Page 5 of Wrath's Redemption

Those eyes – God, Anna's eyes – lock onto mine. The intensity of his gaze hasn't changed; it still makes my skin tingle and my heart skip a beat.

He's got new tattoos creeping up his neck, and a fresh scar near his right temple that wasn't there before. His dark hair is longer now, tied back at the nape of his neck. Everything about him screams danger, yet my traitorous body remembers how gentle those hands can be.

The room goes silent. Even the prospects seem to shrink behind the bar.

"Lucy," Wrath says, my name rolling off his tongue like smoke. His voice is exactly as I remember – deep, rough, with an edge that sends shivers down my spine. "Long time no see."

I stand on shaky legs, fighting to keep my voice steady. The photo in my pocket feels like it weighs a thousand pounds.

"We need to talk."

His eyes narrow slightly, scanning my face. Looking for what, I'm not sure. Threat? Deception? Whatever he sees makes his jaw tighten.

"Private room," he barks to no one in particular, already moving toward a hallway. "Now."

I follow him, my heart thundering against my ribs. The weight of Anna's photo seems to grow with each step. My fingers brush against it, drawing strength from the image of my little girl – our little girl. The hallway feels endless, each step taking me closer to a conversation that will change everything.

I catch my reflection in a grimy mirror – I look pale, nervous, completely out of place in my sensible sweater and jeans. A kindergarten teacher in a den of wolves.

I just pray I'm doing the right thing. Because the man leading me down this dark hallway isn't just Wrath of the Iron & Blood MC anymore. He's not just the stranger who gave me one perfect night of passion and freedom. He's my daughter's father.

He pushes open a heavy wooden door marked "Reunion Room" and gestures for me to enter.

The room is dominated by a long table, carved with what looks like decades of knife marks and cigarette burns. Motorcycle club logos cover one wall, some crossed out with violent red X's. This must be where they hold their meetings.

"Sit," he commands, closing the door behind us. The click of the lock engaging makes my pulse jump.

I take a seat, trying not to fidget as he walks around the table. He doesn't sit. Instead, he leans against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, studying me like a predator sizing up prey.

"You look exactly the same," he says finally, his voice softer than before but no less intense.

I swallow hard. "You don't."

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Rough night."

The dark stains on his cut suddenly seem more prominent. I force myself not to look at them. "I wouldn't have come if it wasn't important."

"Yeah?" His eyebrow rises slightly. "Important enough to track me down after a year of silence?"

There's an edge to his words that makes me wince. "I never planned to come back into your life."

"But here you are." He pushes off the wall, moving closer. His presence fills the room, making it hard to breathe. "Why?"

My fingers tremble as I reach into my pocket, pulling out the photo. Anna's smiling face looks up at me – his eyes, his jaw, but my honey-colored hair. My heart feels like it might explode.

"Because," I whisper, placing the photo on the table between us, "she needs her father."

Wrath goes completely still. For several heartbeats, the only sound is the muffled music from the main room and my own thundering pulse. Then, slowly, he reaches for the photo.

His hands, still bearing traces of whatever violence he committed tonight, cradle the picture with unexpected gentleness. I watch as recognition dawns in his eyes, as he sees himself in our daughter's features.

"How old?" His voice is barely audible.

"Two months."

He does the math quickly, his jaw clenching. "That night..."

"Yes."

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