Page 7 of Wrath's Redemption

My head spins. This is too much, too fast. I came for help with the surgery, not to completely upend our lives.

"I need time to think," I whisper.

"You've had two months." His hand comes up, fingers brushing my cheek with surprising tenderness. "Time's up, Lucy. I want to meet my daughter. Tonight."

The touch of his fingers sends electricity through my body, awakening memories I've tried to forget. One night of passion that created Anna. One night that's about to change everything all over again.

"She'll be sleeping," I protest weakly.

"Then I'll watch her sleep." His thumb traces my bottom lip, and my breath catches. "Pack what you need. I'll have prospects move the rest tomorrow."

"Wrath—"

"Please." The word seems to cost him something. "Let me do this right. Let me be her father."

And looking into those eyes – those damn eyes that Anna inherited – I feel my resistance crumbling. Because deep down, isn't this what I've wanted? Someone to share the burden, to love Anna as fiercely as I do?

Even if that someone is a dangerous biker with blood on his clothes and secrets in his eyes?

"Okay," I whisper. "Okay."

His smile is both triumphant and tender. "Let's go meet our daughter."

Chapter 3 - Wrath

I follow Lucy's car through the quiet streets, my mind racing faster than my bike. A daughter. I have a fucking daughter. Every heartbeat seems to echo her name: Anna. Anna. Anna.

The rage I felt earlier – about Lucy keeping her from me, about those two lost months – is still there, simmering beneath the surface. But it's tangled up with something else now. Something that feels like purpose. Like redemption.

An hour ago, I was executing Outlaws. Now I'm about to meet my baby girl. The blood on my cut feels wrong suddenly, like it doesn't belong anywhere near her. I should've changed, but I couldn't wait. Not for this.

Lucy's little Honda pulls into a driveway of a modest house in the suburbs and I park my bike behind it.

Everything about it screams 'normal' – flowerbeds, welcome mat, child's tricycle on the porch. It's a different world from mine, but it won't be for long. They belong with me now.

"Sarah's probably asleep," Lucy whispers as we approach the door, keys jingling in her nervous hands. "She has early shifts at the hospital."

I grunt in acknowledgment, too focused on what's waiting inside to care about her sister's schedule. My daughter is behind this door. My blood.

The house is dark except for a small lamp in the living room. Lucy leads me down a hallway, her steps hesitant. She pauses outside a door decorated with pastel butterflies, and something in my chest tightens.

"She's a light sleeper," Lucy warns softly.

I nod, not trusting my voice. Lucy turns the handle, and the door opens silently.

The room is small but cozy. A nightlight casts soft shadows on pale pink walls. And there, in a white crib, is my daughter.

Something breaks open inside me as I move closer. Anna lies on her back, one tiny fist pressed against her mouth. Her honey-colored hair – Lucy's hair – forms wispy curls around her face. But even in sleep, I see myself in her features. In the set of her jaw. The shape of her eyes.

"She's perfect," I breathe, reaching out to touch her cheek with one finger.

My hand looks massive next to her delicate features, rough and dangerous. But she turns into my touch, sighing softly in her sleep.

"She's strong," Lucy says quietly. "The doctors say she shouldn't be doing as well as she is, with her heart, but..."

"But she's got biker blood," I finish, pride swelling in my chest. "She's a fighter."

As if hearing us, Anna's eyes flutter open. My heart stops for a second – they're exactly like mine, dark and intense. She blinks at me, and for a moment I expect her to cry at seeing a stranger. Instead, she gives me a gummy smile that has my hands trembling.

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