Duke (The Black Hornets MC Book 3) Read online

  I never wanted to guilt him into staying. I always wished he had stayed with me because he wanted to. Because he needed to. Because he loved me the way I loved him. But a man couldn't love a woman and lead the life he had chosen. I knew that, and so did he. It was why he kept it a secret. Why he never told me about his choice.

  It was ultimately the reason why I left.

  But it didn’t stop me from dreaming about him at night. It didn’t stop me from writing these replies to his letters I never sent. It never stopped me from signing them “with love,” and it never stopped me from seeing his face in Sierra whenever she became upset. Or determined. Or even happy.

  She was the spitting image of her father in my eyes.

  “Shit!” I exclaimed as I finished counting the letters.

  I was missing one. The very last one. There were thirty-two letters in all. Thirty-two handwritten letters with thirty-two responses I never ripped out of a damn journal to send. But it was the last letter that was missing. The most precious letter of them all.

  The one with the open-ended invitation.

  There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t think about you. The return address on this letter is where I am. Where I’ll stay. If you still want me—if you still think about me at all—you can find me there. I’ll be waiting.

  I memorized that sign-off. Even with all of the letters he wrote to me, that one stood out in my mind the most. I had read that letter the most. That paragraph the most. Partially because there were moments when I debated it. Wondered if things could work between us. And part of it was to remind me of the reason why I left in the first place. In the end, he expected me to come to him. He expected me to mold to the dangerous life he had chosen. And it wasn’t happening. I wasn’t taking that risk. I wasn’t putting Sierra in harm’s way after the treacherous pregnancy and labor I had with her.

  I almost lost her once. I wasn’t going to put myself in a situation to lose her again.

  I shoved the journal back into the tin box and shoved it underneath my bed. I ripped myself up from the floor and lunged at my phone, shooting myself across the mattress of the bed. There was only one way for her to get to Redding from Chico. And I knew her best friend’s mother hadn’t taken her. I opened up our shared Uber app and felt my heart drop to my knees. She was halfway to Redding, and when I pulled up the address the driver was heading to, my heart stopped.

  She really was heading to see her father.

  Chapter 3

  Duke

  My eyes narrowed as I looked at the little girl’s hand. Did she just say “daughter”? My eyes slid up her arm and made their way back to her face. My head fell off to the side, studying her as I processed what she had just said. There was no way in hell I had a daughter. This girl had to be at least thirteen or fourteen years old.

  I didn’t have a damn kid at fifteen years old.

  “How old are you, kid?” I asked.

  “Sierra,” she said.

  “Age,” I commanded.

  “Eleven.”

  I furrowed my brow. “You’re only eleven?”

  “How old did you think I was?”

  I shrugged. “You look thirteen.”

  “Definitely not thirteen. Yet,” she said, grinning.

  That grin. I did know that grin. I’d know it anywhere because of the time I spent paying attention to it in high school. I looked the young girl over again and clocked her features. The wispy blonde hair. The thin frame. The cheeks that seemed forever red. The cute little button nose. The full upper lip that made it look like this girl was always nibbling on her lower lip.

  She looked just like Eden. Except she had my hazel eyes instead of her brown ones.

  Holy shit, had Eden been pregnant when we split?

  I took a step forward and looked side to side. I didn’t need anyone seeing this shit. I stepped off to the side and ushered the little girl into the house, then promptly closed the door. My mind spun in directions I never thought it would take me. Had Eden actually kept a secret like this for eleven fucking years? I wrote that woman letters for three years after we graduated high school. Three years, thirty-two letters. All of them unanswered. If she had been pregnant, why the fuck hadn’t she gotten in contact with me and told me we had a child?

  A daughter that needed me?

  “How’d you get here?” I asked as I turned around.

  “I took an Uber,” Sierra said plainly.

  “Uh huh. And how did you know where I lived?”

  “The letters you sent to my mother. She keeps them under her bed in this weird book thing where she writes her responses but doesn’t ever send them. It’s dumb.”

  I nodded slowly. She kept those letters? She had responses she never fucking sent?

  I had no idea how to feel.

  “It’s not safe for you to come all the way here by yourself,” I said.

  “I just wanted to meet you. So, sue me. Not like Mom would’ve ever let me meet you anyway,” Sierra said.

  I grinned. She sure as hell did have my personality.

  “And what does your dad think about all this?” I asked.

  “No dad. Just me and Mom. Always has been. She doesn’t go and do anything fun. Always up my ass.”

  “Language,” I said firmly. It shocked me as soon as the word left my lips. Since when did I care about fucking language?

  Sierra rolled her eyes. “She’s always up my butt because she has nothing better to do except work and me.”

  “Sounds like a decent-enough mother. Better than mine,” I said.

  “Do I not have a good grandma?”

  I snickered. “No, kid. You don’t.”

  “My name’s Sierra.”

  “And my name’s Duke. Not Dad,” I said.

  “Fine, Duke. Then stop fishing for answers about my mom if you want them. Just ask questions.”

  I quirked an eyebrow and tried to bury a smirk. Full of sass and intelligent. She was the exact combination between Eden and myself. Except she looked a hell of a lot like her mother. Though she had my forehead.

  Poor girl.

  “You thirsty?” I asked.

  “Got any Kool-Aid?” Sierra asked.

  “Not even a little bit. I’ve got water, beer, coffee, and pineapple juice.”

  “I hate water, I can’t have beer, coffee is nasty, and I’ve never had pineapple juice.”

  “Well, we’ll remedy that today. Kitchen’s down the hallway,” I said.

  I watched Sierra turn on her feet and start walking. She even had Eden’s walk. Though I noticed a slight limp in her right leg. She favored her left leg when walking.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  Sierra got to the end of the hallway and turned around.

  “Huh?”

  “To your right leg. You’re favoring your left. What happened?” I said.

  “Oh. Got into a car accident a couple of years back,” Sierra said.

  “You two okay?”

  “Mom wasn’t. I was. Just a dislocated hip or whatever. Some guy t-boned us at an intersection drunk. She was out for a couple of days.”

  My fists clenched at my sides. If I had the time to find that bastard, I would. Driving drunk and almost killing my fucking family.

  Wait. They weren’t my family. They were a dual unit. I was the outsider.

  What the hell, Eden?

  “Am I going to get this juice or what?” Sierra asked.

  “You always got a mouth like that?” I asked.

  “Mom hates it.”

  “I bet she does,” I murmured.

  “Want me to grab the glasses?” she asked.

  “Nope. I’ll be having a beer. Or two.”

  “Oh, come on. Having me as a daughter isn’t all that bad,” she said, grinning.

  Fucking hell, she looked just like Eden when she did that.

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” I said, chuckling.

  “Mom was right.”

  “What?”

 
“You do have a nice laugh,” she said.

  I walked over to the cabinet and pulled out a glass. “What else has she told you about me?”

  Sierra shook her head. “Nothing. It’s all stuff I overhear when she’s talking with herself.”

  “Say what now?”

  “Yeah. Mom’s a bit… out there nowadays. After Nannie passed,” she said.

  “Nannie?”

  “Yeah. My grandma?”

  “Eden’s mother is dead?” I asked.

  “Mhm. Died last year. I never knew my Papaw. He died when I was two.”

  “Eden’s father,” I said.

  “Yeah. No more grandparents, I guess.”

  My heart ached for her. She had been so close with her family. Hell, I’d been close with them, too, since mine was a steaming pile of shit. What happened to them? How had they died?

  I pulled open the refrigerator. “So, what’s your favorite color?”

  “You don’t talk to other people much, do you?” Sierra asked.

  “Not sassy eleven-year-olds, no.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “You should. Means no one will run you over as you grow up.”

  “It also means I drive my mom insane,” she said, giggling.

  The sound made me grin as I poured her some pineapple juice.

  “Yeah, well. Kids are supposed to do that to their parents. Wait until you’re a teenager. She’ll get you back,” I said as I walked the glass over to her.

  “Thanks,” Sierra said.

  “No problem.”

  I walked over to the fridge and reached for a beer, but I second-guessed myself. Was that an appropriate drink to have in front of an eleven-year-old? I peered over my shoulder and watched her sniff the pineapple juice. Like I had laced it with something or some shit. She took a small sip before tipping the cup up, chugging it all in one get-go. Nope. Beer wasn’t a suitable drink.

  So, I reached for the pineapple juice.

  “I thought you weren’t having any?” Sierra asked.

  “Changed my mind after watching you chug your cup down,” I said.

  “Sorry. I guess I was more thirsty than I thought.”

  I grabbed myself a glass before walking over and filling hers up.

  “No need to apologize. Sh—” I bit down onto my tongue as Sierra giggled again. “Stuff happens,” I grumbled.

  “You’re a grouch, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “I’m pretty sure your mother thinks so, yes.”

  “Why?”

  “For such a small word, it’s a loaded question,” I said.

  “Mom says you’re dangerous.”

  I poured myself a glass, finishing off the container. “Why’s that?”

  “I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me. Are you a killer or something?”

  “Only when I have to be,” I said plainly.

  Sierra’s eyes widened. “Wait, are you being serious?”

  My eyes connected with hers. “Does it matter when you’re disobeying your mother?”

  The truth was that it was the truth. She didn’t need to know that, but a lesson also had to be taught. She was obviously here without her mother’s knowledge. Or, at the very least, without her mother’s permission. Eden was probably worried sick over where her child was, which meant I was responsible for returning her. Getting her home safely. Keeping her safe while she was with me. And if that meant scaring her off so she wouldn't come back, then that was what I had to do.

  Though I kind of liked the kid. She reminded me of, well… me.

  “Why are you here?” I asked.

  “Because I wanted to meet my father,” Sierra said.

  “Why now?”

  “Why not now?”

  I eased myself into the kitchen chair. “This is a big move, meeting the man who helped create you. What spawned your need to come now?”

  “It’s easy to order an Uber, Duke.”

  “You’re dodging the question, Sierra.”

  She sighed. “There was this father-daughter picnic for my school a little while back. Some stupid thing. Mom made a big stink about it because she thought it was ‘exclusive’ to those who didn’t have dads or whatever. She called up and asked if she could attend with me since I didn’t have a dad, we went together, and I saw all these kids happy with their dads. I wanted to know why I couldn't be happy with mine. But she won’t talk about you. Just says you’re dangerous. But you don’t seem very dangerous to me.”

  “When was this picnic?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Few weeks ago, maybe? I don’t know. It was dumb.”

  “Doesn’t sound very dumb to me.”

  “Well, it was. There were hot dogs and music.”

  “Oh, yeah. Very dumb. Stupid hot dogs and music.”

  “It wasn’t even the good kind of hot dogs. Or music. Bratwursts are where it’s at.”

  I grinned. “Now you’re talkin’.”

  “What kind of music do you like?” she asked.

  “I don’t.”

  “You don’t what?”

  “Like music.”

  Sierra’s jaw fell open. “How do you not like music?”

  I shrugged. “Never have. Just pointless noise to me.”

  “So, you’ve never listened to The Piano Guys.”

  “Who?”

  “Or classical jazz?”

  “Say what now?” I asked.

  “Oh my god. Hold on. Okay. Give me a second,” she said.

  She pulled something out of her pocket before she unplugged a set of headphones. She clicked around on the screen of her iPod and I grinned. Who the hell had an iPod anymore? Of course, Eden’s daughter would. Eden always hated technology. She thought it made people dumber and more unwilling to interact with people in the real world.

  Boy, would Sierra make her eat her own words.

  “Okay. Listen to this fabulous piece,” she said.

  She pressed the play button and the sound of a piano filled the kitchen. It was nice, but it wasn’t really my thing. I sat back and crossed my arms over my chest as some sort of stringed instrument chimed in or something. But then, I heard the sound of an electric guitar.

  “Is that—”

  “Yep,” Sierra said.

  “And the other one is—”

  “A cello. That’s what I play,” she said.

  “You play cello?” I asked.

  Sierra nodded. “Been taking lessons for a couple of years now. It’s a beautiful instrument. Listen. The cello solo is about to come up.”

  I watched my supposed daughter close her eyes and her head fell back. The cello solo kicked in, with notes screaming out into the kitchen. I winced at the way it was being played. Like shredding on a guitar, almost. But Sierra? She was completely enraptured by it. I watched her hands move through the air. Her fingers dancing on imaginary strings as she moved her other hand back and forth over what looked like an imaginary instrument.

  Then, the solo finished and she opened her eyes.

  “I’m trying to learn that solo,” she said sheepishly.

  “What’s your mother’s name?” I asked.

  Sierra sighed. “Really? We’re going to do this? I’m practically your twin.”

  “What. Is her name,” I said curtly.

  “Eden Michaels.”

  Holy shit. This beautiful, intelligent, sassy, musical little eleven-year-old was my daughter. And then, a car pulled up into my driveway.

  “Busted,” Sierra murmured.

  Chapter 4

  Eden

  I pulled into the driveway and rushed to the door. I was hoping I’d beat Sierra here. That somehow, the Uber hit traffic or something like that. But as I looked down at the application on my phone, I knew I was wrong. There was no way in hell I’d beaten her here, especially with a twenty-minute start. I’d hit traffic on the damn highway. I’d hit every stoplight from here to Timbuktu trying to get to an address I had practically memorized during Sierra’s
infant years.

  I panted for air as I knocked furiously on the door, hoping to the high heavens someone would save me from this moment.

  But when Duke ripped the door open and I saw Sierra standing beside him, my stomach lurched to my throat.

  I looked into his eyes. The hazel eyes he had passed onto his daughter. His dark brown hair was swooped back, revealing the forehead she had inherited from him. His eyes were filled with righteous anger. Confusion. Revelation. The look on his face said everything. Sierra had told him who she was, and the resemblance between the two was uncanny. The way my daughter stood with her shoulders rolled back like he did. The way she glared at me like he did. Her sassy-ass mouth of his and the way she postured like he did.

  Could those things be passed down genetically? Because she’d always resembled Duke in that fashion.

  “Can I come in?” I asked.

  “Might as well. The rest of the family’s here,” Duke said.

  I winced at his words as he stepped off to the side. I slipped past him, my eyes locking hard onto Sierra. But in true Sierra from, she didn’t seem the least bit swayed with what she had done. It was a nasty trait she had inherited from Duke as well. She didn’t have a care in the world as to how her actions affected other people. She did what she wanted without a second thought and didn’t take the consequences into account. She didn’t talk with anyone about it. She just did it.

  Like her father.

  The tension in the air was filled with unanswered questions. I hadn’t seen Duke since I left. Since we parted ways back in high school. I walked into the living room of his home and turned around, watching as his eyes looked me up and down. Sierra stood just behind him, as if Duke was shielding her from me. I wasn't sure why that made me as angry as it did, but I wasn’t having any of it. I wasn’t the one that needed to stand trial. I made the best decision I needed to make for the child I had growing inside me when Duke and I parted ways, and I wasn’t going to be held accountable for anything less than that.