Page 6 of Sins of the Hidden

He barked a humorless laugh. "I should be asking you that." His calloused hands enveloped mine, trying to melt away the basement's chill, but it clung to my skin like a stain. When he turned to face me, the scuffs and crimson trails marking his face from the brothers' restraint made my stomach clench. Fresh blood seeped slowly from the ugly wound on his forehead,matting his hair and staining his skin. He winced as he tried to smile, the movement pulling at the broken skin.

My fingernails carved crescents into my palms as I forced myself to look away. The weight of realization crushed against my chest—I'd been a daddy's girl since birth, the result of two seventeen-year-olds stumbling into parenthood. My parents had sacrificed everything for me, surrendered all their dreams to the altar of my existence. And I'd turned out like this—marked by a monster, tethered to the fears I should've run from.

His large hand stroked my hair, the gesture achingly gentle. "I never wanted you involved in this life, Oakley. I've tried so hard; had plans on how to keep you away." A sordid laugh escaped him. "Prez probably knew the whole time—who you were. Who your mom was." He cupped my chin, his thumb brushed my cheek like he was afraid I'd shatter. "Maybe I was a fuckin' idiot to believe I could hide you forever."

I didn't look back. But I could still feel his eyes on me, even through the walls.

"Why—" The question caught in my throat. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to voice the betrayal. "Why did they hold you back?"

His footsteps faltered, shoulders stiffening beneath his leather cut. Streetlights cast long shadows across his face, deepening the lines of worry and illuminating the raw gash on his forehead. He dabbed at it absently with his sleeve, smearing crimson rather than stopping the flow. The silence stretched between us, filled only by distant motorcycle engines and the crunch of gravel.

He drew a deep breath, running a hand through his graying hair. "They were protecting me."

"Protecting you?" The words tasted bitter on my tongue. "By letting him take me?"

"V would've—" His hands trembled as they found my shoulders. "Baby girl, if I'd gotten in his way, he would've killed me. The club knew that."

"How can they keep someone like that around?" My voice quivered.

Dad's lips curled into a smile that hollowed his features. "Every club needs a killer. V keeps the other MCs in line, handles problems that can't be solved with negotiations or money."

He rubbed his temples, the weight of his words hanging between us. "That's why I became their lawyer—to clean up the aftermath, keep the club running smoothly. But V..." He shook his head. "He's the real insurance policy."

My throat tightened at his casual tone, at how normal this seemed to him. The same hands that tucked me in at night, that braided my hair and wiped away my tears, had been covering up crimes.

I stepped back as if he burned me. Space wasn't enough. My mind was fracturing too fast to keep up.

"Oak—" Dad reached for me, but I flinched away. The hurt flashed across his face before he masked it. "I know it's hard to understand, but there's a hierarchy to these things. V might be a monster, but he's the club's monster."

The words echoed—club's monster—until they didn't sound human anymore. I thought about the basement, about the crematorium, about all the things that must have happened down there. How many times had my father had to clean up those messes? How many bodies had he...

When I blinked, I saw it all—the ovens, the suits, the bat still slick with blood. The memory didn't flicker. It burned. How many times had those suits been worn to cover up the aftermath of the club's murders? How many bodies had been turned to ash while legal papers buried the truth?

"But you hate him." My eyes searched my father's face for the man I thought I knew. I remembered all the times he'd cursed V's name, the way his face would darken whenever V entered a room.

"Of course I hate him. He's everything I never wanted near my family." His hand ran through his hair, a nervous tick I'd seen a thousand times but now recognized as guilt. "The things he's done...Christ, Oak, the files I've had to bury, the evidence I've had to make disappear... I'm not proud of it." He trailed off, shaking his head. "Let's just go home, yeah?"

Home. I nodded, arms crossing tight like I could hold together the shattering. "I-I want to go home."

"Your mother's probably worried sick." Dad wrapped an arm around my shoulders again, pulling me close as we walked. "She'll make you that chamomile tea you like, and we can put on one of those baking shows you two love so much."

I was nodding, letting him lead me. Inside, everything cracked under the weight of what I couldn't carry anymore. I still leaned into his warmth, even though it no longer felt safe.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"He scares me." The words came out barely above a whisper. But even as I spoke, something deeper stirred—a recognition that V's thinking went beyond physical possession, beyond my father's ability to save me.

Dad's arm tightened around me, the air around him crackling with fury. "I hate that bastard. Always have. But now?" His lips pressed against my hair, the gesture achingly paternal. "Now I'd kill him myself if I thought I could get away with it."

I felt small under Dad's intense gaze. The fear I'd felt being trapped with V came flooding back. My teeth worried my bottom lip as I watched my father's face transform, his features hardening then crumbling in helpless defeat. Regret pouredfrom him—not just for letting that psychopath near me, but for all the times he'd chosen the club over transparency. Every lie, every omission, every carefully constructed barrier between me and their merciless world now lay in ruins at our feet.

"I'm so sorry, baby girl," he murmured into my hair, his body vibrating with restrained violence. "I never wanted this life to touch you." The weight of his hands on my shoulders betrayed the depth of his remorse. "I had to join."

Looking up at him, I found my own jade eyes staring back remorsefully. "Why?"

"Some things," he said, "you're better off not knowing right now, sweetheart." His palm pressed firmly against my shoulder, the gesture carrying years of carefully maintained barriers. "There are parts of this life that..." He shook his head, that cryptic smile playing on his lips. "I never want you to know about."

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