Riding Blind (Hell Ryders MC Book 3)

by J. L. Sheppard

When she saw him do that, her head shot up. She smiled softly, timidly. “Thank you, Daddy.”

  She thanked him, and she meant it like it wasn’t his job to take care of her, and it gutted him. From the detailed report he knew how much Emelia made, how much she paid in rent and bills, so he knew she had trouble making ends meet, and she preferred struggling than asking him for help.

  He squeezed her hand. “You gonna prove how thankful you are, Bree?”

  She nodded immediately.

  “Do you know how I want you to do that?”

  Her brows drew together. Then she shook her head, and that beautiful blonde, thick hair of hers swayed.

  “I’m gonna take you to the toy store, and you’re gonna pick out ten toys, and then, I’m gonna buy them for you, and you’re not gonna thank me, ‘kay?”

  Her eyes widened seeming confused.

  He cocked his head. “Bree, do we have a deal?”

  She looked to her sides before she met his eyes again and whispered, “Mommy says I’m always supposed to say ‘thank you.’”

  Damn, Emelia taught her well.

  Turning his body to her, he cupped her pretty face with the hand not gripping hers. “Yeah, you are, except I’m your dad. That means I’m supposed to take care of you ’cause it’s my job, so you don’t have to thank me.”

  She looked down then lifted her head. “But I don’t need toys, Daddy.”

  What kid didn’t want a new toy? A sinking feeling settled in his stomach before it hit him. A really smart kid, smart enough she noticed her mom struggle, didn’t want toys. That kid didn’t ask for toys either. His little girl grew up worried about shit a four-year-old shouldn’t be concerned about.

  Why hadn’t Emelia gone to him? Why hadn’t she told him? He could’ve made it better, would’ve made it better. He would’ve given his daughter everything her heart desired. Then she wouldn’t be worried about shit she shouldn’t be.

  A mixture of anger and sadness tightening his chest, he took a deep breath and bent toward her. “I want to get them for you ’cause I got money to spoil you, so I’m gonna spoil you.”

  He didn’t know if that was the right thing to say. Then and there, he didn’t care if it was right or wrong. He wanted his girl to have everything.

  After several moments, she whispered, “But you don’t have to, Daddy.”

  He cupped the back of her head, leaned in, and pressed his mouth to her forehead. “I know, baby, but I want to.”

  She smiled. He straightened, handed the sales clerk his credit card, paid, grabbed the bags, and strode out. He then took her to the toy store and bought her ten toys she picked out. As he paid, she thanked him again, and she did it without thought. When his stare flew to her, he saw something in her eyes, on her face, he didn’t like at all. Brows drawn, chin trembling, sad, yes, but disappointed too, looking about ready to apologize.

  Before she did, he smiled wide. “You’re welcome, baby.”

  After that, they headed home or to their temporary home, the compound. He dropped off her bags in the spare room across from his, deciding Emelia and Bree would share for the time being. He didn’t want Bree alone in a room in an unfamiliar place. Then with the bags of toys in one hand and Bree holding the other, they headed downstairs to the main living room at the compound, which was abnormally quiet. Though he needed to talk to Prez about what happened, the shooting, he couldn’t then, not in front of Bree, and he couldn’t leave her alone, so instead, he handed Bree her toys and took a seat on the sofa. As he turned on the flat screen TV, she sat on the floor in front of him and unpacked her toys. For a couple of hours, he browsed through the channels flipping aimlessly, watching her more than the TV. He memorized her face, her hands, her hair, her mannerisms, every-damn-thing. As he did, he reminded himself this beautiful little girl was his.

  Eventually, she packed her toys in the bags and headed in his direction. Eyes half mast, she rubbed them, sat beside him, and pressed her small body against his side. She then tilted her head to meet his face. “Where’s Mommy?”

  Good question.

  Her mother left with Tracker, who was supposed to explain to her what happened to Chip. It had been hours since then though. Even if Tracker had taken her to the hospital, she should’ve been back by now. Then again, maybe Tracker finally took his chance.

  The VP of Chained MC always had a thing for her. Ripper had known it for years. Something Tracker did not hide even from Chip. Why he never made his move? Ripper could only guess because of his loyalty to Chip.

  He shouldn’t give a shit where she was or who she fucked, but he did. He cared so much the moment he spotted Tracker at the airport with a set of eyes only for her, he regretted calling him. He cared so much since he and Bree arrived at the compound and he realized her mother wasn’t there, a mental image of Tracker holding her and comforting her gripped him and gnawed him raw.

  When Bree so sweetly asked was another reminder her mom was being comforted by another man, a man who’d wanted her for years and had probably made his move. Perfect timing since she was vulnerable having just found out the man she admired so much was about to die. It was fucked to take advantage of a woman in Emelia’s position, but he wouldn’t put it past Tracker. Emelia being defenseless, there was a high probability she’d accept his advances. It meant right at that moment, Tracker could be pulling off her clothes, kissing her lips, and burying himself inside her. All while he took care of their daughter.

  He gritted his teeth battling the need to punch a wall or pick a fight with one of his brothers if only so he’d hurt outside like he hurt inside. If he didn’t fight back, then maybe he’d get knocked out, and for a little bit, he’d forget too.

  Damn, he was fucked in the head. He’d been that messed up for a while…ever since she left.

  “Daddy?”

  That little worried voice cooled his temper some. He released a loaded breath. “She’ll be back soon.”

  “But I’m tired, and she hasn’t told me a bedtime story.”

  Of course, near midnight, she would be. He didn’t know what time she usually went to bed, but it had to be well before midnight. He should’ve had her in bed hours ago. His first day as a dad and he’d screwed up already.

  “How about I tell you a story?”

  “Do you know any stories, Daddy?”

  No, he didn’t. He never had a mom who read to him. He hadn’t had a dad at all. He didn’t even know why he asked.

  Lacing his fingers through her hair, he shook his head. “I don’t.”

  “Can you rub my back until I fall asleep?”

  If he needed any more proof she was his, there it was.

  “Mommy rubs my back before bed.”

  She’d done it for him, too. Every night. Never missed one. Then she up and left. For months after, he had to drink himself into a stupor just so he’d sleep. He missed that the most, so he understood why Bree wanted someone to rub her back even though she couldn’t get a bedtime story.

  “Yeah, baby. I’ll rub your back.”

  She laid her head on his thigh, facing the TV. Just as he placed his rough, calloused hand on the small of her back, she turned her head his way. “Night, Daddy. I love you.”

  “Love you, too.” Just like that, the words he’d never said slipped out, again. “Sweet dreams.”

  She angled her face away and closed her eyes. He rubbed her back softly shifting his hand lightly over her. In minutes, the daughter he didn’t know he had until hours ago fell asleep.

  ****

  One thirty in the morning and she still wasn’t at the compound. After Bree fell asleep, he carried her to bed, tucked her in, headed downstairs, and outside. There, he’d been waiting for more than an hour. In the shadows, he stood leaning against one of the metal garage doors. The entire time, the image of Tracker ripping off her clothes flooded his mind. Nothing he did made that vision dissipate.

  He was beyond pissed. In reality, he’d been furious all day, with the exception of every
time he looked at Bree. No one could stay mad looking at her pretty face, even if that face was identical to her mother’s, a woman he should hate. Stewing in anger was the norm for him. Except this time, he had every reason to be.

  After the day he had, he needed a long-ass workout to burn some of that fury. A fight would be better. Fights worked miracles. It’s why he picked them, even with his brothers, but he couldn’t tonight. The brothers he spotted in the compound were, for obvious reasons, keeping their distance. He had to settle for a workout, but the workout he so desperately needed wouldn’t come until she came home. The gym was at the far end of the compound. If she knocked, he wouldn’t hear. It meant he had to sit around and wait for her before he got a little bit of release.

  Sighing heavily so close to losing his cool, he fisted his palms. Five minutes later, he finally caught sight of a pair of headlights. The truck neared, stopped, and parked in front of the gates. He couldn’t see inside but knew it was them. Though several of his brothers had trucks, none drove a dark blue GMC.

  He waited and waited. Minutes ticked, and each second his mind went there, Tracker taking off her clothes, Tracker kissing and fucking her. And still, nothing. So he waited some more. When the images searing his mind became too much to bear, he took a step toward the truck.

  The passenger side door opened and out she came. Without looking back, she pulled the gate open, entered, and closed it behind her. She walked toward the door only thirty feet from him. The entire time, her head slanted down.

  When her hand went to the knob to turn it, he said, “You missed her bedtime story.” He said it like an accusation, the anger inside so clear in his voice.

  Startled, she turned. Her head snapped up to meet his eyes. With the bit of light shining from the overhead lamp near the door, he noticed her face was blotchy. Eyes swollen and still, she looked so beautiful it made his chest burn. Knowing she’d been crying made him regret what he said and the way he said it. Yet no one should have such a hold over him. All of it turned his simmering anger to full-blown rage.

  His fault. He should’ve steeled himself to see tears. He should’ve expected them. Even cold-hearted bitches who never shed tears cried when a loved one was about to die. Too busy wallowing in jealousy, he hadn’t prepared or expected them. Even now, try as he may to not give a shit, he cared.

  In a soft, solemn voice, she said, “I know. I’m sorry. I was with Track—”

  The jealousy that subsided returned, knotting his gut. He didn’t need to hear the VP’s name, didn’t need to be reminded when the image of her and Tracker seared his mind.

  In a split second, he closed the distance between them and let his rage speak for him. “Don’t fuckin’ care what you were doing with him.”

  She jumped at his tone and took a step back.

  He mirrored her, taking one toward her. “What I care about is Bree, and she was worried about you, who didn’t even call to wish her a good night.”

  He expected her to snap back, expected her to rant and rave, ask him why he was an asshole. The Em he knew would’ve, and she had every right. He was an asshole. He knew it, and a part of him didn’t care. She was the woman who left him, who left with his kid, and who still had so much control over him. Still, another part of him hated himself for being a dick, actually felt remorse.

  Her eyes watered, and in that same soft voice, she said, “I’m sorry. I figured you wanted—”

  “What I want is for Bree not to be worried about shit she doesn’t need to be worried about. Among that is you, so get it together.”

  She didn’t snap then either, didn’t even speak. Instead, she nodded.

  But by then it was too late. He was pissed in that way that scared even him, furious in a way he knew the only way to make it fade would be to make himself hurt outside like he hurt inside. Because he was that angry, he continued to bark, “In case pretty boy was too busy tryin’ to get in your pants instead of what he was supposed to be doing, filling you in, I’ll tell you. Chained MC is in a fuck of a mess for dealing with the wrong street gang. Don’t know how they did, but they found you in New Mexico and shot up your house. Means you’re on their radar and so is my daughter. You wanna stay alive? Cut out the late nights.

  “Another thing, don’t even think for a fuckin’ second I’m letting you take my daughter anywhere near Chained. You wanna get killed, I don’t give a shit. But my daughter isn’t getting caught in the crossfire.”

  That broke the dam. Tears streamed down her face. She didn’t bother to wipe them away. She left them there as if she knew the havoc they wrecked in him. Still, she didn’t say a word, so he forced his eyes away, opened the door, and headed inside. She followed behind. He led her upstairs into the room across from his and headed downstairs into the gym.

  Without taping his fists, he swung them repeatedly, each punch striking the bag. He did that for hours until he was drenched in sweat, and the bag was stained with the blood pouring from his knuckles. It didn’t hurt. He didn’t feel physical pain at all. All he felt was the agony tearing his insides apart. It only served to prove what he knew true.

  Fights worked miracles. He should’ve picked a fight instead.

  ****

  “Mommy?”

  In the haze of sleep, she heard her daughter’s soft voice. Parting her lids, she met Brianna’s beautiful blue-green eyes—eyes that reminded her of Bryce. Sitting up in bed, she glanced around the unfamiliar room, white walls, queen bed with blue sheets. Beside the bed, a nightstand, an armoire directly in front of her next to the door, a closet to her right, and a bathroom to her left. Taking all of this in forced her back to reality, her new reality.

  Bryce… Chip… Her life was a mess.

  Feeling tears prick the back of her eyes, she blinked quickly, forced a smile, and met her daughter’s gaze. “Good morning, baby.”

  Brianna gave her a big, bright smile that reminded her what she had been put on the Earth for. “I missed you, Mommy.”

  Tugging her into a hug, she buried her face in her daughter’s hair. “Missed you, too, baby.”

  Her daughter quickly pulled away, leapt off the bed, and headed toward the closet. In front of the door lay a series of shopping bags. Most appeared to be from the same department store; several others were from a toy store.

  “Daddy took me shopping. He bought me skirts and shoes and shirts and barrettes,” Brianna said excitedly digging through the bags.

  When she entered the room the night before, she spotted Brianna fast asleep and still wearing the dress she had on the day before. Bryce hadn’t bothered to change her clothes. Then again, she hadn’t expected him to. He was new at the father thing and probably felt uncomfortable changing his daughter’s clothes, so she did moments before hopping into bed and falling asleep.

  “That’s great, baby.”

  “I want to wear the flower dress Daddy got me.” Her daughter looked away from the bags and met her gaze. “Can I? Can I?”

  She nodded, and since Brianna went back to digging through the series of bags, she added, “Of course.”

  Finding the dress, white with large pink flowers, Brianna carted it out and handed it to her. She took it and placed it on the bed beside her.

  Brianna beamed. “Daddy bought me toys, too, Mommy, and he took me to eat pizza.” She paused, looking away from her then met her stare again, and in a soft voice, she said, “He doesn’t know any bedtime stories, so he didn’t tell me any. Why doesn’t Daddy know any bedtime stories? Didn’t his mommy read to him?”

  Emelia didn’t know much, but what she knew—Bryce’s mother abandoned him when he was five, leaving him with his paternal grandmother. His grandmother, too old and worn out, hadn’t cared for him, not properly anyway. She couldn’t say any of this to her four-year-old. “No, she didn’t.”

  Her brows wrinkled. “Why?”

  She threw her legs over the bed and stood. “That’s a story for another time. Now, it’s bath time. Then you’ll wear your new dress, and
we’ll head downstairs for some breakfast.”

  “Can we eat breakfast with Daddy?”

  “We’ll go look for him when you’re dressed.”

  While Brianna showered and brushed her teeth, she headed for the phone on the nightstand to make a very important and overdue call to her boss and friend.

  Back in New Mexico, she worked at a small antique shop. It was convenient, which for a single mom translated to awesome. The hours were flexible. The pay was good, and when Bree was out of school and on the occasional Saturday she had to work, her boss didn’t mind that Bree went with her to work as long as she stayed in the office when customers were around. Her boss, Naomi, turned into her friend, one who knew nothing of her old life including Bree’s father.

  Emelia should’ve called her yesterday, explained what happened, and told her she wouldn’t return home or to work, but with everything that happened, it had been the last thing on her mind. She had to do it then, an hour before her shift was scheduled to start. She picked up the phone, dialed, and explained the situation. Well, not really, she was vague, telling Naomi she had a family emergency and left town. Naturally, this shocked Naomi as it’d surprise anyone.

  “What do you mean you left town?” she shrieked.

  “Family emergency. I really can’t explain. I’m sorry. I know this is late notice but—”

  “When are you coming back?”

  A tough question. She was leaning toward never. Not that she wanted to stay in California, not that she wouldn’t miss the life she built in New Mexico, but Bryce knew about Brianna now. From what she’d seen, the way Bryce had taken to his daughter, no way she’d take Bree away from her father. And so, she’d live in Wadden, California indefinitely.

  “I… We’re not going back.”

  “What?” Another loud shriek.

  “Listen, I know this seems crazy, but—”

  Naomi sighed heavily then cut her off. “I always figured you were running from something, Em. Guess it was about time you decided to straighten it out.”

  Her boss slash friend nailed it or part of it anyway. All those years ago, she had run, and she ran intending never to return. Five years later, she had no plans to either, but life happened.