by K. C. Lynn
“Tell Ryanne I’m here or I will come into your home and bring the wrath of hell with me. I don’t give a fuck who you are.”
A split-second of fear resonates on her face before she masks it, lifting her chin stubbornly. “She’s in California and she isn’t coming back. She’s finishing out her last year of school there.”
The cold hard truth in her eyes has dread sinking into my gut, heavy and hard. It can’t be true. She wouldn’t leave, especially without telling me.
Is that what brought her to my apartment the other night? The thought has me feeling physically sick.
She peers back at me smugly. “I have to thank you, Mr. Creed. Whatever you did to my daughter finally made her see you for the trash you really are.”
My teeth grind, jaw flexing as I restrain myself from striking out at the evil bitch. “Which school?” I ask.
I want evidence. I want to see for myself, until then I refuse to believe it.
“That is something I will never tell you,” she says, the smug look on her face fading. “I want you to leave, now. Go home to that nigger you call a father and stay the hell away from my daughter!” She slams the door in my face, securing the lock in place.
“Fuck!” My foot strikes out, kicking over a small table that holds a potted plant, shattering it on the porch before I descend the steps.
Determination burns in my blood as I climb back on my bike and peel away. I have one mission in mind and that’s to find her.
Only, it never happens.
Ryanne Lockwood disappeared without a trace, leaving nothing behind but her memory that haunted me on the darkest nights.
CHAPTER FIVE
Justice
Six years later
My breathing is slow and even, concentration strong and aim steady. Despite the noise of nature, silence descends upon me, my finger hovering over the trigger, ready for the pivotal moment it awaits for.
“Pull!”
At Knox’s call my eyes find the targets he releases, the barrel of my gun following each one as I fire off two consecutive shots. The clay explodes in the air, incinerating before my eyes.
“Nice one, brother.” Braxten delivers a hard clap to my shoulder then gets into position, taking aim. “Now sit back and watch the pro.”
I grunt. Despite how cocky he can be there’s nothing I’d rather do than spend my Sunday with my two brothers on the land we call home, doing the one thing we are best at—shooting. And it’s all thanks to the man who raised us. A man we will always call our father.
Blood ties or not, Thatcher is family. Just as we are brothers. He trained us to be the most lethal sharpshooters in the country, gave us a home when we didn’t have one, and guidance when we needed it most. I respect no man more than my father. My brothers and I owe him everything. After a long month of being gone on our last job, it feels good to be home where we belong.
Braxten fires off his two shots, destroying the targets as quickly as I did. “Now that’s how it’s done, boys!”
I refrain from rolling my eyes like a fucking chick and grab my almost finished beer. “You want another?”
“Yeah,” he answers.
I raise the bottle at Knox from where he starts across the field. At his nod I head for the house, seeing the old farm truck parked next to the barn that wasn’t there when we arrived.
“Dad, you in here?” I ask, when entering inside.
When I don’t get an answer, I walk into the kitchen and see he hasn’t been in here either. There isn’t one thing out of place, including the rifle that sits in the corner. He’s always been systematic, it’s how he knows whether anyone has been messing with his things or not. Especially his guns. Don’t fuck with his guns or Old Man Creed loses his shit.
Thatcher spent some time in the military way back before he took over farming from his father. He’s known as the best sniper in military history and is still asked to run training sessions from time to time which is why my brothers and I are as good as we are.
I grin when I think about the first time he caught us in his gunroom. I thought we were going to get our asses beat. Thankfully, Brax’s smart mouth got us out of too much trouble but we were still forced to work out in those fields for hours, the sun burning our skin, sweat soaking our aching muscles while Thatcher rode the damn tractor next to us with a cold beer. It was the last time we ever went into that room without permission. However, it was worth the punishment because afterward was the first time he showed us how to shoot.
A defining moment I will never forget: Know your enemy, but more importantly, know yourself and the honor you possess. Only then can you be a true warrior.
Words of wisdom my brothers and I have continued to live by from that day forward.
When I move for the fridge, I accidentally knock a stack of mail off the counter. Bending down, I pick up the scattered envelopes and freeze, every muscle in my body growing stiff at the single picture that lays on the ground. A young girl who looks oddly familiar stares back at me. A face that looks so much like my own.
What the hell?
Suspicion forms in my gut, a cold sweat starting across my palms as I turn the picture over and read: Hannah J. Creed, five years old. I look at the envelope it slipped out of and the ground falls out beneath me, threatening to swallow me whole.
Ryanne Lockwood
1175 Hebert Drive
Gold Creek, Alabama
My pulse spikes in my veins, roaring in my ears as I read the name of the woman who disappeared from my life without so much as a goodbye.
Now I know why.
The room spins as I climb to my feet, my mind scrambling to comprehend the deceit as I stare down at the little girl’s picture.
“Motherfucker!” An intense rage slips over me, sending my fist through the wall. The slice of my knuckles does nothing to dull the pain ripping through my chest. I charge out of the house, kicking the front door open so hard it flies off its hinges and tumbles down the front porch.
My fury has Knox and Braxten starting for me, coming up on my left as I barrel across the front yard.
“What’s going on?” Braxten asks.
I remain silent, my swift feet never faltering as I race for my truck.
“Justice, where the hell are you going?”
“Alabama,” I finally grit, barely able to speak the one word past the fury gripping me.
“Why would you go there?”
Ignoring him once again, I open my door and climb inside, throwing the envelope and picture on the seat next to me. The beautiful little girl stares back at me hauntingly, the resemblance seizing the air in my lungs all over again.
Knox grips the top of my open window, his expression hard and concerned. “Justice, man. Talk to us. What the fuck is going on?”
My gaze finally meets his and I open my mouth to speak but find I can’t. The words are stuck in my constricted throat.
“Where’s Dad?” Braxten asks next.
Betrayal courses through me thick and rich as I think about the one man I thought I could trust more than anyone. “I don’t know and I don’t fucking care.” Starting up my truck, the loud engine cuts through the air as I hold my brothers’ concerned gazes. “When you see him though, tell him I never took him for a traitor.”
Before they can ask any more questions, I put the truck in gear and take off, kicking dust up in my wake.
On the long drive to Alabama my phone rings nonstop, but I refuse to answer, having no doubt it’s Thatcher.
There’s a child out there who’s mine. A child with the same blood running in her veins, and my father knew the whole fucking time, even helped keep her from me. The knowledge brings on a pain so deep it’s incomprehensible.
My gaze strays often to the picture on my seat, the sight of the pretty little girl triggering a foreign sensation in my chest. A part of me that’s only ever been touched by one woman.
A woman who deceived me, keeping me from the only flesh and blood I have on this ea
rth.
I grip the steering wheel, pain and fury dueling in my veins and it only builds in the hours that pass. By the time I reach the address hours later, pulling up to the small house out in the country, my rage is barely concealed, fighting its way to the surface. I do my damnedest to keep it locked up for the moment and climb out of the truck.
I walk up the steps of the old Victorian-styled home and knock on the door, my fist heavy and hard. All my anger evaporates when the door opens a few seconds later, revealing the face of an angel.
My daughter.
Her small mouth parts on a gasp, recognition dawning in her light hazel eyes, the same color as her mother’s. “It’s you,” she whispers.
Before I can even comprehend what she means by that, Ryanne walks out with a dishtowel in her hand, drying a glass. “Hannah, baby. What did I tell you about opening the door alone? You can’t—” She comes to a cold hard stop, literally flinching as if she’s been struck.
After six long years we come face-to-face, our eyes meeting, and the remorse reflecting in hers does nothing to ease the betrayal tearing through my gaping chest.
“Ryanne,” I greet her, voice hard. “Been a long time. I see you’ve been busy.”
CHAPTER SIX
Ryanne
Shock imprisons me where I stand; the furious man in my doorway isn’t anyone I expected to see. The fury and knowledge of my deceit on his face grips my heart in a cold vise and sends it drowning in a black abyss.
I open my mouth to speak, to rush out an apology and tell him everything I have wanted to say for the last six years but I have no voice; the words dangle in the back of my throat. I knew there would come a time that I would face him but not like this. Not unprepared and caught off guard.
“Mama,” Hannah’s small, unsure voice snaps me out of my torment. She worries her lip between her teeth, her eyes shifting from Justice to me.
I never wanted them to meet this way, I wanted so much more for this moment, and I have no one to blame but myself.
She can’t be here. Not now. Not when he’s this angry.
Wiping the instant tears from my eyes, I grasp her small shoulders and lead her to the stairs. “Go play in your room, baby. I’ll come get you soon.”
She does as I say, her eyes straying to Justice over her shoulder, a look of longing in them. He steps forward, as if he wants to say something but stops. Unharnessed emotion flares in his gaze as he watches her walk away and it shatters my heart into a million pieces. It’s replaced with fear a moment later when his furious eyes snap to mine.
I walk past him and head out onto the porch, preparing for the battle that I know I have coming.
“Don’t you fucking walk away from me!” He charges out after me, grabbing my arm and spinning me around to face him. His thunderous expression has fear skipping down my spine.
“I’m sorry. So sorry,” I choke out, a sob building in my chest.
“You’re sorry?” he bellows. “You steal my daughter from me, and all you have to say is fuckin’ sorry!”
“Let me explain.”
“There is nothing you can say to justify this. Nothing!”
“Please try to understand,” I cry. “I couldn’t stay there. I couldn’t have her in that town, Justice. Not with my parents. I was young and scared. I had no one—”
“You had me, goddamn it. I would have taken care of you!”
The admission only breaks me further. “I wanted to tell you, I was going to tell you, but that night…” I trail off, the memory of that awful night replaying in my head. “Everything just went so terribly wrong,” I whisper brokenly.
“What you mean to say is, this was your way of getting back at me because of what you think you saw.”
I shake my head. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No! I didn’t do this to hurt you. So much happened that night to weigh my decision.”
“What about my fucking decision?” he roars. “You took my right away. You kept my fucking daughter from me for six years, Ryanne! My own flesh and blood!”
“She knows who you are,” I tell him, sobbing out the words. “She knows everything about you. I never kept that from her.”
“What good does that do when I don’t fucking know her!”
“Stop it!” Hannah charges out of the house, her small face scrunched in anger and streaked with tears. She jumps in front of me protectively, pushing Justice back. “You let her alone! You let my mama alone and get outta here!”
“Hannah, stop.” I reach for her but she rips away from me, continuing to face Justice.
“Mama always told me you fight the bad guys but it was a lie,” she cries. “You are the bad guy and I don’t want you as my daddy.”
“Hannah!” I gasp. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.” Scooping her up, I bring her into my chest where she sobs into my neck, hugging me tight. I chance a look at Justice over top of her head, the pain on his face ripping apart my wounded heart.
He steps back, looking like someone just gutted him, and heads down the porch stairs.
“Justice, don’t go,” I plead, not wanting him to leave like this.
His pace never falters. He hops in his truck and drives off, leaving my world in shambles.
Devastated, I carry Hannah into the house, holding her close as she continues to cry. “Shh, it’s okay, baby girl,” I soothe, rubbing her back. “We just need to give him some time to cool down.” The reassurance is just as much for myself as it is for her, but I know it will take a lot more than time for him to ever forgive me.
“Why was he so mean? I thought you said he was nice.”
I pull her back, gazing into her face that looks so much like her father’s, her dark brown hair sticking to her wet cheeks. “He is. He’s just really angry and hurt right now and he has every right to be.”
I’ve always been honest with her about who he is and the fact that he didn’t know about her. I didn’t go into explanation as to why, because how do you explain that to a child? But I did tell her that one day they would meet, I just never thought it would be like this.
Her small face is pinched with sadness, bottom lip quivering with her stifled sobs. “Can’t you just tell him you’re sorry?”
My eyes close, wishing it could be that simple. “I’m gonna try, baby. I really am, but I don’t want you to worry about us. He’s not angry with you, you’ve done nothing wrong, okay?”
She nods and rests her head back on my shoulder, her breath hitching with exhaustion. I carry her up to her bedroom and lie down next to her, my eyes going to the picture of Justice she keeps on her nightstand, regret weighing heavily on me.
I should have told him long before now. I have no one to blame for this but myself. Every time I tried I lost my nerve, fearing for the repercussions. Will he take her from me? Will he fight for custody? Make us move back to that godforsaken town? The last thought has me feeling physically sick. I can’t go back there. Not ever.
“Do you think he’s ever gonna come back?” Hannah whispers, pulling me from my tortured thoughts. Hope edges her voice but longing is even more prominent. As angry as she is, she wants him. She wants to know him.
I hug her close, pressing my lips to her soft cheek. “Yeah, baby. He’ll come back for you.”
I have no doubt about that. I just pray he doesn’t try to take her from me. It’s my greatest fear. I can take his anger and resentment but I can’t take that. Hannah is my life, my reason for living.
Once she falls asleep, I carefully climb from bed and go in search of my cellphone. I pull it out of my purse and see several missed calls from Thatcher and realize I have it on silent.
My eyes close in regret. If only I got the warning how different this situation could have been for Hannah’s sake, for all of our sakes.
I hit his contact, bringing a picture of him and Hannah together up on my screen. He answers on the first ring. “Sweet mother of pearl, I’ve been calling you for hours
, child.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear it,” I whisper, my thick voice betraying my emotion.
“My boy has been out there,” he says, already knowing the answer.
“Yes.” I pause, swallowing thickly. “He’s so angry, Thatcher.”
“I know, darlin’. We knew this day would come though, right?”
I nod then remember he can’t see me. “Yes.”
He has been trying to convince me for years to tell him, something I wanted to do badly but I was too much of a coward.
“How did he find out?” I ask.
“He found the picture you sent me last week. He left a hole in my wall and the front door on my lawn.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, feeling awful for the position I put him in.
“Don’t be. I made my own choice. I’ll deal with the consequences but I won’t lose my boy over it. I’m tellin’ you that now.”
Justice has one hot temper and I have no doubt he won’t forgive easily for this but I can’t see him staying angry with his father. He loves him too much, values his family too much. Me, on the other hand, is a different story.
“How’s Hannah J.?” he asks.
“Scared, hurt, and confused,” I tell him, remembering the tears she went to sleep with.
“She’ll be all right. Give my son some time to collect his thoughts. He’ll come to his senses. He’s going to want a relationship with his daughter. That I’m certain of.”
I know he will, and as much as I want that for Hannah, I’m selfishly terrified of what it means for me.
“I’ll let you know if I hear from him. Otherwise, you keep in touch, all right?”
“Thanks, Thatcher…for everything.”
“Good night, darlin’.”