Harris’s eyes narrow, and a frown pulls his eyebrows in. “You send me a message like that, I’d climb out of fuckin’ hell to get here.” He rubs his left hand over his face, and I note the thick leather cuff on his wrist. Something twinges in my chest, the memories of playing with that cuff as a child awakening inside of me. Seeing it again, on him, right in front of me, proves how real this is. “Can I see her?” he asks.
King steps aside, revealing where I stand. With a bit of wiggling, Bronx manages to break his hold from mine, and urges me forward with a gentle hand between my shoulders. I’m unsure, still deciding what to say when Harris breaks the hugest smile, his weathered lips splitting to reveal his gold-capped tooth. The familiar sight is the last thing I need to spur me on, and I take bold steps toward him.
“Harris.”
“Hey, baby girl.” He reaches for me, and I shy away. As much as I’ve missed him, mourned him, I’m not ready to be held yet. There’s too much yet to be answered.
“It’s been a long time since you told me to start running,” I say. The men around us stand in silence, respectfully watching our exchange.
“It has.” Harris’ smile fades, but the welcome is still warm.
I’m not sure how I feel. “Why?” I glance at the two men who arrived with him; their cold and indifferent stares send a chill the length of my back. I move my gaze back to Harris. “Why did you kill them?” My question ends as a whisper, as though people might actually be shocked if they overhead my admission.
Remember where you are, Ryan.
“It’s not a quick answer.” His beard has flecks of grey, his eyes framed with crow’s feet. Time hasn’t been kind to him, but to me he’s still the same man I loved with all my heart.
“You didn’t come back. You never came to get me like you said you would.” I sound every bit the petulant child I was when he saw me last. I could stomp my foot and not look the slightest bit out of place.
“I couldn’t find you,” he explains. “I thought when you ran, sweetheart, you’d be picked up by the cops, that your face would be splashed all over the papers and all I’d have to do is follow the trail.” He shakes his head, dropping his chin to his chest. “Where’d you go, Ryanna?”
One word, my full name, and I’m done. A tear trickles from the corner of one eye and I let it run, proud of what it shows him. He betrayed me—he showed a child what it is to have somebody you trust take away your safety. He ruined the girl I was, and I want him to see that.
“Shit, baby girl.” He runs a hand down his beard. “Don’t cry.”
“I didn’t, for years. I held this shit inside and it ate away at all the good in there. I think it’s about time I let some of that pain out, don’t you?” More tears follow the first, cresting my cheeks and running down to my neck.
The men around us fidget with their hands, or screw a boot into the floor, looking for a distraction from what must be getting awkward for them. I look over my shoulder to Bronx, and find him watching, stern, yet keeping his distance. He nods tightly, telling me in a single action that I’m doing fine.
“How about we take a load off?” King says, placing a hand in the middle of my back. “Get comfortable, huh?”
I nod at his intervention and let him guide me over to the sofas. Harris takes up a spot to the left of the U-shaped configuration, and I choose the middle seats, tucking my legs up to my chest for a little added comfort. Bronx drops in beside me, placing an arm protectively along the back of my cushion. I look at his face as he stares at Harris, and I realize he’s also placed his arm behind me as a threat; a silent way of telling Harris that if he hurts me, then Bronx is going to have something to say about it.
“Drink?” King asks the group as Harris’s men take up spots behind my uncle’s sofa.
“Same as always, Kingy-boy,” Harris answers, crossing his left ankle to his right knee, and gripping it with both hands.
King snaps his fingers at Dog, sending him over to the bar to collect. “Same as I drink, Dog. You like anything, Ryan?”
“Just a water, thanks.”
“Bronx?” King asks.
“No, I’m fine.”
“You two?” King looks to Harris’ men.
They both shake their heads.
“Catch all that, Dog?” King calls over his shoulder.
“Yeah. Got it.”
Harris taps his fingers in a steady rhythm, eyeing Bronx’s proximity to me. I lean into the warm body at my side, letting my uncle know that this man is what I need. Harris rubs a hand the length of his shin, and his eyes drop to the floor before him as he speaks. “I guess if we’re goin’ to get the ball rollin’ we might as well start with the important stuff.” He fusses in his seat, stalling. “You want to know why your parents died, baby girl, and I want to tell you. But if you’re goin’ to understand the ‘how’, you need to know the ‘what’. You need to know my reason for bein’ at your house that night.”
My finger picks at a hole in the sofa, worrying the threads loose. “I’m guessing you had business to discuss with Mom and Dad.”
“I did. But that business started a long time before that night—eleven years before, to be exact.” The eyes that I always felt of as home watch me intently, gauging every reaction I have to what he’s telling me.
I know what he’s referring to, and common sense tells me what’s coming next, but I’m in denial. I don’t know if the answer is going to make me feel better, or worse. “I think I know what you’re going to say.” My fingertips twist a loose thread, my eyes fixed to the task at hand. “I know you loved my Mom, more than a friend should.”
“I did,” he confirms. “Still haven’t loved anyone like that since.”
“I don’t think anyone could compare,” I whisper. “She was an amazing woman.”
“She was.” He swallows hard, his eyes fixed to a dent in the table before him as Dog sets our drinks down.
I watch the prospect’s hand sweep in a lazy figure eight as he wipes up the spilled drops of water, focusing on the different shades of gray in his platinum ring.
One of Harris’ men coughs, and I break from my trance, remembering why we’re here. “Am I right?” I ask. “Are you my . . . my . . .” I can’t even say the word out loud.
“Father?” Harris teases.
“Yeah, that’s the word.” I smile briefly. “Are you?”
The room is poised for the answer. Even Dog hesitates halfway to the bar to listen to what Harris says.
My uncle—or at least the man who was my uncle, nods.
Bronx curls his hand off the back of the seat to squeeze my shoulder. “Wow.”
“Yep,” I agree, staring at the hole I’ve picked in the sofa with wide eyes. “Wow about sums it up.”
“Your mom was engaged to your dad when she found out,” Harris explains. “They weren’t an item when you were conceived—they got together a few months after.”
“Why did she leave you?” I ask. “Or was I some sort of a one-night stand gone wrong?”
“Never, baby girl. Mistake, yeah—initially, but no one-nighter. I was a prospect for this bunch,” he says, waving his hand around to gesture at King’s club. “Apex had a rule about unpatched members, basically stating their old ladies couldn’t hang around. Said he had enough trouble keepin’ the men in line with the whores without draggin’ in a bunch of women who were spoken for.” He chuckles. “Always thought the old bastard was pullin’ one on me, bein’ an asshole. But it made sense when I learnt the rules.” He leans forward in his seat, bracing his elbows on his knees. “See, a patched member has ownership over a prospect, and basically, if any of those dirty fuckers had wanted a piece of your mother, I couldn’t have done diddly-squat. The old bastard was protectin’ not only us prospects from unnecessary trouble, but women like your mother from situations they didn’t need to face.” He tips his head to one shoulder. “Anyway, she didn’t want to wait for me to do my time and be the woman in the wings, so to speak. Can’t blame her, really.”