“I don’t have kids.”
Torment frowned. “Yes, you do.”
Shame scoffed. “I think I’d know if I did.”
“Mimic and Kytten,” Torment stated, leaning forward in the chair. “Just turned twenty-one?”
I looked at Shame, who clearly had no clue what Torment was talking about.
“Jesus Christ,” the club’s therapist groaned. “Their birth certificates name you as the father. Unless there is another Justin Peterson running around.”
Shame shrugged. “Don’t know what to tell you, brother, but whoever this Mimic and Kytten are, they are not mine.”
Getting to his feet, Torment growled. “Thorne and Rosebud Peterson. Born April 4, 2004, in Las Vegas, Nevada, to a Vivian Greenbush. Thorne, also known as Mimic, is a brother in the Silver Shadows MC. His twin sister, Rosebud, is also known as Kytten. She’s a sister in the Nyght Nymphs MC.”
Shame’s eyes narrowed, his jaw working as if he were grinding down the implication itself. The silence in the room was thick, broken only by the distant hum of a motorcycle engine outside, reminding us of the world still spinning beyond these walls. I watched him, a storm brewing in his expression—equal parts doubt, confusion, and the first flicker of something like fear.
Torment didn’t back down, his voice steady and resolute. “They’re yours, whether you remember them or not,” he said clearly before adding, “Nav has a copy of their birth certificates. It clearly names you as the father and Vivian Greenbush as their mother. He got the medical records of their stay in the hospital.” The club’s therapist folded his arms, waiting for Shame to react, when I felt Diana’s hand tighten around mine.
Looking down at her, I saw that her eyes were open and filled with tears as she whispered, “I wanted to be the one to tell you.”
“Tell me what, baby?” I soothed, brushing her hair away from her face.
“I wanted them to have something from you. So I gave them your tattoo.”
Confused, I looked at Torment, who was standing on the other side of her bed, checking her vitals.
“My tattoo?”
“It’s the medication, Bane,” Torment stated, stepping back. “It’s going to make her groggy for a while.”
“You still have it,” she whispered, her fingers playing with the leather bracelet she gave me all those years ago.
Smiling down at her, I gently kissed her forehead and whispered, “I never took it off. Sleep, baby. You’re safe now.”
“August, we need you downstairs,” I heard Montana say sometime later. “Largo has offered to sit with her.”
“Hey, Bane.” Mercy’s wife walked into my room, smiling as she walked over to the chair on the other side of the bed. Taking a seat, she reached for Diana’s hand, then looked at me. “I’ll come get you the second she wakes up. I promise.”
Nodding, I leaned over and kissed Diana’s head, leaving her with Largo. Out in the hallway, Montana quietly closed my door and then sighed. “Sinclair’s alive. Barely. That bitch did a fucking number on him. You should know that Dante is downstairs. He’s pissed.”
Saying nothing, I followed Montana downstairs to find my son pacing the gathering room. Brothers watched him as he muttered to himself, while Shame and Sypher sat at a table quietly talking to each other as they both typed on their computers.
Not seeing Malice, I asked, “Where is Gideon?”
“At the hospital. Until we find Meredith, he and Rowen Shay refuse to leave Sinclair’s side.”
“Hey, Bane,” Silver greeted me with a smile from behind the bar. “Want your usual?”
I shook my head, waving Silver off. “Thank you for asking, but no. Maybe in a little bit.” My hands felt heavy as I moved through the shifting crowd—each face reflecting a different grief or anger, each brother holding their silence like a weapon when Dante rushed over to me.
“I don’t know whether to be happy for you or angry at you. But you need to understand that Sinclair raised me. He’s been there from the very beginning. You may be my biological father, but Sinclair is my dad. He always will be.”
Holding up my hand, I stopped Dante from saying anything further. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I understand, and I am truly sorry for what your mother did. I promise you she will get the justice she deserves.”
“Here,” Dante said, holding up a vial of blood. “Take it. Fury insisted I have my blood drawn. Said you needed it for the database.”
Looking around the gathering room, my eyes landed on Fury, who stood firm, unrepentant, daring me to challenge him. Taking the vile from Dante, I simply spewed the same club line I had for twenty years. “It’s club protocol.”