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The last man on earth that she’d want helping her raise her child. Someone like you.

Shelby’s harsh words rattle inside my head as I ride back to the clubhouse.

I’m not perfect, and she knew that all those years ago. I didn’t give a shit about what people thought of me. I had enough of those lectures from my foster parents to last me a lifetime. They saw a troubled boy itching for trouble, not the intelligent child who was begging to be given the same opportunities as every other kid. Too smart for my own good, yet too poor to be successful.

But Judge didn’t see me that way. He saw my potential, and gave me the tools I needed to succeed. No matter how many people tried to tell me I was a fucking idiot for prospecting for the Black Hoods, it was, and still is, the right decision for me. This club, and the men in it, changed my life.

They’re my home.

My family.

The one thing I wanted most in the world—to belong to something bigger. To just belong.

Yet in a single sentence, Shelby had me reeling in anger, second-guessing every single fucking decision I’ve ever made. Would she have stuck around and allowed me to be in my daughter’s life if I was more like everyone else? A normal man with a normal life? A mind-numbing, meaningless existence with a big house, white picket fence, and an HOA?

Fuck normal. Fuck her.

I am who I am, and if that makes me a shitty candidate for fatherhood, she probably should have thought about that before dating a guy like me, let alone fucking me for three solid years up to that point. She knew the risk, we both did, but that sure as hell didn’t stop her from hopping into bed with me.

I pull into the clubhouse and park my Harley near the rear entrance. The place is as silent as the grave, which is normal for this time of day. Most of the guys have side gigs they work on when the club hits a slow period. The only bike that sits in the parking lot is Judge’s. With another look around to see if the coast is clear, I head over to the makeshift shooting range near the edge of the property.

Near a patio table at the edge of the range sits several boxes of empty beer bottles. I finger a few of them and walk down to the fence row, placing five on the top before walking back to the table. Retrieving my gun from the back of my jeans, I fire a shot. It ricochets off the rocky wall behind the fence post.

“Fuck!” I exclaim, firing another. It misses again. I rapid fire three more shots, but only one hits its mark.

A crunch of gravel sounds from behind me as I pull my extra magazine from my holder and load it in. I rack the slide back when Judge appears next to me.

“Nice shooting,” he mutters sarcastically. “Your aim still needs work.”

I ignore him, firing off a couple more rounds, and finally take out one of the beer bottles, shattering it to bits.

“Something on your mind, Hash?” Pulling out his own gun, he fires off four quick shots, breaking the remaining bottles.

“Why would there be?” I go back to the empty beer case and retrieve another five bottles. I take my time putting them where they need to go, repeating what I did with the first set. Finally, I return back to the head of the range where Judge still stands.

“Most of the guys come out here to practice,” he adds, firing another couple of shots. “You, on the other hand, only come out here when you need to blow off steam.”

He’s not wrong. I may not be a dead shot like the other guys, but there’s something therapeutic about it, like controlled destruction in an already chaotic world. It clears my mind and lets me focus on the problem in front of me. I wish that was the case for Hayden and Shelby. There aren’t enough bottles in the world to help me calm the raging storm inside of me when it comes to Shelby.

His boots crunch into the gravel. Shit. He’s not leaving.

“Hit a couple of brick walls with tracking down my daughter,” I grumble, firing several shots back to back, my rage spilling over the edge with each one. “It’s being worked out.”

“You were always a shit liar, Wyatt. The longer you keep sitting on that powder keg inside your head, the worse it’ll be when you explode. Get it out, son.”

“Hayden had been playing an online game. I found a message that leads me to believe she was meeting up with another player that day. The user was wiped from her system.”

“What’s the problem, then? Do that computer wizardry shit you do and get the guy’s information.”

“It’s not that simple. Games like this are huge, with millions of players in one online space. The only way I can get that information is by subpoenaing the developer who hosts it.”

“Go talk to another attorney. Club’s been needing to hire a new one since Gary quit practicing a few years back. We’ll pay for it.”

“We went to see one this morning who’s an old friend of Shelby’s. One who used to frequent the club back in my prospecting days.”

“The mouthy brunette?” he inquires. “Skinny little thing with no tits?”

“That’s the one. I walked right into her office without a fucking clue as to who we were meeting.”

“That girl was always a thorn in my side whenever she came to the clubhouse. She stirred up the hang-arounds and the guys,” Judge chuckles. “Hell, you damn near lost the patch vote because of her. A couple of the guys were on the fence, wondering if she’d be sticking around if we patched you.”

“Trust me, if she and Shelby weren’t a package deal back then, I’d have helped you throw her ass out.” Right into a barrel of starving piranhas. Though knowing she was a part of Shelby’s escape plan, piranhas would be too merciful.

“Did she refuse to help you?”

“She was a cold-hearted bitch about it, but she’s going to help,” I answer flatly.

“Then I guess I have to ask: what’s the problem? Seems like tracking down your daughter is progressing.”

“It’s Shelby. One second, we’re a united front. Next thing I know, I’m public enemy number one.”

“Fuck Shelby.”

I arch an eyebrow at him.

“That shit between you and her doesn’t matter, dumbass. You need to focus on finding your kid.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” I huff, tossing my arms up in the air. “But one conversation with her is like having knives driven under my fingernails. I can’t move past it.”

Judge shakes his head and looks to the ground. “Take it from an old man. Women and bitches come and go, but blood means everything. That connection means fucking everything. Not one person in the world can take that away from your kid, not even her mother.”

“You speaking from experience, Prez?”

“I had a son once. Best damn thing that could’ve ever happened to me. The second he took his first breath, it was like everything inside of me lived for him.”

“What happened?”

“He died forty-three days after he was born from SIDS.” Judge aims his gun and blows three more bottles to bits. When he’s done, he continues. “Happened when I was out on a ride with the club in my prospecting days. My ex buried him before I got back. To this day, I don’t even know where his grave is. Won’t ever know. She took his location with her to her grave a few years back.”

“Shit, man. I had no idea.”

“No one does, and it better stay that way.”

“Sure, Judge.”

Clapping his large hand on my shoulder, he squeezes it hard. “Your daughter needs you to find her, and you’re the best shot she has. All this shit with her mom, forget about it. Shove it aside. Use that anger inside of you to focus on what you need to do. That’s how you find her.”

Without another word, he releases me and walks away from the range, leaving me alone. I aim my gun, but it falls against my side.

The system failed me the second they put me into foster care after my druggie of a mom overdosed in a Wendy’s parking lot, with me in the back seat. I can’t change that, but I can change Hayden’s fate.

I can’t fail her. Not now, not ever. Failure isn’t an option.