Page 11 of Wilder's Promise
I have no idea where I'm going in this maze of corridors. The clubhouse is larger than I expected, the interior surprisingly clean and well-maintained. I pass what looks like a common room with pool tables and a bar, a kitchen, several closed doors that must lead to bedrooms or offices. I just need to find somewhere private, somewhere I can breathe and process the storm of emotions threatening to drown me.
A door at the end of the hallway stands slightly ajar. I push it open to find a small bedroom. Clean, with a double bed, dresser, and a window overlooking the back of the compound. This will do.
I drop my backpack on the floor and sink onto the edge of the bed, finally allowing myself to exhale. The tension I've been carrying since the moment Wilder met me at the train station. No, since my father's phone call three days ago, releases in a shuddering breath that's dangerously close to a sob.
A soft knock at the door makes me stiffen. If it's my father, I'll scream. If it's that woman, I might actually throw something.
"Emma?" It's Wilder's voice, gentle in a way I haven't heard before. "This is my room. Yours is across the hall."
Of course I would stumble into his room of all places. I stand quickly, embarrassed at the intrusion, but he remains in the doorway, not entering.
"Sorry," I mutter, grabbing my backpack. "I didn't know."
"It's fine." He leans against the doorframe, still favoring his injured arm. "But Reaper had a room prepared specially for you. Might be more comfortable."
"I don't care where I sleep." I move toward the door, expecting him to step aside. He doesn't.
"You want to talk about what just happened out there?"
"Not particularly." I cross my arms defensively.
"Your father's worried."
"My father can worry all he wants. It's about five years too late to start caring."
"That's not fair, and I think you know it." His voice remains gentle, but there's an edge of steel beneath it. "He's always cared, Emma. Whether you wanted to see it or not."
"Is that what he tells his little harem of followers? That he's just a misunderstood daddy who loves his little girl?" The bitterness in my voice surprises even me. "He abandoned us. He chose this—" I gesture around the clubhouse "—over his family. And now he's, what, playing house with some girl barely older than me? It's disgusting."
Something changes in Wilder's expression, a flicker of anger quickly controlled. "You don't know anything about Evelyn or what she's been through."
"I know my father has a pattern of collecting broken people and making them loyal to him." I step closer, challenging him. "Isn't that what he did with you? Found you doing some crazy stunt and decided to make you his newest disciple?"
"That's not how it was."
"No? Then tell me, Wilder. How does a normal guy from Pine Haven end up willing to take a knife for the daughter of a criminal? What kind of hold does he have over all of you?"
Wilder's jaw tightens, but he doesn't rise to my bait. "The kind that comes from respect and brotherhood, not manipulation. Your father is a lot of things, but he's not the monster you want to paint him as."
"You don't know him like I do."
"Maybe I know parts of him you never bothered to see. The man who stood up against human traffickers when no one else would. The man who sits by his VP's hospital bed every time Ghost's PTSD lands him there. The man who's been keeping your college tuition paid even though you return every check he sends."
I blink in surprise. "How do you know about that?"
"Because I'm the one who handles the club's finances. Every month, like clockwork, he writes you a check. Every month, it comes back uncashed."
I look away, unsettled by this revelation. Those checks always arrive in plain envelopes with no note, no message—just money. I'd convinced myself it was his way of assuaging guilt, not genuine support.
"That doesn't change anything," I insist, but my voice lacks conviction.
"Maybe not. But before you judge him for finding some happiness with Evelyn, you might want to know their story."Wilder finally steps aside, clearing the doorway. "Your room is the second door on the right. There's a club meeting in an hour to discuss security. Your father wants you there."
"I'm not part of this club."
"No, but you're part of this family, whether you want to be or not." He says it matter-of-factly, not unkindly. "And right now, family is all that stands between you and Charles's men."
With that, he walks away, leaving me standing in his doorway with my righteous anger suddenly feeling less righteous and more childish.
