Chapter Eight
“What the fuck do you mean, I owe two grand?”
Em’s first day had been eventful. The weekend came and went without another confrontation with Bryce, but that’s where her luck ended.
Monday morning, her first day working at the garage also happened to be Bree’s first day of school. She assumed as Bree’s mother Bryce would let her accompany him when he took Bree to school. Wrong. The truce he wanted either wasn’t really a truce or he decided to take it back after she said the old Emelia was gone. She racked her brain since Friday night trying to figure out why he responded the way he had. She’d changed, a fact. Another fact, he had too.
He ignored her the entire weekend, barely sparing a glance at her. At the time, she figured ignoring her—his version of a “truce.” She realized Monday morning this was not the case.
When she followed Bryce and Bree out into the garage, he turned toward Bree. “Need a minute with your mom, baby. Go wait in the car.”
Bree did just that.
He faced her, shooting daggers her way. “You’re staying.” Then he turned and walked away.
She did the only thing that came to mind, beg. “Bryce, please…I can’t miss her first day…”
Her voice trailed off when he stopped, turned, and closed the distance between them with three powerful, menacing steps.
Gritting his teeth, his hands in fists, he snarled, “You aren’t missing her first day of school. Her first day happened in New Mexico before I even knew I had a daughter.”
He had a point, a point he brought up to guilt her, and it worked. She screwed up by leaving, believing he meant it when he said he didn’t want to be a father. Didn’t he realize he didn’t need to remind her every step of the way? Not a second of any day would go by without her knowing the reason her daughter hadn’t had a father was her.
“But—”
“But some gang is trying to kill you. You aren’t to be seen with my kid ’cause that gang finds you, means they find Bree. You know what they’ll do to you both?”
She had a pretty good idea. Thinking of it, she swallowed and nodded. He made another good point, so she stopped fighting him.
“No, you don’t. You can’t even imagine the type of sick fucks part of that gang. You can’t even begin to imagine what they’d do to a four-year-old. I’m not letting that happen, not to my Bree.”
With those words, he strode away. She stood there frozen watching him drive away, watching Bree wave at her. He hadn’t even given her a chance to say goodbye, to wish their daughter good luck on her first day.
Truce over. Her and her big mouth got her in trouble, again. Bryce was back to being a dick. She deserved it, yes, but he knew why she left, why she had every reason to, so why continue to torture her?
The rest of her day had been hectic. No one thought it important to show her the ropes of her new job, meaning she spent the day trying to figure it out: dealing with customers, placing orders, taking too many calls to count. Added to her workload, the brothers assumed she was their personal secretary, who needed to get them drinks, order food, and so on. She spent an hour ordering lunch alone. By the time she finished, she had yet to place a rush order on parts needed by the end of the week, so she’d skipped lunch.
Before Emelia knew it, Bryce arrived with Bree. Her daughter rushed in to tell her about her first day at a new school. She listened to her daughter in between taking calls. Then the disgruntled customer came in, venting his frustration over the fact he had a two-thousand-dollar bill. If she had a two-thousand-dollar bill, she’d be upset too, but he screamed profanities in front of her four-year-old daughter, hard to miss considering Bree’s arm circled her waist in a death grip. She wanted to help him figure out why he owed two grand, but she couldn’t, not until he told her his name. She’d asked several times. He ignored her question and continued to rant.
“You care to explain why the fuck I owe two grand? Or you just gonna stand there!”
“I’d be more than happy to help, but I need your name.”
“You people think you own this town. You—”
The door to the office banged open.
She hadn’t expected anyone to come to her rescue, except maybe Strike because he’d done so once already or Bryce but only because Bree was with her. But they didn’t come to her rescue; Bud did.
Her lips parted.
Bud glared. “You got a fuckin’ problem, you come to a brother. You don’t give a woman shit. You don’t give our new receptionist shit. What else you don’t do? Curse in front of a kid. Now, you’re gonna tell me what the problem is, asshole?”
“As your receptionist, she should know—”
“She’s new. Even if she wasn’t, she can’t help you if you’re screamin’ and not telling her shit besides the fact you owe us two grand. A lot of people owe us two grand.”
“She should—”
Bud took a step, getting in the man’s face. “Outside. Now.”
Before either of them moved, Bryce walked in. Being acutely aware of him, she noticed despite the tense atmosphere. His glare dead centered on her. Then again, nothing new. He’d find a way to blame her for this scene too. She tore her gaze away to glance at Mellow, Blaze, and Cuss who walked in. The customer, taking all of them in, did the smart thing. He strode outside. The others followed them, except Bryce.
Avoiding his stare, she tilted her head down and wrapped her arms around Bree. “Learn this lesson, baby. Being rude gets you nowhere.”
Bree smiled softly.
She pointed toward the back counter behind her desk. “Sit right there and get started on your homework, okay?”
Bree nodded.
The phone rang, and she answered it quickly. When she looked up, Bryce had left.
****
For some reason, Bud stuck up for her. Bud, the man he grew up with, his former best friend, another thing he lost when Emelia left.
He and Bud grew up on the same block, went to school together, got into too much trouble together, and then became prospects for Hell Ryders together. Bud, like him, didn’t like the chase. He liked easy women and took plenty. When Ripper met Emelia, nothing changed except they didn’t fuck taps in the same room. Ripper had Em, and she was all he needed. Bud never got it. Bud never said so, but Rip knew. When she left, Bud proved it by expecting him to bounce back. Bud gave him time. The problem—there’d been no bouncing back from her. She was the only woman he’d ever loved, the only woman who’d ever loved him, or so he thought. He came to realize after she left, she’d been the love of his life, and a man lost the one woman for him, he was lost forever.
Bud had never fallen, so he’d never understand, not until he fell too.
Needless to say, Bud wasn’t Emelia’s biggest fan, yet he’d defended her. A part of Rip was glad Bud stepped in. Bree had been there and that bastard had been cursing and disrespecting her mom in front of her, something Rip hadn’t noticed until after Bud involved himself. But Rip also hated it had been Bud and not him who made things better for Bree, for Emelia. That was immature, maybe, but he didn’t want Emelia indebted to anyone but him.
This reminded Ripper of a simple truth he knew but still hadn’t come to terms with. He still loved her, loved her just as much if not more than he’d loved her then.
Emelia may not be his old lady anymore. She may have left him, but she had once been his. She was the mother of his child, and he was protecting her. In the biker world, the simple fact she had once been his meant she was his. It meant he made the decisions regarding her, including whether or not to handle a bastard yelling at her. As his brother, Bud shouldn’t protect the woman who left him anyway. The fucked part of it, Ripper wouldn’t care under other circumstances—if she were really still his.
Clenching his jaw until it cramped, he waited until Bud finished with the bastard. It took a good fifteen minutes since Bud had to rearrange the idiot’s attitude. Bud ignored his glare and started walking away.
Ripper stepped in front of him. “She’s mine.”
He smirked. “Thanks, but I don’t want an old lady. I wanted one, I’d get one that wouldn’t run out on me without telling me I’m gonna be a dad.”
Exactly what to say to get him to snap. It’d been so long since he had. Since he found Emelia and Brianna, he fought hard to control that anger he lived with. Sometimes, he failed, especially with Emelia but never like this, like he used to after having just lost her. He knew what he was doing, knew it wasn’t right, and he knew Bud was trying to rile him like he had the habit of ever since Emelia left him, but Rip couldn’t hold back. He lost it.
Launching himself at Bud, the impact sending them both onto the ground, he punched his former best friend right in the middle of his face. He didn’t stop, slamming his fist into him repeatedly until Stone and Mellow hauled him off. On his feet, he glared at Bud, nose broken, blood gushing from it, his right eye swelling. Bud sat up, spit, and smirked like Rip’s life being shit was funny.
“Fuck you.” He pushed Mellow and Stone off him and strode away.
He didn’t know how he managed it. Nothing more he wanted than to beat Bud some more, yet somewhere inside, he knew it wouldn’t do any good.
It wouldn’t turn back time.
It wouldn’t change the past.
It wouldn’t make her tell him the reason she left or make her want to stay.
And it sure as hell wouldn’t make her love him.
****
Em heard the commotion, and without drawing Bree’s attention, she neared the window with clear view of the front lot. There, she saw proof of what she’d since figured out.
Bryce and Bud were no longer friends. They went way back and were part of the same club, but what had once been wasn’t anymore.
A damned shame, those two had been as thick as thieves. If you asked her, she would’ve said hell would freeze over before something came between them. Only natural, she wondered what had.
****
Weeks went by, and nothing much changed. Emelia woke early each morning, made breakfast for Bryce, Bree, and herself then got Bree ready for school and kissed Bree goodbye. Afterward, she cleaned a bit and got ready for work. After work, she made dinner. After they ate, while Bryce went to the gym, she spent some time with Bree. Later, after getting Bree ready for bed, Bryce came to say good night. Em then told her a bedtime story. After Bree fell asleep, Em cleaned up some more then showered and headed for bed. When she woke the next morning, she started the process over again.
Good news, last week she received two boxes of her and Bree’s belongings sent by Naomi who insisted on shipping them instead of selling the items as Em had asked her to. This meant Em had less laundry to do and Bree had some extra toys to play with. More good news, Em paid off her landlord for breaking the lease, and Naomi told her she got a couple of calls from people interested in buying her car. Naomi was in the process of selling the rest of her stuff, furniture and some other belongings as well. Em insisted Naomi keep the money considering her friend was doing all the work and more for her, but Naomi refused, which meant Em would have some money coming in from the sale of her car that would go into savings.
Another bit of good news, her job got easier as the days passed. That also had something to do with the fact that her third day, the brothers stopped using her as their personal assistant, meaning her work load lessened. She was ninety-nine percent sure that had something to do with Bryce since her second day, he walked into the office while she’d been ordering lunch for Bud, Blaze, and Rake, and he gave her a look she’d become way too familiar with—the look telling her he was close to “losing” it. He hadn’t said a word to her. In fact, with the exception of the talk they had about Bree’s birthday, he hadn’t said more than five words to her at a time. When he said five words to her was usually when he took Bree somewhere. “Taking Bree. Be back later.” Bryce barely looked at her either. It sucked. She hated being ignored by him, but she wasn’t inclined to do anything about it. She knew any topic opened for discussion had the potential to make him angry and being ignored was better than being his emotional punching bag. She hadn’t even mentioned he tell her where he planned to take Bree because she came to the realization she had to get used to not knowing where Bree was at all times. When she and Bree moved out of the compound, Bree would undoubtedly spend whole days and nights with her father, and Em wouldn’t know where they planned to go or what they planned to do.
The last bit of good, Bree’s birthday went off without a hitch. Five days before her birthday, Bryce told her they’d have Bree’s birthday party at the compound. He said she needed to get together with Allie and Mia to help her plan it. He also told her he bought Bree a playground, which he’d assemble in the backlot of the compound. He said the gift was from both of them, and he wouldn’t take any money from her for the gift or the party. Then he strode away without letting her say a word. She, Allie, and Mia planned the party, consisting of the club, the old ladies, Della, who had become good friends with Bree, and Cullen, Dodge’s son. Bryce had the playground built the day before. Emelia baked the cake. Each old lady brought a side, and two of the brothers handled the grill. Simple, easy, and most importantly, Emelia had never seen Bree so happy.
Bree settled in fine. On weekday afternoons, after Bree got home from school, she did her homework in the office with her. Afterward, she spent time with Bryce until Emelia clocked out at five. Weekends, Bryce took her on excursions. She only found out where when they came home, and Bree rushed to tell her where her father had taken her, what he bought her, what she ate, and so on.
As for Bryce, besides ignoring her, he took Bree to school, worked at the garage, spent countless hours with Bree, and some nights, he left. Emelia had no idea where he went, but she’d seen several of the brothers leave on what they called “runs.”
Once upon a time, those “runs” consisted of running guns and drugs. After the club got clean, it meant something different—their version of cleaning up the streets of Wadden, ensuring no illegal dealings happened in their town. This was what caused Chained and Hell Ryders to come at odds back then since Chained wanted to continue running guns and drugs through Wadden. Bryce said the club was still clean. When the brothers went on runs, they probably did the latter. However, she’d overheard several brothers talk about “guards,” and once, she’d seen Prez hand over an envelope with a lot of money to Mellow, meaning she didn’t know with certainty if the club was still clean and didn’t ask Bryce or anyone else.
She knew club life, and in club life, the brothers shared what they wanted with their old ladies. Before, Bryce had shared plenty though not everything with her. Now, she wasn’t his old lady, just the mother of his daughter. Whatever Bryce’s reason for protecting her, she appreciated. He hurt her. Absolutely, but after what she’d done, he didn’t owe her anything.
She and Bree were both in danger because of Chip. Still, she loved her cousin, always had and always would. She thought about him every hour of every day. Each time, she prayed he’d get better, prayed to hear some news. She hadn’t heard from Track or anyone else from Chained. As bad as she wanted to know, she wasn’t stupid enough to call and find out. Calling could lead the Falcons to Hell Ryders’ door. She couldn’t risk the club that was protecting her and Bree, couldn’t risk Bryce, couldn’t risk Bree, and so, she’d had no news for three weeks.
Thinking on this, not paying much attention to the order she was in the process of making, she heard a scream pierce the air. She knew that scream, a scream she felt in her bones.
She stood so suddenly the chair she sat on smashed against the back counter. With her heart in her throat, she rushed around her desk and the counter, jogging out the door leading into the garage. The door banged shut behind her. She scanned the area, her stare coming to a stop when she spotted Bree. Only then did she finally take a breath.
At the back of the garage near the door leading into the compound, Bree, butt planted on the greasy floor, cradled her knee. Bryce knelt in front of her, his expression a mixture of horror, concern, and something else she’d never seen and didn’t have time to decipher.
Relieved beyond reason since for a brief moment she thought the worst, she rushed to Bree. By the time Em reached Bree, Cuss, Blaze, Army, and several other brothers were huddled around her, making it so that Em couldn’t get through. Excusing herself, they made way for her. She immediately knelt beside Bree. Her gaze went to Bree’s knee, her little hands covering it.
“Shh…Bree, it’s okay,” she soothed softly and simultaneously tugged Bree’s hands away to get a better look. A pretty bad scrape, bloody, but nowhere near as bad as she’d seen.
“Mommy!” Bree cried. “It huuuurts!”
“It’s going to be okay, honey.”
She wrapped one arm under Bree’s knees, the other around her back, getting ready to lift her when she felt him. Bryce’s arms touched hers reaching for Bree. He lifted Bree before she could. She met his gaze. Brows furrowed, grimace in place.
“First aid kit?”
His brows shot up.
“Downstairs bathroom next to the office, under the sink.”
She turned and spotted Strike then thanked him and followed Bryce and Bree inside, Bree still crying, her sobs muffled against Bryce’s chest.
Reaching the bathroom, Bryce sat Bree on the counter. She searched under the sink. It took her several minutes to find the first aid kit in the mess. Nabbing it, she looked for disinfectant wipes, ripped the package open, and lifted Bree’s knee. “This is going to sting.”
“No, Mommy, no!”
Bryce wrapped his arm around Bree’s shoulders, cupped her cheek, and pressed her against his chest. Leaning into her, his lips on her forehead, he said, “It’s okay, baby. Hold on to me. It’s gonna be okay.”
The way he said it, so soft, trying to comfort her, and so anguished too, like he felt her pain, made Emelia stop what she meant to do to look his way. His eyes weren’t dead but pained. Lost in that look, when Bree wailed again and he shifted his attention her, she realized she’d been staring.
Looking away quickly, she said, “It’ll be over soon.” She wiped the scrape as carefully as possible.
Bree, her face still pressed against Bryce’s chest, sobbed louder.
Done, she whispered, “The worst is over now.” She bandaged it then threaded her fingers through Bree’s hair. “All better. Now, some ice cream?”
Bree drew her face away from her father’s chest, wiped her tears, and nodded. Bryce carried Bree into the living room. She headed into the kitchen and served Bree a bowl of chocolate ice cream, her favorite.
“You can say it. I fucked up.”
Her back toward him, but from his voice, she knew he stood a few feet behind her. She faced him, seeing that same look, the one she hadn’t been able to put a name to before, guilt. As a new parent, Bryce wouldn’t know that guilt was a common feeling. Parents worried. They second-guessed themselves, and when their child got hurt, physically or emotionally, parents felt guilt.
“When Bree was one and a half, she started trying to climb out of her crib. I bought her a toddler bed. It had a rail to keep her from rolling off the bed. Well, she fell any way and bumped her head pretty hard. The sound of her head hitting the floor woke me. It was three in the morning. I was terrified and rushed her to the hospital. She was fine, thank God, but I felt responsible. I still think of that night sometimes. I think about what I could’ve done to prevent it, and I still remember how scared I was, and I still feel responsible.”
His eyes widened as his brows wrinkled.
“This isn’t the first time she’s fallen. It won’t be the last.”
His expression changed then. Eyes glowing, he nodded. “I’m leaving town tomorrow night. Won’t be back for several days.”
“I’ll let Bree know.”
He shook his head. “Already told her. Now, I’m telling you. While I’m gone, Strike’ll take her to school and pick her up.”
She nodded, thinking it made sense Strike drop Bree off and pick her up. Bree had grown fond of the tatted biker, and it was mutual.
Bryce didn’t say where he planned to go, what he had to do, or when he’d be back. He just walked away. Then again, she hadn’t expected him to tell her.
Before he left the following night, he gave her a cell phone. Only one number programmed in it, his.
****
Ripper had been gone for three days, but it felt like an eternity.
He’d known Bree for a little more than three weeks, and he missed her something awful. He couldn’t explain it, didn’t understand it, but he felt it. For a man who hadn’t known love, he loved her more than anything in the world, a different type of love, love from first glimpse, unconditional love.
How could he not? His own flesh and blood, she was sweet, smart, beautiful, and his—his and Emelia’s. All of it made him realize what low lives his parents were. More than ever, he couldn’t understand how his father walked out, how his mother dropped him off at his grandmother’s and disappeared. Granted, he wasn’t the best man, father, or role model, but he loved his girl, so he’d turn himself inside out if he had to, to be better for Bree.
Before he left, he knew he’d miss Bree but had no choice but to go. He agreed to the guard job months ago and couldn’t back down when the club had already taken the money. Some of the guard jobs the club provided weren’t legal. They got paid to guard, and sometimes, it included beating up assholes who deserved it. The club made sure of it. This one had been an easy one, some dick who wouldn’t leave his ex-girlfriend alone and had been borderline stalking her. Her new man had money and paid them to rough up the ex. It took three days. They always stayed behind to make sure they tied up loose ends. He’d made a decent amount of money, enough he could afford to install the high-tech security system he had his eye on and buy some furniture for his home. But he was glad the job was over and done with. He wanted to see Bree, bad. Honest, he wanted to see Emelia too. He called her twice a day to talk to Bree. Also, Strike kept tabs on her and called him daily to report back, so he knew she hadn’t bailed with Bree again, but deep down, he wouldn’t believe it until he saw her with his own eyes.
The minute he got to the compound, he rushed upstairs, dropped his duffle in front of his door, and headed to their room. He meant to open the door without knocking then thought better of it. The last thing he needed—catch Emelia in a towel again. He knocked twice, lightly. She opened the door. His gaze locked with hers and because a part of him swore she’d be gone, he held it for longer than he cared to admit. Finally, he tore his stare away but only to trail it down her torso. He meant to continue looking down the length of her, but he froze on the oversized black tee with the word “Harley” written in freehand cursive across her chest.
He knew that tee. He remembered it well because it was his. Not much different than most of his tees, black and it read, “Harley,” but he remembered it because he missed it. He missed it because it was his favorite, and it was his favorite because all those years ago, she wore it to bed.
The first time he had her, she found it on the floor and put it on. From that night on, she slept with him in that tee. The only nights she didn’t wear it to bed, the nights he dealt with club business, and she fell asleep without him. On those nights, he stole it back and wore it laced with her scent, so with every breath he took, he smelled her. He did this every time. After she left, he realized he did it because she wasn’t around, and he wanted her to be.
When she left, she took everything with her, all her clothes, even pictures like she’d been trying to erase the memory of her from him. She was gone, and he didn’t know why, and he didn’t want her to be. He needed something, anything. He thought he had at least that shirt, so he looked, tearing his room apart, but he never found it, and now, he knew why.
She took it.
She took his favorite tee.
She stole it and left with his daughter.
He couldn’t lose it like he wanted to, like he should.
The next moment, Bree’s little body hit him, her arms circled his thighs, hugging him tightly. “Daddy! I missed you so much.”
His arms went around Bree. He tried his hardest to tamp down the too familiar anger. The instant his gaze landed on her beautiful little face and the smile lighting it, the one that made his whole life worth every fucked minute, his rage faded fast. He smiled. “Hey, baby. How’s my favorite girl?”
“I’m good, Daddy. Mommy let me stay up because I told her you were coming home.”
He spared a glance at the clock on the bedside table, an hour past her bedtime. Emelia was strict about that shit. It was for Bree’s own good, so he said nothing. Yet Emelia let it go this one time, giving Bree the chance to see him and give him that smile. Too bad it didn’t erase everything she’d done to him.
“Guess that means it’s bedtime then?”
Bree looked to Emelia. He refused to look at her, knowing no good would come of it. But he knew she must’ve nodded since Bree peered at him next and asked, “Can you tuck me in and stay until I fall asleep, Daddy?”
He couldn’t say no to that voice, those eyes, soft and pleading. Besides the fact, he wanted to even though he shouldn’t. It was just plain stupid to be in such close proximity to her mother, wearing a tee she stole and nothing else. “’Course, Bree.”
She grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the bed, where she lay.
He sat on the bedside, tucked her in like he’d seen Emelia do, leaned in, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Night, baby.” Not knowing what else to do, he pulled away but stayed seated on the mattress.
“You must be tired. You should lay with me, but you have to take off your shoes, so you won’t dirty the bed.” She made room beside her and in the process undid the sheet he’d so dutifully tucked around her.
He smiled, waited until she situated herself before he tucked her in again. “I am tired. Didn’t realize how tired until I got here.” He then kicked off his boots, lay on his side facing her, and wrapped his arm over her head.
She burrowed close, placing her cheek against his chest, her little hands under her face.
It felt good. His little girl seeking comfort in him. Then it got better.
She pulled away from him and tilted her head up. “I love you, Daddy.”
In that single moment, he knew why he was still alive—for her. Rip couldn’t disguise the feeling, the warmth spreading through him, the emotion welling inside, and he didn’t try to. When he whispered, it could be heard in his voice. “I love you more, Bree, and don’t you ever forget it.”
She smiled wide and tucked her face back onto his chest. In seconds, she fell asleep, and he was left staring at her wondering what he ever did to deserve such beauty.