Page 64 of Boulder's Weight

"Then make me understand," he demands, frustration clear in every line of his body. "Half-truths put both of us at risk. I need to know exactly what I'm dealing with."

For a moment, I consider lying—creating some version of the truth that might satisfy him without revealing too much.

But I'm so tired of running, of hiding, of carrying this burden alone.

"My name was Cady Warlow," I begin, the words feeling strange in my mouth, like speaking a language I've forgotten. "I was born in a small town outside of Bozeman, Montana. My father was... respected in the community. A businessman of sorts."

I laugh, the sound bitter and hollow. "That's what everyone called him. A businessman. No one questioned where the money came from. Not even me, not for a long time."

Boulder doesn't interrupt, just watches me with those intense eyes as I force myself to continue.

"My mom died when I was eighteen. Cancer." The memory of her wasting away still aches. "After the funeral, I was going through her things, and I found a box of DVDs hidden in the back of their closet. I… I was helping box some of her things up so it wouldn’t be so hard on him."

My hands start to shake as the memories flood back—memories I've tried so hard to bury.

"I thought they might be home movies or something. Something to remember her by." My voice catches. "They weren't."

Boulder's expression darkens as he begins to understand what I'm saying.

"What I saw..." I close my eyes, unable to look at him as I force out the words. "Children. So many children. Some of them I recognized from around town. All of them terrified. And my father was there, directing everything. Sometimes participating."

The silence that follows is heavy with horror.

When I open my eyes, Boulder's face is filled with disgust—not at me, but at what I've described.

"I threw up," I continue, remembering that awful moment when my entire world collapsed. "Cried for hours. Then I gathered every DVD I could find, drove to the police station in the next town over, and turned them in."

Boulder nods slowly. "You did the right thing."

Those simple words, spoken with such certainty, hit me like a tidal wave.

No one except Sam has ever said that to me.

The police said I did a ‘good’ thing, and I know I did, but I also know I turned in the case of their careers.

They weren’t just happy they were putting someone away, they were happy for the publicity from it.

"My brothers didn't think so," I say, bitterness seeping into my voice. "Benji—he's the oldest—he was already working with my father. Learning the family business. Craig followed whatever Benji said. Only Sam, my youngest brother, supported what I did."

"Your father got arrested," Boulder says.

"Multiple life sentences from all of the children he had videos of," I confirm. "The evidence was overwhelming once they started investigating. But before the trial, Benji found the apartment that witness protection set me up in. Told me I was dead to the family. That I'd betrayed my blood."

I push myself up from the couch, needing to move, to breathe. "After I testified, the threats started coming. Phone calls. Letters. Someone broke into my apartment and left a dead cat on my bed. It wasn’t just a random one, either. It was a stray I was feeding."

Boulder's jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists.

"The police helped me change my identity. Became Kelsey. Moved to Billings. Thought I was safe for a while. But Benji found me." My hand drifts unconsciously to my eye, remembering the bruise he'd left. "That's when I saw you again, actually. The day after Benji found me at Tart."

It’s like I can visibly see the memories coming back to him. "Ah, the black eye. Your sleazebag brother did that shit to you."

I nod, continuing my restless pacing. "Sam called, warned me Benji and Craig were planning something worse. That's when Tara helped me get out of Montana. She has connections to your club through her father and her ol’ man. She arranged this job with Astra, told me to stay close to the club for protection."

I finally stop moving, turning to face him fully. "That's everything. That's who I am. That's what I'm running from."

Boulder sits quietly for a moment, processing everything I've told him.

Then he stands, something firm in his eyes. "Pack your things," he says. "You're coming with me to the clubhouse."

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