"It's him."

The tires squealed as he slammed down on the brakes. Dex didn't even bother pulling into a spot before parking behind two cars in the lot. I was out of the truck before him, looking at all of the doors like I had some type of internal radar that let me know which room he was in.

"Lemme go find out where he's at," Dex murmured with a squeeze to my forearm.

Uhh...

Yeah, maybe I didn't want to know how he was planning on getting that information.

I stood there as he walked in the direction of the tiny office by the parking lot's entrance. Looking, looking, looking. In less than five minutes Dex's loose gait had him standing next to me.

I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and tipped my head up, trying to be confident. "Is the employee still alive?"

He smirked, the corner of his mouth arching up so high those pretty white teeth flashed at me. He tugged on the hem of my shirt. "Alive and fingers intact, babe."

"Smart ass." Not laughing was impossible. I held up my hand for a high-five. Dex shook his head with a chuckle and slapped it, linking our fingers together afterward.

"Let's go."

I wrapped my free hand around the inside of his elbow, taking confidence in the dark tattoos on his arms. They reminded me of Pins, and my friends there. Safety. Familiarity. Tattoos were Dex. My friend. My protector.

"Let's do this," I agreed.

Up the stairs we went. Down the hallway. A turn to the right.

And we stopped.

Dex held up a hand to knock on the door but I stopped him by grabbing his wrist. I ducked my head and pressed my lips to his thumb, sucking a breath to steady myself. Dex was watching me with those dark, steady eyes—curious.

"Thank you for coming with me," I whispered.

His nostrils flared, and he nodded briskly.

I knocked but no one answered immediately.

I knocked again, this time harder.

Still nothing.

I knocked even harder, faster, more annoyingly persistent.

Still, nothing.

Dex leaned over me, pounding his fist against the door. "Open the fuckin' door," he growled.

Oh hell.

Six foot three and bossy? As long as it wasn't directed at me, it made my ovaries sing an opera.

The lock turning was the only thing that pulled me from my Dex-fantasies. For some reason, I suddenly wondered whether my dad still had facial hair or not.

It was just like a movie in slow motion.

The door opening.

The dark hotel room.

The expectation.

At the door, a woman stood in a t-shirt three sizes too large. A woman that was possibly only a decade older than me.

"Uh, can I help you?"

If he was in there, I was going to kill him. I decided that immediately.

I ignored the woman in front of me and looked over my shoulder at my dark-haired Dex. I wasn't going to have a panic attack or turn into a rabid raccoon with him behind me, that was for sure. "Are you sure this is his room?"

All he needed to do was nod before a confidence and a rage I wasn't extremely familiar with, flooded my stomach.

Fuck this.

With balls that I didn't even know I had, I leaned forward and spoke louder than I probably ever had. "I know you're in there, and I'm not leaving until you get out here."

Where the hell had meek little Iris gone?

"The fuck?" the woman spat, frowning.

Classy. "The man in there with you needs to come talk to his daughter."

"Daughter?" Baloney. This woman was absolutely baloney.

There was a noise coming from the recesses of the hotel room, a voice talking so low I'm surprised the person in front of me could hear. My ears were ringing so loud with adrenaline and frankly anger that I couldn't hear anything clearly.

I had my eyes locked on the lady in front of me, taking in her dark hair, olive skin, light eyes. She was a poor replica of my mother, I thought, as mean as I would have normally assumed the thought was. But I didn't care then. I sized her up. I watched her take a step back and turn around to talk to the man in there.

I had to swallow hard to keep from making some awful noise. If it wouldn't have been for the warm heat on my back that radiated from Dex's chest, I'm not sure what I would have done as I waited for my father to come to the door.

My father. The thought was so immediately detached it should have alarmed me, but I'm surprised by how freeing it was. Not my dad. My father. My sperm donor in Sonny's words.

"Iris."

He was there.

Shorter than what I remembered, or maybe the careful balloon I'd inflated with his memory had been too exaggerated. Or maybe I'd just been around Dex's long bones for too long.

Curt Taylor stood there. With his heavily tattooed forearms void of any past Widowmaker insignia. A salt and pepper mustache curling his upper lip. Hair still short. And so much older than I remembered.

My heart churned in recognition—in need. But only for a split second. For a millisecond I allowed myself to miss him. To miss the times he'd made me feel like I was the most important person in the world to him.

But that time had been decades ago. A faded photograph. It was broken and corrupted.

And most specifically and fortunately for me, I'd been patched up along the way.

I let my hand reach backward until I grasped Dex's thigh, using it to center me as I stared at the man I'd denied myself loving for so long.

But the love I knew, the form of love I remember as a child was completely different than the version I recognized as an adult. There’s no chemistry to it. You can’t break apart love’s properties and make it something it’s not. I knew that now.

A small, stupid part of me might always feel something my father, but that didn't mean that I respected him. That I truly valued him. Not when it had suddenly occurred to me how obvious it was that he didn't feel the same toward me. And love without respect and appreciation isn’t actually anything. It’s worthless.

I knew what it was like to be valued. To be cared for. To be a priority. And I wasn't going to settle for less from the man that should have shown me all of those things throughout my life.

Fuck. That.

I wasn't a little girl anymore. I wouldn't fall for his tricks or his foolish, meaningless words.

If I had a baby, a little tiny boy or girl that had grown up in my arms, there was no way I could ever leave them willingly. There was no way I couldn't think about him or her daily and wonder if they were fine, when I did that for my own little brother. Hell, I even worried about Slim and Blake all the time. What did that say?

It said I wasn't my father, and I never would be.

"We need to talk."

"Iris?" His voice cracked.

I'm not sure what it said about me that I was able to look at his face steadily without feeling a thing besides resentment. "We really do need to talk."

He blinked those hazel eyes. The Taylor eyes he'd given Sonny and me. "Rissy," he said my nickname slowly, "I haven't seen you—"

Dex's growl cut him off. "I don't wanna hear it. She don't wanna hear it. Get your shit, 'cuz we're goin'."

My father, Curt, blinked rapidly. His eyes widened like he had barely seen Dex standing behind me, well, more like towering behind me. My own personal eclipse of ink and ego.

The angry frown that curled over his mouth was the predecessor for those hazel eyes flicking back and forth between me and Dex. Slowly, his eyes moved over the multicolored bruises on my cheek that still hadn't exactly faded. "You son of a bitch," my father boomed. "Did you do that to her?"

My bruise?

Dex? Dex who'd been ready to tear apart the universe because of what those morons had done?