Page 50 of Brage & Dinah

He'd shot her brother.

And, Tony had it coming after storming onto Slag property. What had he expected? What was it her brothers always told her? If she hung out with people who were shit, she'd start stinking, too.

Well, Moroad stunk.

She picked up the phone, connected the call, and hit the speaker button. Three rings later, she closed her eyes, prepared for the message that he hadn't set up his voicemail when the call connected.

"Yeah?" said her brother's gruff voice.

"It's me." She cleared the emotions from her throat. "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not fucking okay. A chunk of my arm is gone." A rattling like two beer cans crashing into each other came over the phone. "Get your ass back here."

"I'm not coming home right now." She peeked at Brage. "Did you go to the hospital?"

"Hell, no." Tony groaned. "Shit's falling apart. Your little stunt cost me two months' worth of pull from the pot. We took a chance coming to get you, Dinah, and the club's pissed. They think I set them up because you didn't come through for me."

"I'm sorry, but—"

"You're not sorry," yelled Tony. "I could be sitting next to Brad in the pen because you fucked up or dead and buried."

Forgetting their conversation was listened to, she panicked. "Don't say that. What am I supposed to do without you?"

"We never should've helped you," muttered Tony. "You're proving to be nothing but trouble."

Her spine stiffened, and her pulse roared in her ears. She'd always done what they asked. Every day, she was aware of not putting any more stress in their lives. She'd stayed in school, kept to herself, and not once got in trouble.

She'd lived her twenty-six years without getting a speeding ticket, being late on a bill, and worked her ass off to make sure Tony and Brad had money when they came up short. Not once had she told anyone how many days they had left her on her own when she was young and had to depend on herself for food and to get to school.

"Helped me?" Her voice squeaked. "How have you helped me?"

He remained silent. Her anger grew. All the new information she was learning about her life came flying at her.

"Tony, where are Mom and Dad buried?" She stared at the table, willing him to tell her. It would be easy enough to make a phone call to the appropriate number and ask for records of burial.

Tony snapped, "How the hell am I supposed to know. Is Slag Motorcycle Club putting you up to question me? Fuck that. They're dead. Died in a car crash."

She closed her eyes. "Why is Brad listed as my father on my birth certificate?"

"Don't question me," muttered Tony. "Are you coming home or do I have to come and get you?"

She shook her head. "Who is the woman with long black hair from my childhood? Why am I always dreaming about her?"

"Shut up. Don't you ask—"

"Who is she?" She shot out of the chair.

Brage caught her and held her close. Her body trembled. She remembered.

While she couldn't recall who the woman was, she could feel deep in her bones her desperate need to find her. She remembered crying and begging to see her.

"You were better off with us." Tony belched. "The son of a bitch owed us."

Tears rolled down her cheeks. Something major was happening, and she couldn't grasp what it was.

"Who?" she whisper-screamed. "Who owed you?"

"Your dad. The fucker double crossed Moroad, but you don't have to worry about that old drunk. He's dead. Moroad takes care of their own. You should be grateful we took you away from—"

She disconnected the phone and hurled it across the room. Brage's arms came around her. She screamed, snuffing out the words left behind, stabbing her in the heart. The fear, loneliness, and uncertainty of her past consumed her.

The dirty men wouldn't let her see her mommy.

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