.

Apparently, I'd thought wrong.

“He did actually,” Officer Whittaker said. “He has a five-year-old son named Liam.”

“I'm real sorry to hear that,” I said quietly, shutting off all of the thoughts and feelings that were swirling around in my head. “Hopefully him and his mama are able to move past this terrible tragedy.”

“His mother died in the accident last night as well,” Officer Whittaker said. “Like I'd mentioned earlier, as far as we can tell, you're the only living relative for Liam.”

My heart sank and I felt my pulse start to speed up. I knew where this was going and I wanted to nip that in the bud before it even started to take root. Putting my beer down on the table beside me, I closed my eyes and let out a deep breath.

“Mr. Sheppard?”

“Yeah. I'm still here,” I said.

“Is there any way you can come pick him up? Your nephew?” she asked. “He's currently down at the police station – and that's obviously no place for a child.”

“Listen, Officer Whittaker, I appreciate everything you're doing,” I said. “But I'm not capable of taking care of the boy. My job and my lifestyle are even less suitable for a child than a night down at the police station. There has to be someone else who can take him.”

“Not from the looks of it,” she sighed. “I understand, of course. But if you're unable to take him, we'll have no choice but to call Children's Services. And once we make that call, he's like going to have to go into the system. Mr. Sheppard, that means he's very likely going to be put into foster care.”

My stomach twisted as my head continued to spin. I had a nephew, I was an uncle. But it was a kid I didn't even know – born to a brother I apparently knew even less. I couldn't care for a kid, not with what I did for a living. Besides, I wouldn't even know the first thing about raising a kid.

Not to mention the fact that having a kid would really impact my life in ways I didn't even want to contemplate. It would complicate it beyond measure. Having a kid around the house would put a serious cramp in my favorite pastime of bringing home strange women and banging the shit out of them.

Besides, not only was my lifestyle not really suitable for a kid, I personally wasn't suitable to raise one. I was selfish and didn't tolerate bullshit all that well. And kids were well known for their ability to pile up the bullshit. I didn't have the selflessness it took to raise a child.

No, the longer I thought about it, the more I realized I couldn't do it. In the long run, I'd probably do more harm than good for the kid.

“Mr. Sheppard,” Officer Whittaker said. “That means your nephew would grow up without having any family around him to help him recover from this tragedy.”

“I'm sorry,” I said softly, staring out into the darkened distance beyond my back porch. “But honestly, that's probably for the best.”