Hashtag

It’s nights like this that make me appreciate not being tied down like some of these fuckers. Just watching them parade around with big ass grins on their faces is enough to make me uneasy. I tried the whole relationship thing once, and it fucking broke me. Nobody’s gonna get the chance to put me through that shit again. Settling down? Not happening. I’d rather be alone than go through the hell I’ve been through. No bitch is worth that much bullshit.

Priest plops down next to me at the bar, ordering a drink from one of the club girls bartending for tonight’s festivities. Popping the lid, she slides the bottle over to him.

“Great party,” he declares, taking a pull from his beer. “She’s good for him—for all of us.”

I can only nod in response. Yeah, it worked out for him. Blair’s good people. I like her. But sitting here watching the two of them celebrate their love isn’t going so well for me tonight. It’s not Blair or GP. It’s not the other people crowding the clubhouse, having a good time. It’s the date—our date. Thirteen years ago today, I was a newly patched member with a future full of plans: college, a wife—a family. Only one of those actually got checked off my list, while the other two disappeared that same night without so much as a Dear Wyatt letter to explain why I wasn’t enough for her. And the ring I bought her? The one I couldn’t force myself to hock all these years later? It stays in my dresser drawer, mocking me each and every morning. A reminder not to trust, but a memento of what it really feels like to love.

“What’s up your ass?”

“Nothing,” I growl. “Just trying to drink my beer without you ladies spoiling it for me.”

Priest glances over at me and shakes his head. “You’re not happy for them, are you?”

“Didn’t say I wasn’t.”

Priest takes another swig before slamming down the bottle onto the bar, tossing up his fingers to order another one, while Layla, a long-time club girl, saunters over to me with her tits spilling out of her top. She presses them up against me, and I shove her off.

“Not in the mood, sweetheart.”

Her painted face saddens at my dismissal, and even that annoys me.

“Layla, when are you gonna get a clue? The guys around here are gonna keep fuckin’ ya, but none of them will ever claim you.”

Hurt and anger crease her face, and I can tell instantly that I struck a nerve. “Fuck you, Hashtag. I’d rather fuck a dead Billy goat than be claimed by a stuck-up prick like you.”

I grab my dick through my jeans. “Bitch, you’ve been trying to get in my pants for years. Haven’t you figured out yet that I wouldn’t touch you if you were the last slut on earth? Go fuck a prospect or something.”

Growling, she throws up her middle finger before stomping away in a huff.

Priest shakes his head. “I don’t get you, man. All these women around here, and I haven’t seen you touch a single one of them. You have something against free pussy?”

Fucking asshole. “Hey, I got a question for you.”

“What’s that?”

“Does this barstool look like a fucking confessional, prospect?”

Without another word, Priest stalks off, the reminder of his rank like a kick in the nuts. Mission accomplished.

Tonight’s the kind of night I just want to sit here at the bar, get drunk, and pass out until tomorrow. I shouldn’t even be here, seeing as I’m in no mood for celebrating, but ghosting them like Shelby did to me on such a big night for our club isn’t in the cards. I’d be disrespecting both GP and Blair if I hadn’t shown up. So, here I sit, wallowing like a fucking asshole in my own personal shit instead of celebrating with my club.

“Hot damn!” Karma yells out from the crowd. “Hey, honey, how about you come and sit on my lap?”

Great. One of the club girls must be putting on a show. Grabbing my beer, I start to turn around when…

What the fuck?

A fucking ghost from my past. One I never expected to walk back into this place so long as my lungs still sucked in air. Shelby fucking Dawson. The woman who broke me.

“Is he here?” her voice calls out over the noise, rocking my fucking world. The beer drops from my hand, shattering to the floor, bringing her attention to me.

Fuck me sideways. Ain’t no hiding from her now. Way to go, asshole. Couldn’t just make a quick escape, could you?

She bolts toward me, fear clear as day on that pretty face I used to call mine all those years ago. The face that fucking bailed without so much as a goddamn word.

Each step she takes closer to my location, my heart thuds inside of my chest. The years have been good to her. Damn good. The girl I knew has grown into a woman, and a smoking hot one at that. Her short, spiky, pink and blonde hair has changed into an even punkier look of bright purple. Every pair of unattached male eyes are on her. Hell, even the ones attached are looking. The beast lying dormant inside of me growls, wanting to re-stake my claim on her and force them to look away. But she’s not mine anymore. She’d made that clear enough when she left.

“Wyatt,” her silky voice calls out to me. A voice I never thought I’d hear again. A voice that still—after everything—has the power to ruin me.

“So, you do remember my name. Figured you’d forgotten it with the way you left.”

Her beautiful eyes soften as a tear slides down her cheek. The pained look tells me all I need to know. She’s not here for a reunion, nor to apologize for leaving the way she did. She wants something, and she’s desperate enough to come to me after all these years.

Well, she came to the wrong fucking man.

“I need your help.”

“I ain’t in the helping mood, darlin’, not anymore. Go ask someone else,” I snarl, stepping around her.

“Please,” she pleads. “My daughter’s gone.”

She has a kid? The fact that she could leave me so easily and have a child with someone else doesn’t escape me. It’s been years, and her moving on should be a given. So why does that hurt so much? I peek at her left hand. No ring. Commitment still isn’t her strong suit, it seems.

“Must get that skill from her mother. You were real good at running away yourself.”

“I’m not here to rehash the past, Wyatt. I really need your help.” Good. There’s nothing for the two of us in the past or in the present. She made damn sure of that thirteen years ago.

“Why should I care about some other man’s spawn?”

“Because she’s yours.”

Those words hit me like an electric shock, straight to the heart. I gape at her, unable to move. “Say that again? I could’ve sworn you said she was mine. Last time I checked, I didn’t see my name listed on a birth certificate anywhere.”

“My daughter… she’s yours.” This time, her voice cracks.

I narrow my eyes and take a step closer. “How do you know she’s mine? It’s been fucking years, Shelby. For all I know, you’re lying to me so I’ll help you.”

“She’s twelve, Wyatt. Do the math.”

With a frown, I push past her and pace the floor, ignoring the people around us watching our every move. If she’s really twelve, the timing would be right, but why the hell would I believe her? The woman I knew back then wouldn’t have hidden this from me. She knew I wanted kids. A tie to someone by blood, since my own family didn’t bother to stick around.

“Please, Wyatt,” she sobs. “She’s missing. I know something’s wrong. Someone’s taken her.”

The hurt in her voice brings every protective instinct I’ve ever had for her rising back to the surface. Between the noise, the eyes of everyone looking at us, and this fucking revelation swirling around my head, I can’t take it anymore.

Reaching out for her hand, she recoils.

“Jesus, Shelby, I’m not going to fucking bite you. We need to go someplace, away from all this noise, so I can think.” I reach out for her again, and this time, she allows me to touch her soft hand. I lead her down the hallway, straight toward the room I keep at the clubhouse. She stops dead the second she sees it, her face sullen and white.

“Come on.” Opening the door, I drag her inside, releasing her long enough to shut the door and everyone out. Shelby’s eyes dart around the space before focusing back on me. A slight tremor rolls down her body, as if she’s afraid of me.

“Start from the beginning.”