Chapter Thirty

TWO DAYS AFTER KATRINA'S dad returned in bad condition, leaving her fearing for his life, she stood in the hallway of the clubhouse, ready to kill him.

"You've got to be kidding me?" She crossed her arms.

"Baby, she needs another woman to help her with some things." Her dad looked over his shoulder into the bedroom where the woman he'd brought back with him slept. "When I was there, I talked about you. I told her how strong you were and what a fighter you'd become because you had a shit life—"

"No, Mama Sue gave me a good life," she argued.

"I wasn't talking about—it was about what I did to you, damnit." Her dad lowered his voice. "Rachel grew stronger hearing about how you made something of your life. It gave her hope. Now she needs help."

She shook her head in disbelief. "How is she your problem? You saved her life. You paid back your debt. Send her home."

The thought that he was emotionally involved with a woman involved with men who had hurt her dad soured her stomach. She looked away from him, unable to think about someone else in her dad's life.

She hadn't had enough time with him.

"Baby?"

She exhaled. Backed against the wall, she had no way to turn him down.

"I'm not good with other women," she muttered.

Her dad hooked her neck, bringing her closer and making her look at him. "You're good."

With the way her dad arrived and the following aftermath, finding out what happened, nothing had been said about Jagger's punishment. It was too easy to believe her dad would forget. She knew him better than that.

"If I help you with her." Her upper lip quivered. "Forget about the punishment toward Jagger."

"No."

Heartbroken, she couldn't stop the tears from building. She blinked hard, refusing to show him how much his stubbornness hurt her. He was punishing the man she loved. She'd rather be the one punished.

"I'm not going to help you." She swallowed, refusing to look at him and see disappointment.

Cora entered the hallway. Katrina took that opportunity to escape. She walked toward her aunt, grabbed her hand, and pulled her into the main room of the clubhouse.

"Whoa." Cora tugged on her hand. "What's wrong?"

"My dad's an asshole."

"What happened?"

"He's disappointed me. Again," she yelled, shocking herself.

She hugged her middle, having never said anything bad about her dad to others. When he was in prison, she'd violently defended him. She'd gotten into more fights, physically and verbally, at school with anyone who dared make a crack about having a dad living in prison for murder.

When he walked out of prison, she made room in her life and forgave him for missing out on every special moment she'd had growing up. Moments that Jagger was there to share with her.

Not once had he ever thanked Jagger for taking care of her. Instead, he drove them apart.

She flung her arms down to her sides and fisted her hands. "I'm done."

Marching across the clubhouse, she headed to the hallway to give her dad a piece of her mind when an arm wrapped around her waist, picking her up and keeping her from reaching the room.

She swung out.

"Calm down, Kat." Jagger captured her arms, pinning them to her side. "What happened?"

"After everything you've done, he's still got it in his stupid head to punish you." Boiling inside, she pushed against Jagger. "And now he wants me to help that bitch—"

"Katrina," snapped her dad.

Jagger let her go. She whirled around and faced her dad. "You know I'm right."

Her dad shook her head.

"How can you stand there and lie to me." She pointed at Jagger. "He's loved me my whole life. He stayed with me my whole life—"

"Kat," interrupted Jagger.

"No." She put her hand up to Jagger and a hand up to her dad. "No. Just no."

She ran toward the door, pushing outside, gulping for air. Her head was going to explode. She couldn't go on like this. Love wasn't supposed to hurt. Dads were never supposed to leave. People she loved didn't kill people.

To hell with the club. She wanted Jagger, and she was tired of playing a game so that they could love each other when it was her dad who gave custody of her to Jagger.

She kept walking away from the clubhouse. All she wanted to do was get away from everyone. Her dad pulled her in one direction. Jagger pulled her in a different direction. Even her aunt was taking a piece of her.

She was losing herself.

Blinded by her tears, she angrily dashed them away. She followed the sidewalk, weaving around any obstacle in her way.

She was running away.

Maybe she was more like her dad than she'd thought.

But if she stayed around her dad, she was going to explode. She'd already said too much.

The fears that dwelled inside of her as a child reared their ugly heads. She was still afraid of upsetting him, of telling him how his prison sentence had changed the course of her life, and she had no say in the changes. She had never had any say in her life.

And the one time she stood up to her dad declaring her love for Jagger, he shot her down. He wouldn't listen. Even Jagger wouldn't listen and moved three hours away.

Her chest ached. The farther she got from the clubhouse, the more she regretted her outburst. But she was tired. So tired of other people telling her who she could love.

Her body vibrated. She pressed her hand to her chest. It wasn't sobs racking her body. It was the rumble of a Harley.

Jagger pulled up beside her. "Get on."

He held a helmet out to her. Unstoppable tears fell down her cheeks. She put on the skull cap and climbed behind him. Wrapping her legs and arms around him, she closed her eyes and struggled to catch her breath.

Underneath her, the motorcycle roared to life, taking her away from her problems. Her pain. Her regrets.

She held on to Jagger. It wasn't the first time she clung to him, hopeless and full of pain. He was the only one who was there every single time she needed him—whether she understood she needed him or not at the time. It was always him.