Page 22 of Wild Ride

“You’re telling me this asshole is still doing this shit to kids?”

“That’s what I’m telling you.”

Scrubbing my palm down my face, I think about Dakota. I didn’t get the vibe that she was abused in any way, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t. It’s not like I know much about that shit. I’m a pump-and-dump, come-and-dash kind of guy. I’ve never had a meaningful, deep relationship with a woman before, not even my own mother.

“What do we do about that, Piggy?” I ask.

His lips twitch into a smirk. Then he frowns before he continues. “I don’t think your girl was in that mess, and I say that because of her mother. She was the leader’s woman.”

I shake my head, and my brows snap together when I remember what she said at lunch. At night, the people drank, smoked, and had sex, but she didn’t stick around for that shit. She never said she was the cult princess. Wouldn’t that be some shit, from cult princess to club princess? What are the actual fucking odds?

“I guess I’ll have to talk to Dakota again, but beyond that, we gonna pretend we didn’t find out about this shit, or we gonna do something about it?” I demand.

Piggy’s eyes widen, and his lips curve up into a smile. It’s not often that we go full rogue on anything. We, as a club, tend to stick to club shit because once you start wading into waters that aren’t any of your goddamn business, you bring unnecessary bullshit to your own front door.

Vicious Reapers isn’t a vigilante club. We are, without a doubt, doing a bunch of illegal shit that we should not be doing. We’ve been known to hurt and even kill people, but there is something about hearing about someone causing pain to kidsthat I’m not sure I could even sleep at night knowing about and go on with my life day to day.

I am pretty sure the rest of the club would feel the same way, even if it’s happening on a completely other coast.

“I think we need to talk to Dakota.”

He’s right. We probably do, but I also think I’m the last person she wants to see right now. Though I also don’t think I give much of a fuck. Mainly because I want to fuck her again and again… maybe even again.

CHAPTER NINE

DAKOTA

Once I’ve allowedmyself a few moments to wallow in self-pity, I gather myself, dress myself, and then dust myself off. Briana is right. This isn’t about my body betraying my brain. That’s not why I’m here. I’m here to find out more about my father, to get to know Nathan Vaughn and all he was.

I also make an appointment to get tested at the clinic in the next town over. Because I wasn’t joking about that part, but I can’t go for a couple of weeks. And since I don’t know how long I’ll be here, I may end up canceling it and just visiting one in Oregon. I don’t know Bullet. I don’t even know his real name, let alone who he has been with, and if I had to wager a bet, I would say there’s been a lot.

Moving toward my father’s bedroom, I decide this is where I’m going to find things of interest. I might also find things that I don’t want to see, but that’s the cost of doing business, I guess. I move farther into the room and stop when I’m in the middle and spin around slowly.

This is where my father slept.

I’m surprised that the bed is made. The bed itself is rich brown mahogany wood with a denim-blue comforter and four white-cased pillows. It’s bigger than the bed I have at Briana’s, which is a queen, so it must be one of the two versions of a king. It’s massive and looks comfortable.

There is a picture frame on the matching nightstand. Moving forward, I sink down on the edge of the bed, my fingers reaching for the frame before I pull it into my lap, and the moment I do, my eyes well with tears.

It’s me.

I know it’s me because it’s a picture of a newborn baby in the hospital bassinet, and the name written on a chalkboard behind my little head reads “Baby Vaughn.” I’ve got a little pink blanket wrapped around my body and everything.

Lifting my head, I look around the room again, seeing everything here through brand-new eyes. He had me beside his bed. Every single day for thirty years. He framed me and had me with him.

Instantly, as quickly as the emotions of finding this picture fill me, I’m consumed with rage and anger toward my mother. How could she? How the hell could she take me away from him?

Closing my eyes, I inhale a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down before I reopen them. I place the frame back in its spot on the nightstand and rise to my feet. If I allow myself to hyperfocus on this one thing, I might miss something else.

Turning toward the closet, I make my way over to the closed double doors and gently pull them open. A scent washes over me immediately. It’s similar to Bullet’s yet different. Where there is leather and oil, there is also evergreen, and I close my eyes, inhaling deeply.

My father’s scent.

A fresh wave of tears washes over me, and as I wipe them away, I tell myself that I really need to stop crying. This hasto be the end of it because I’ve cried more since finding out about Nathan Vaughn than I ever have in my whole thirty years combined.

Inhaling deeply, I hold my breath as the tears dissipate, and then I reach for a box at the top of the closet. I have no idea what could be inside of it, but it’s heavy. I carry it over to the bed and slowly sink down on the edge again, setting the box beside me.

Reaching for the lid, I run my fingers along the top and contemplate opening it or not. Maybe I shouldn’t be going through his private mementos. He kept them for a reason, and I don’t think it was so his long-lost daughter could go poking through them.

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