Disappear? The reasoning behind Eddie’s reluctance makes a little more sense. With all the contacts an MC like the Devil’s Breed have, Harris could have found me if the information was out there. We’ve run in parralell groups for years, which leads me to realize the only logical answer—I was a secret. Why, though, I’m still not sure.

“I stayed and watched the house burn.” Harris places his other hand over both ours, comforting and offering me strength. “It was so quick. I remember thinking that something that big must take an age to burn down, but it fell so fast. The engines came, I guess because the neighbors called them, and they doused the flames. It took them so much longer to put it out than it had for the fire to ruin the house.” I give his hands a squeeze and then slip mine free. “Nobody saw me for so long.”

“Where were you?”

“Hiding in the garden.”

“Why didn’t you run like I told you to?”

I shake my head. “I did, just not far. I couldn’t have gone further. You were asking me to leave behind my home, my family, and my safety. I was a scared kid. I wanted to see if something remained.”

“What happened then? When the fire was out?”

“The cops came, and the forensic people. I didn’t know what they were at the time—people wearing white bags on their shoes. The police searched the grounds, and that’s when one of them saw me.”

“But they didn’t take you in, give you help?” Harris asks.

“No. He just shone his torch on me and looked at me for the longest time before walking away.”

“And you didn’t crawl out to him, look for help?”

“I was scared, in shock, and working on denial. I couldn’t think clearly enough to tie my shoe, let alone work through what I should have been doing.” I sigh, bringing my knuckles to my lips. “I was eleven years old, Harris.”

He shakes his head, his brows knitted together as he stares at the floor. “Fuckin’ assholes. They were as dirty then as they are now.”

“What do you mean?”

“That cop—he would have known who you were. Probably got paid a pretty sum to pretend he didn’t, too.”

What is he talking about now? “Why would they be bribed to not report in about me? I don’t get it. What made me so special?”

Harris reaches out and takes hold of his beer, downing more than half the bottle in the one go. He sets the drink back on the table, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Story for another day, honey.” He stands, dusting his palms on his thighs. “I’m goin’ to give you some time to work through everythin’ we just talked about. It’s a lot to take in.”

“Thank you.” Truth be told, I don’t think a month of Sundays would be enough to come to terms with it all.

My mother was shot.

While pregnant.

And my honorary uncle . . . is really my father.

Wow.

ROOM TO MOVE

Bronx

Shocked doesn’t even come halfway close to describing the look on Ryan’s face. Or should I say Ryanna? You learn something new every day.

“What do you need me to do?” I test the water by reaching for her hand.

“Nothing.” She takes my fingers in her grasp, rubbing her thumb over the tips. “I’m sorry I snapped just before.”

“Forgiven.”

“Truth is, I’m not sure what I need. I don’t even know what I’m feeling.”

“It might take a while to sink in.” The woman’s had a mountain of shit to deal with during the last day. She’s probably at breaking point. First Tommy, then me revealing the truth, followed by breaking it off with Gunter, and now Harris. Busy times.

“She was pregnant, Bronx. There’s a whole other person that died that night I never knew about.”

What can I say? That shit happens? I think she knows that already. Nothing comes close to justifying the loss.

Ryan turns to face me, placing a hand on my jaw. “Thank you, for everything. Without you, I would probably have never had this—a chance to talk to Harris.”

“At least I got something right, huh?”

“You did.” Her thumb rubs gently under my lips, and she leans in, placing a chaste kiss to them. “I’m dog tired, and this, it’s just worn me out. Is there somewhere I can get a few hours sleep?”

“Sure. I could do with a few Zs of my own.” Nothing sounds more right than lying down beside this woman and pulling her against me. I might not be able to comfort her with words, but I can give doing it with my actions a damn good go.

“Actually,” she says, dropping her gaze from mine, “I was hoping for some time alone, to just think about things. Is that okay? I don’t want to offend you or anything.”

My balloon of anticipation deflates with a hiss. “Whatever you need. I’ll go track Sonya down, and she can tell you which room is free.”

“Thank you.”

I give her a pat on the leg and stand, heading to hunt out Sonya. I’ll admit it; it burns. She’d rather be alone than take whatever my company offers her. Again, I’m not enough. I’m not what somebody needs. Will I ever be? What’s so damn wrong with me that people push me to the outer? Am I that useless at being a friend, a lover? Am I that unimportant?

As I predicted, I find Sonya in the kitchen. But instead of cooking, she’s tucked up on the steel counter, reading a book in the sunshine that flows in through the windows overlooking the back yard. She places the book down in her lap, turning to look at me as I approach. “Everything okay? I heard that we’ve got a visitor from the Breed to see your girl.”

“Yeah.” I stop beside her, placing my hands on the edge of the counter. “She’s tired—we’ve both been up all night—so I was hopin’ you could help her out with somewhere to get some sleep.”

“Sure.” Sonya closes her book, slipping a marker into place. I take a step back and allow her to swing her legs off the counter and drop to the floor. “How you doing? You want me to make you up a bed somewhere?”

I shake my head. “No, thanks. I’ve got some stuff of my own to think on. Might go for a ride, get some fresh air, and hit the gym.”

She places a hand on my arm, giving it a gentle rub. “You’re doing a good thing, Bronx. You probably feel out of your depth, but whatever those bullies out there say, just focus on you. Do what you need to do to be happy.”

“If only it were that simple,” I say with a laugh. “It’s not like I messed up some drop-off or somethin’, Sonya. I fucked up somethin’ pretty damn important.”

“You’re human,” she says, “not perfect.”

“Doesn’t stop people expectin’ me to be.”

“Then you don’t need those people in your life, do you?”

“What if those people are my life?”

She holds my gaze with a gentle frown. “Then you need a change, sweetheart. Go, take your ride. I’ll see Ryan’s sorted out.”

“Thanks, Sonya.”

She gives my arm a pat and heads for the door before pausing and turning back to face me. “I know it’s not my place to know exactly what you boys are up to, but I’m not silly. I have ears and eyes, and Vince lets on more than he realizes. All I’ll say is I hope you lot know what you’re doing, stirring up the pot. I get King’s doing what he thinks is best for this club, but I worry. This isn’t the schoolyard anymore, and you’re not little boys playing with toy guns. People can get hurt—bad. Some of us already have.”

“I know. Trust me, I know.”

Sonya offers a sad smile, and then disappears through the door. When does it end? Does it ever? I’m sure we’ll figure out a new plan, go back and take down Eddie, get the cash flow King needs, but what then? One battle ends, and another begins. Power creates an insatiable hunger, and the hungry need to feed. The kinds of people who drive these empires aren’t the type to settle. They fight, undercut, and deceive each other to get more, greater returns for themselves. This isn’t a world where people lie idle, content with what they have. No matter how much money, power, or control these kingpins acquire, they’re always after something they don’t have.