Angel took the spot next to Chelsea on the couch, which was probably good since she was still looking at Chopper like he had ripped out her heart and stomped on it right in front of her. She also looked like a nervous wreck, and Chopper felt like shit for doing this to her. And he wouldn’t, if it weren’t about keeping her and her baby safe. He was falling in love with her, and even if she hated him for this, he had to do it.

“So, Chopper says you know who Bart Walton is?” Good old Dax, always straight to the point.

“I know of him, yes. He was on television for a long time while I was growing up. He built that big church over in Back Bay, the one that looks like the Astrodome, and now he’s running for some office. That’s the most I know about him.”

Dax looked at Chopper and raised an eyebrow. He was giving him the option to tell her. Chopper wanted to wimp out and let Dax do it, but he knew he had to man up. He nodded slightly at Dax and said, “Chelsea, you don’t remember ever meeting him in person, do you?”

She looked like she was thinking about it, but she was shaking her head. “I mean…like I said, his face used to be on TV all the time and now he’s all over the city…so yeah, he looks familiar, but what Wayne told you…there’s no way…”

“You’re sure?” Chopper asked. He fucking hated this. He could see her shaking from where he sat. He wanted to hold her and make it all go away. This was killing him.

“What did Wayne say…exactly?”

“He said that he was sterile, and there’s no way that Reed can be his son. And then he said that Walton was the father and he would do anything to keep that from coming out. He has a lot to lose, Chelsea. He has a wife, four kids, a huge following, and now he’s running for office. If that DNA test proves Wayne is not Reeds father, Walton is afraid you might either know it’s him, or go looking for the father and find a trail back to him. I got the feeling that Walton has already reached out to Wayne, maybe paid him off…”

“Fuck. That motherfucker!” The room was completely silent when she finished cursing. Angel reached over and put her hand softly on Chelsea’s arm. Chopper was grateful for that; it seemed to soothe Chelsea some. She was staring down at her hands and finally she looked up at Chopper and then at Dax and she said, “Wayne let the men who could afford to pay more…do me, without a condom. If I remember correctly he used to say it was two hundred an hour for anything they wanted covered, and a thousand for bareback and ‘fucking freaky.’ I was a whore.” Tears were running down her face. Chopper felt like his chest was going to explode. They were tearing down all of her walls and staring at her naked soul. “I didn’t care what he wanted me to do as long as he kept feeding me pills and alcohol. I was not just a whore, I was a cheap one. He made a thousand bucks and I got ten dollars worth of smack.”

“Chelsea…”

“No, Chopper, don’t. I don’t need you to tell me not to call myself names or get down on myself. I’ve come a long way since then and I know it. I’m proud of the progress I’ve made. But what I just said was a fact back then and no amount of sugarcoating will change that. Honest truth? Walton could be my son’s father and I wouldn’t know it. Wayne knows more about that than I do. But Wayne is also a fucking liar…so, I guess it’s all in what you choose to believe. I doubt that Bart Walton is going to volunteer his DNA for a test.”

Dax smiled then, softly, but his blue eyes were steely as he said, “We’re not going to ask him to volunteer.” Chopper watched Chelsea swallow hard and Angel squeezed her arm.

“Chelsea, there’s something else. I don’t think Dizzy is the one that broke into your apartment and trashed it, I think that was someone working for Wayne.”

“Why? What the hell does he want? I’ve given that bastard everything—he should know I have nothing left.”

“He wants a picture you drew. He said that he ‘knows now’ that you gave it to the tattoo artist, David. It’s a skull with…”

“Roses—shit! I went by there today. Some guy in a suit was coming out, yelling on his phone. When I went inside David said he was trying to get a copy or buy the drawing. I have it,” She reached into her purse and pulled it out. She held it out and Chopper took it. She pulled her hand back before it touched his, like she was afraid his touch would burn her. His heart hurt again. He sucked it up and looked down at the drawing. It was a charcoal sketch of a skull; roses came out of the eye sockets and wrapped around the back of the skull. It was good; she was good. He could totally picture it as a tattoo. “I don’t know if it has anything to do with why he wants it, but look really closely at the roses, in the center.”

Chopper squinted at the center of the biggest rose. There was a lot of light-and-dark shading and fine lines. He held it back slightly and Dax looked over his shoulder. “You have a magnifying glass?” he asked Dax. Dax didn’t answer him, but he took the drawing out of his hand and stared at it for a few seconds before handing it to Angel and saying:

“What do you see there, baby?” Angel looked closely at it and after a few seconds she said:

“Numbers. There are numbers written in there. They blend in with the other lines.”

“Yeah,” Chelsea said. “I noticed them today when I was trying to figure out why that guy would be so interested in the sketch and I saw them.”

“You don’t know what they mean?”

“No. I don’t remember putting them in the drawing either. But if Wayne knew they were there, he’s probably the one that wrote them in. He never paid that much attention to anything I drew.”

“Fifteen, twenty-six, forty-two,” Angel said, reading the numbers. “A combination, maybe?”

Dax pursed his lips and then he pulled out his phone. Tapping a number, he waited several seconds and then said, “I need you to get a text to Dorsey.” Dorsey was a Skull, an old guy that had been in prison for over sixteen years. He was doing time for a double murder. Chopper didn’t know the details, but he’d been sent to see Dorsey on visiting day to put money on his books and take him care packages more than once. He seemed like a nice old guy to him. “Tell him to find Wayne Borba first thing in the morning. He works in the chow hall. I want to know what fifteen, twenty-seven, and forty-two mean. He’ll know what he’s talking about.” Dax paused and looked like he was listening and then he said, “No…we need him to keep breathing, for now.”

Chelsea tried to insist she go home that night, but by the time she and Chopper left Dax and Angel’s house, it was almost midnight. If she refused to stay at the ranch, he planned on following her home and sitting outside all night, so he was relieved when she finally gave in. She made it clear, however, that they wouldn’t be sleeping together. He hadn’t expected that, but hearing it out loud still hurt nonetheless.

When they got to the clubhouse he saw Jigsaw’s old lady, Kimber. There were a few of the brothers sitting up at the bar and Kimber was serving them a plate of something from the kitchen. They must have just gotten back from a run, and with Jigsaw out of town this week, Kimber spent a lot of time working up at the clubhouse to stay busy. She was a sweet, gentle little thing and Chopper found himself happy that she was there. The rest of the place had cleared out. It was a weekday and they all had jobs to go to in the morning.

“Hey, Kimber, this is Chelsea. Could you show her to one of the empty rooms and give her the rundown on where to find anything she might need?”

“Of course. Hi, Chelsea.” Kimber smiled at her and Chelsea smiled back. Her smile looked tight and her eyes were still red and swollen from crying. Chopper physically ached to hold her. She said hello to Kimber and started to follow her toward the stairs. She stopped before she got there and turned to look at Chopper. He stupidly was hoping for an invitation to go with her but what he got was almost as good.

“Thank you, Chopper, for everything.” He smiled and nodded at her and wondered if how much it was killing him to not be able to touch her was reflected on his face. He watched her disappear up the stairs with Kimber and then went around behind the bar and grabbed a beer. As he twisted off the top, Tank, the oldest biker on the ranch, came out of the kitchen. He took one look at Chopper and said, “Whose pussy got you all twisted?” Chopper laughed. People say cops have great instincts. Those people should meet an old biker…instincts didn’t get any better than theirs.