Chapter Thirteen

C ora trailed Ruger out of the clubhouse. He walked faster. Nowadays, she couldn't keep up with him. She waddled more each day.

"Will you please slow down?" Cora shouted.

He stopped before reaching his Harley. She shouldn't be running around in her condition. He remembered how taxing it was for Sheila when she was pregnant with Katrina.

"You should be at home instead of following me."

Cora came to a stop in front of him and scoffed. "I'm pregnant, not dying."

She exhaled loudly, obviously out of breath. He looked around for Wire, but the truck his MC brother used for his electrical business, which was here earlier, was now gone. He was on his own with his sister.

"How are you?" asked Cora.

He met her gaze, not playing whatever game she had going on. She always brought up his parents whenever he had more than a two-sentence conversation with her. An off-limits subject.

"Katrina told me you're renting a house." She waited for him to confirm the rumor, and when he refused, she said, "Now that you have a place, let's make an appointment at the bank to get your signature and—"

"No."

Cora's shoulders drooped, and she cradled the baby bump with her hands. "God, Ruger, seriously? You don't have to rent. The money belongs to you, too. You can buy a house and be more comfortable."

"Comfortable?" He spit on the ground and stepped closer. "A roof over my head with a working door that opens and shuts is a hell of a lot better than three hots and a cot."

Cora inhaled swiftly at his reference to living in a prison. "But you deserve to have half the money."

"No, that's where you're wrong, little sister." Tension rolled down his spine. "It all belongs to you. That's the way they wanted it. You know that. Your fancy lawyer knows that."

He walked away and got on his Harley. Slapping his helmet on, he rode off before Cora could think of something else she needed to talk to him about. He'd told her from day one he wanted nothing from her and nothing that had belonged to his parents.

They'd made their opinion of him clear when they were alive and let him ride off without any care for their grandchild.

He wasn't the same man he was back then. If anyone fucked over his daughter, they were dead in his book.

He wasn't the best father. He was in prison when he should've been home, taking care of her. But no one, not even the state of Oregon, could keep him from being her dad. He would never willingly walk out of her life.

That's what family meant.

His parents gave up on him. Shut the door on knowing Katrina. That wasn't what family was supposed to do.

Was he angry?

Fuck yeah. The bitterness consumed him as he spent his sentence behind bars, knowing his parents had enough lawyers and money to get him out of prison where he could be with Katrina twenty-four/seven. It was why he hadn't sweated when the cops came, and he was stuck holding the murder weapon. He had a better chance at getting out of prison than Jagger at the time.

He was an Albright. His dad was a fucking lawyer. His mom was a professor.

But the one phone call he was allowed was not to his four-year-old daughter to explain why daddy wasn't coming home. He'd called his parents. He tried one more time to reach out for help.

His dad had answered the collect call and refused to accept.

For the next eighteen years, he had a fucking lot of time to think about how differently his life would've turned out if his dad would've accepted that call. From that day on, he promised himself he'd never go back.

Cora could keep all the money she inherited from his folks after they died. He'd never take a penny from them.