Chapter Thirty One

THE DUNE BLOCKED THE view of the ocean, protecting them from the breeze whipping off the water. He'd parked his Harley and brought Katrina in front of him and held her until the tears stopped and her body calmed.

Worn out, she slumped against him. Her legs draped over his thighs, and her head rested on his shoulder.

Through the years, she'd grown. She'd fought. She'd cried. She'd argued. She'd punch. But he could count how many times she lost control of those emotions on his one hand with him. Each time was branded on his soul.

He rubbed her back, knowing he had the power to ease her hurt. Yet, knowing if he told her the reasons why her dad was adamant about punishing him, he could lose her.

She'd hate him for not telling her the truth.

But he knew the moment he claimed her in front of the club, he would have to tell her. Because he wouldn't let her relationship with her dad dissolve into hatred. There were reasons why Ruger wanted to keep him away from her.

"Kat?" He kissed the side of her head. "I need to talk to you about your dad."

"I don't want to talk about him."

He pried her head off his shoulder and looked into her red-rimmed eyes. "Then, let me talk about me."

"I think the best thing you could do is send him back to Beaverton. Have Hatchet order him back." Her chin trembled. "It'll be better for both of us."

Fuck, she was brave. She had a deep need to have a relationship with her father—a relationship denied to her growing up. For how much she claimed it would be better if he were out of her life, she was lying to herself.

She wanted her dad. She wanted Jagger.

He wasn't sure she could have both of them.

Stroking her cheeks, he dried her face. It pained him more when she lost control. Instead of yelling, swinging, and kicking, she got quiet and internalized everything.

"I must tell you the story about your dad and me." He gathered her hands in his and held them.

"I know what you're going to say. You've been MC brothers since he patched into Havlin," she mumbled.

"Mm." He looked down at their entwined hands. "He was the blood brother I never had. Baller and Mama Sue took him in as a prospect. Him and your mom," he added.

He'd told her the story before. It was nothing new.

"Mama Sue watched you during the day when Ruger was riding for the club." He sighed. "I respected—I respect the hell out of Ruger."

"How can you say that?"

He shushed her and met her gaze. "There is nothing I wouldn't do for your dad. When Baller was killed, you were too young—"

"I remember him. He let me use his empty cigarette packs to hold the change I'd find on the clubhouse floor after a party," she said.

He nodded. She was barely four years old when his dad was killed.

"It wasn't long after Baller was murdered, and I found out who killed him. I rode off to seek vengeance. Ruger wouldn't let me go alone." He exhaled harshly. "If I could go back...I never would've let him come."

Katrina tilted her head and frowned. "Is this when he killed a man?"

He looked into Katrina's eyes. "Your dad never killed the man. I did. I was the one who shot him. The cops came, and your dad took the pistol out of my hand. My need to retaliate had caused me to freeze. Your dad was trying to get me out of the alley and was the one arrested because he took my pistol."

"That's not true. He killed someone." She shook her head. "He spent eighteen years in prison."

"Kat. Listen to me." He held onto her hands when she pulled away. "He was convicted of the crime. I never asked him to cover for me, but he did, and I can't change that."

"You let him take the fall?" she whispered.

Her words stabbed him in the chest. As president, he took responsibility for each member. But he wasn't president back then. He was reeling, knowing someone had killed his dad. He had no one to blame but himself.

"The last thing Ruger said to me when they slapped handcuffs on him, he asked me to protect you. I gave him my word, but over the years..." He swallowed the guilt. "You know that my role as guardian and protector crossed the line."

She pushed away from him and slid off the motorcycle. He stayed on the Harley, letting her go.

Katrina climbed up the dune, struggling to gain footing and get away from him. She ran toward the ocean—the same ocean that hid his secrets. Where more than a few men have perished or been swept out to sea.

A few minutes after she dropped out of sight, he climbed the dune and stood at the top to protect her from a distance.

He'd held that secret for twenty years. There should be relief.

But all he felt was vulnerable and heartbroken that he wasn't the man Katrina thought him to be.