"You’re meaner than a rabid fucking raccoon, and everyone hates you. They always have, and that’s on you. It’s always been on you. So, come between Keira and me again, I’ll end you and no one will give a fuck. They’d probably be happy that you’re dead.
"I’m telling you here and now, I see you again? I’ll make sure you regret it. You ain’t my sister anymore, Scarlet. You just cut the ties that bind, because bitch, I’m sick of your sorry ass. You’re as much of a liability as Mom, and I got rid of her years ago, I don’t need a miniature version fucking up my life. Not when I’ve got a kid on the way. So, nice knowing you, Scarlet, but the next time I see you, I hope it’s in hell."
She waited until I was standing in the door to rumble, "If it is, then I guess we’ll be able to play happy families with Mom and Dad when we’re all down there."
Like a dumbfuck, I frowned and twisted around to look at her. "You say that like she even knew who donated sperm to the sorry cause of making us."
A fly in her web, I saw it too late. "Oh, I know. He told me."
I narrowed my eyes at her as I returned to the bars. "Who?" Then, I scoffed. "As if you fucking know. You and your goddamn games, Scarlet—"
"Let me guess, you’re hoping it’s Bear, ain’t you? Hoping that’s why he took us in." She grinned, smug and precocious because she knew something I didn’t.
I refused to admit that I had always hoped Bear was my biological father, even if it was the truth.
"As if she’d know who knocked her up."
"Oh, apparently they were quite tight for a while. Exclusive. Never his Old Lady, but definitely his bitch."
"Who the fuck are you talking about?"
She smiled at me. "Prince."
"Prince is our father?" I pshawed.
"Yep."
She believed it. That much was clear. The malice in her eyes was eager, hungry. The predator in her scented prey, but I was done with being her whipping boy.
"What’s the end game here, Scarlet? Why are you telling me this?"
"Wasn’t he the one who got you hooked on meth?" She tapped her chin. "I’m pretty sure that’s the same guy."
My jaw worked. "Why are you telling me this? You think I give a shit about who our father is?"
She shrugged. "Nah. Just wanted to rip away any hopes and dreams you had of dear old dad being Bear… instead he’s the junkie VP who got you hooked on the same stuff as him." A laugh escaped her. "Your poor kid. She’s got a real prize for a dad, hasn’t she?"
My fingers slipped through the bars faster than she expected, but years of working for Grizzly, of fighting with my brothers, hadn’t exactly made me slow. I grabbed her wrist, jerked it out from between the bars, then pushed it backward, using a bar as a fulcrum to bend it further.
As she let out a yelp, her eyes wide as, with the other hand, she tried to claw at me, I rasped, "When you die, Scarlet, I hope you remember me. I hope I’m the last person you think of. The one man who’d have loved you unconditionally. Who wouldn’t have wanted you in his life for your snatch. Who’d just have loved you and would have been there for you regardless of the crap you pulled—" I put more pressure on her wrist so that the bone was close to snapping. "—instead, you treated me like shit so I should treat you like shit too…" She moaned with pain as I took it deeper, to the brink, before I leaned in and whispered, "Leave my family alone, Scarlet. If you don’t, I’ll end you."
Thirty-Two
Keira
PRESENT - EARLY JUNE
I Promise - Radiohead
With an evening of watching Storm’s favorite movie—Die Hard—for the tenth time behind me, I was deeply asleep and resting like a champ after Storm had gotten me off before bed. As a result, the shrill cry didn’t penetrate my dreams, but the scream did.
I jerked awake, sitting upright, eyes flaring wide as my feet hit the floor and I pretty much flew out of the bedroom. Storm was already there, his back to me as he tunneled through the door to Cyan’s room, and that was when I saw her thrashing around like she was in the middle of a fight.
A howl escaped her.
A howl that would haunt me until my dying day.
Unlike me, who froze in the damn doorway, Storm was there. He didn’t touch her, didn’t try to calm her, just barked, "Cyan. He’s dead! He’s dead and gone and he can’t hurt you."
Whatever I expected him to say, it wasn’t that. I surged forward, wanting to help, but he grabbed me and held me back.
She started sobbing and the sounds of her terror had me cursing Dr. Janowicz.
This week had been hell.
Literal hell.
And it was that bitch therapist’s fault.
They’d been revisiting the day that London had taken her, and the hardest thing of all? Telling Cy that the thing she needed to discuss with a therapist to get over it, she couldn’t. If she did, she’d implicate Amara in a murder charge.
I’d never felt so guilty, but Amara had saved Cyan, she’d goddamn saved her, and my kid was too smart not to understand but that didn’t mean it wasn’t messing with her.
Patient privilege would protect her, but… I understood why Storm wasn’t about to let things rest on that. He’d been raised not to trust anyone in authority, and that he was going to see a shrink at all was a testament to the love he had for his daughter.
Huh.
How did I just realize that?
A little mad at myself for failing to spot the massive sacrifice Storm was making by talking about things brothers in an MC didn’t share with anyone in a position of power, I studied Cyan once more. This was the fourth nightmare, and each was getting progressively worse, like her subconscious wasn’t happy about being denied.
"Cyan!" Storm barked, jolting me from my thoughts. "Cyan, it’s Dad! It’s time for school."
Surprised by the tactic, I found myself awestruck as it calmed her down.
"School’s starting in twenty minutes, ladybug. You need to wake up or we’re going to be late." As he spoke, he took a seat at her side. "You don’t want to be late for school. We’ll get in trouble."
After a couple minutes, time spent with my heart in my throat, a groggy sound escaped her. "Daddy?"
He hummed. "Yes, honey."
She blinked sleepily. "What time is it? Are we late for school?"
"No, Cy. You were having another nightmare."
Silence, then… a sharp sob escaped her. "I remember."
I bit my lip as I stepped forward. "It’s over now, sweetheart. It’s all done."
When she started crying, hurling herself against her dad’s chest as he absorbed her into his embrace, I wanted to sob with her, but that wouldn’t do her any good.
I needed to make this better, but how could I do that when the one thing she really needed to get off her chest was the one thing she couldn’t talk about?
Agitated, lost, and heartbroken, I rasped, "Baby, would you talk about that day with your dad and me?"