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.”

“But weren’t you and Dad close?” I ask. “You must have been mad that she moved on to your best friend?”

“Yeah,”—he lifts an eyebrow—“I was. Didn’t talk to them for six whole months. Right until your old man argued his way in here and dragged my ass out of bed so I could go see my newborn daughter.”

Nerves swell thick in my throat. What did he think when he saw me? Did he regret it? “Why did you hide it from me? Why not tell me from the start?”

“Sugar, if you’d seen your sweet little face when your daddy came home from work each day, you wouldn’t have told you either. We always thought we would, but how do you tell a baby? A toddler? By the time you were old enough to understand, your daddy was your hero. We couldn’t ruin that for somethin’ that didn’t really matter. I was still in your life, so I didn’t see the point in rockin’ the boat.”

I suck in a long breath, processing everything he’s told me. The two men standing behind Harris look bored, disinterested in what’s going on, and I suppose they are. To them it’s another tale of a dysfunctional family, but to me it puts all the broken pieces of my past together, forming a colorful mosaic out of the fragments that previously didn’t fit.

No wonder he was always around. Knowing this explains why he came to every milestone event of my childhood: birthdays, Christmas, school plays. I guess he didn’t want to miss out on his daughter growing up.

“If Dad knew, then why were you all arguing?” I ask. “It still doesn’t explain why things went so wrong.”

Harris drops his head between his shoulders, burying his thick fingers adorned with skull rings into his messy, gray-streaked hair. “Your mom and dad, they argued a lot. The usual stuff—money, you. Every married couple does. But the fights got worse, and you dad raised his hand at your momma one night.” He sighs, dropping his hands to hang between his legs. “He never hit her, but it scared her. She left for a couple of days and came to stay with me.”

“She said she went to visit an old college friend. I remember that. Dad didn’t want her to go, and I couldn’t understand why he was so upset with her seeing a friend.”

“I don’t think he knew for sure where your mom went, but your father wasn’t simple—he would have figured it out.”

“So what? He got jealous?”

“Your mom got pregnant again.”

The tension in the room is palpable. Nobody moves, until King rises from his seat and motions for all the hangers-on to leave. The men behind Harris file outside, followed by Dog, the prospect I don’t know, and Callum.

I startle as Bronx reaches across himself to take my clenched fist in his hand, wrapping his fingers around mine and prying them loose. “You okay?”

“What do you think?” I snap.

“You want to take a break?” He lifts my relaxed hand to his lips, kissing the fingers one by one.

His gentleness irks me, not that I know why, but something about the contrast of that with the anger building inside of me makes me want to slap him. I wrench my hand away, uttering a quiet, “Don’t.”

Harris fidgets with his rings, spinning them around his fingers in turn while he watches me keenly. “Are you sure you want to know the rest of what happened, baby girl?” He stops fiddling, straightening his back. “Sometimes things are best kept in the past.”

“Only it’s not my past,” I say. “Every fucking morning I wake up wondering about why things happened how they did. How can it be my past when it’s so royally screwed up my present?”

“What do you want to know first?” he asks quietly.

“Who shot her?” I reply without hesitation. “Who shot Mom?”

“Your daddy.” He sighs, leaning into the sofa. “But I’ll take the blame any and every day.”

“How? Why?”

“He pointed the gun at me. Your mom got in the way.”

“Trying to protect you?” I can’t understand why a pregnant woman would put herself in harm’s way like that.

“Tryin’ to protect both of us. Your momma was a smart girl. She would have known if your daddy shot me, he’d be goin’ to prison. She also would have known it would mean both her babies didn’t have a father in their life—biological or otherwise.”

I place a hand to my chest, trying to rub away the ache. “Was it quick?”

“Instant.”

“And Dad?”

“Turned the gun on himself.”

Wait . . . what? “You didn’t kill either of them?”

He shakes his head solemnly. “No, baby girl, I didn’t.”

I look to Bronx, but he’s eyeing the both of us, clearly trying to work out what he’s hearing, too. The entire past twelve years of my life have been a lie. My uncle didn’t kill my parents, and he wasn’t dead.

“Why the fire then? Why not let the authorities deal with it?”

Harris scoots forward on his seat, reaching out for my hand. I take hold of his calloused fingers and look at the stark contrast of his huge palm engulfing mine. “Ryanna, what happened after I left? Why did you disappear?”