Dark Secret - Avelyn Paige Page 0,22
pressed together, I can only manage a nod as he turns and swings his leg over his motorcycle. It’s not until he rides out of sight that I realize I may have won that argument, but it was at Wyatt’s expense. I broke something there. I should’ve kept my big mouth shut.
Hashtag
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