PROLOGUE

As I lie back on my bed, with Penny riding my face and Naomi sucking my cock, I realize this is my idea of heaven. Double trouble is twice the fun, especially when it comes without any attachments. The MC life is hard, but the rewards of living a life of your own choosing outweigh any of it.

I'm never going to be a one-woman man, unlike Bates, our club enforcer, who just walked out of his room and told us Vi had agreed to be his wife.

I'm happy for the two of them. I really am. I just don't want to be them when I can be exactly who I am. Halo, Iron Outlaws' road captain. A true one percenter.

My phone rings. Dad's ringtone. Wrinkle refused to come to the clubhouse for the lockdown because he didn't want to be cooped up here with Mercy and their nearly one-year-old kid, Lola. Maybe if Dad had wrapped his cock up, he wouldn't have to deal with a crying baby and a needy club girl desperate to become an old lady.

Another reason to not settle down. The aggravation that comes from having someone else to accommodate. I can come, no pun intended, and go anytime I please.

Dad can wait. I've got my tongue up Penny's cunt, and my cock is so far down Naomi's throat, I'm close to coming.

The ringing stops, and I focus on Penny. Love her juicy ass. It gives me something to hold on to. And she knows how to ride a man's face like she needs it.

"Halo, please," she gasps.

Nothing better for the ego than knowing a woman wants what you can give her.

The phone rings again, just as Penny's hips start to lose their rhythm, just as Naomi switches to that thing she does where your cock head is deep in her throat, and the slightest movement back and forth in that utterly restrictive part of her has shock waves hammering down my spine.

"Shit. Yes. I'm gonna come," Penny cries, her hands slamming on the wall over my head.

And as she does, I come down Naomi's throat. "Fuck," I grunt against Penny's clit.

My hips jack upwards. Can't control it. I hear Naomi gag, and it turns me on even more.

The phone stops ringing. Then it starts again.

"Fuck's sake," I curse, as Penny slides off me and Naomi licks me down gently. I grab my phone. "What?"

"Son," my dad says, but he sounds breathless.

I sit up. "You okay, Dad?"

"Shot . . . my . . . house."

I shove Naomi off my lap and yank on some jeans. "You call an ambulance?"

There's no answer.

"Dad? Shit. Penny. Call 911 and get an ambulance to Dad's house."

She does as I ask, while I pull on the rest of my clothes and boots. I march into the bar area, where the lockdown engagement party is in full swing, even though I don't see Bates or Vi.

I look around until I find who I need. Our medic. "Switch, Dad says he's been shot."

"Fuck. We can't just leave lockdown," he replies.

"I'm going, now. And I need your help."

He glances around and waves Vex, our tech expert, over. "Wrinkle's been shot at his house. Tell King we're leaving."

"Jesus." Vex squeezes my shoulder. "It could be a trap though. I'll look at the security footage."

"I know. But it's my dad. I gotta go."

I ignore the rest of what's said and run to my bike. "Open the gates enough that I can get my bike out," I yell to the prospect on duty.

"I'm right behind you," Switch shouts as I start my engine. He's grabbed his medical kit backpack. "See you there."

When I pull up to the house, I pause. I shouldn't have ridden my bike here. I'm too fucking drunk for this shit. But I sober right up and pull my gun from its holster when I see the front door is ajar.

My Navy SEAL training kicks in. Habits take over. As much as I want to rush, I know I have to act as though the perpetrator is still inside.

Switch is right. This could be a trap.

It's impossible to go slow, knowing my father is injured.

The old wooden steps creak as I climb them and nudge the front door open. I have the advantage over anyone still in here. There isn't an inch of this house I'm not familiar with. Every place to hide is known to me.

Lola is screaming now, somewhere on the upper level. I make my way through the main floor, scanning every room until I find Mercy facedown on the kitchen tile. One of Lola's bottles lies just out of reach, and her formula powder dusts the counter.

There's a heavy iron tang to the air, and the ruby-red pool of blood caused by an unrecoverable head wound tells me she's gone.

"Fuck me." I breathe deep, centering myself. Whoever took out Mercy could still be here, and I need to remain vigilant.

When I don't find Dad on the lower level, I creep up the stairs and check Lola's nursery, where the little thing's face is bright red. "I'll be back for you, Lollipop," I whisper.

The wooden floor creaks beneath my foot. "Son," I hear Dad cry, but not in warning, so I push the door open and step inside.

There's blood. So much of it, I can't tell where it's coming from. Dad's eyes are wide, his face red, his hand by his throat.

And he's clearly close to death.

I'm so shell-shocked, I don't even think about CPR. I grip his hand. "I'm here, Dad. Who the fuck did this?"

His head slowly turns to face me, tears brimming over. His mouth opens as if trying to tell me, but nothing comes out.

He takes a labored breath, then sighs.

I've heard the death sigh before. Too many times in too many foreign countries. My years as a Navy SEAL were unrelenting. And I feel his passing in the relaxation of his grip, his fingers no longer holding mine.

"Shit," I curse as Switch stomps up the stairs.

"Ah, fuck," he says, and reaches for Dad's wrist, then his neck.

Switch places his palm over Dad's eyes and closes them. Then he turns and grips my shoulder. "What the hell happened here, brother?"

I rub my face with my hand. "Three times, he tried to call, and I was so busy fucking, I didn't answer."

"We aren't doing that," Switch says. "From the look of him, you're lucky you weren't with him."

Lola wails from the other room, the sound cutting through my overwhelming remorse.

"You need to go take care of her," Switch says. "I'll make the necessary calls."

I'm grateful when Switch nudges me in the direction of the room; otherwise, I don't know that I would have moved. Lola lies there, her tiny fists clenched as she whole-body screams.

She was why he slept over at the clubhouse so often.

"Fuck, Lola, give me a break." I pick her up. She's hot and sweaty. And her diaper feels solid.

My dad's dead.

Her dad is too. So is her mom.

Fuck. I'm all she has.

Focusing on Lola, I strip her, clumsily change her diaper, and put her in a clean and dry onesie that says I'm the prez in this house in pink sparkles.

Gently, I place her head to my shoulder and start the bob and sway that soothes her. As she settles, I return to the bedroom, where Switch is on the phone, arranging whatever needs to happen next.

"I'm sorry," Switch says as he hangs up. "Wrinkle was a good man, most of the time."

I smile sadly at that. "Yeah." My dad could be problematic as fuck when he wanted to be. And he was a shitty, often-absent father when I was a kid. But when I patched in, our relationship changed.

"I'll let the club know."

My train of thought finally catches up with my floundering ass. "There's no hiding this. I'm going to need a death certificate to close up his affairs. An undertaker."

"I'll take care of it. I'm guessing she's gonna need feeding and clothes and shit if you're taking her to the clubhouse. You're gonna take care of Lola, right?"

I look down at the baby in my arms. "Honestly, I don't know that I can. Someone is going to pay for this shit. And I can't be taking her out on the road with me as I track down whoever did this."

Switch shakes his head, and I ignore the glint of disappointment from my friend. "Yeah, well, the person who has to pay for this shouldn't be Lola."

As if recognizing her name, Lola rustles against my shoulder, and I shift positions so I can see her face. "It's you and me for now, kid. So do me a favor and be good, yeah?"

Her little lip trembles as fat tears fall over beautiful long lashes. They're dark, a contrast to her wispy strawberry-blonde hair and blue eyes.

The cry she then lets loose tells me she's not in agreement.

"I think she needs feeding. You take care of her; I'll deal with this."

"I should take care of Dad. Can you take her?"

Switch raises an eyebrow. "I learned one really important thing in battlefield triage: the living come before the dead. Take care of your sister."

I put one foot after the other, making formula for the bottle and feeding Lola, until first, the blue lights, and second, the roar of motorcycles pull up outside my dad's house.

As I'm about to wrap a blanket around her and step outside to greet them, my phone vibrates. I almost ignore it, but something—the kind of something that saved my life on more than one occasion—tells me I should check it. There's a text message from an unknown number.

Every decision has consequences, brother. Until it's time to face yours, peace.