by Tillie Cole
But I couldn’t think of any reason why.
Beauty left for the night to get herself some rest. When the door was shut, I stared across at Tanner. He still wasn’t awake. But I needed him. I needed to touch him, to feel his warmth. Pulling off the comforter, I held my side as I lowered my feet to the floor. I was wearing a nightdress. Beauty must have brought it for me. I smiled. It was purple and silk. It reminded me of what I married Tanner in. Knowing Beauty, it would have been why she picked it.
Taking a deep breath, I moved, using the bed frame for support. I walked across the small space between me and Tanner. When I arrived at his side, I ran my hand through his hair. My chest ached as I looked down at Tanner’s wounds. I could have lost him . . . I could have lost the love of my life . . . my husband . . . my soul’s other half.
Careful of the IV, and ignoring the pain in my side, I crawled onto the bed and slipped under the sheets. Tanner’s torso was bare. He only wore track pants.
The minute I was beside him, my bruised heart instantly healed. I laid my arm over his waist and absorbed his warmth. Lowering my head to the pillow, I kissed his stubbled cheek. “I love you, mi amor,” I whispered and breathed in his smoky, leather smell.
Even the sterile ointment on his wounds couldn’t take away his addictive scent. I held his left hand and ran my thumb over the wedding ring. I smiled at the sight . . . then Tanner’s hand twitched. I stilled, waiting, breath held . . . waiting for more . . . Tanner’s fingers moved. I sat up, and stared at his face. Tanner’s eyebrows pulled down, his tongue traced his lips . . . finally, his eyes cracked open.
I couldn’t help it. A sob left my throat as he blinked, revealing to me the bright blue eyes I adored so much. They were dazed at first. The confusion he felt was obvious by his lost expression. I kissed his cheek, his nose, then his lips. “Tanner,” I whispered, happy tears trickling down my cheeks. It took Tanner only a moment to kiss me back. His hand came up to the back of my head. I heard him hitch a breath and realized the movement must have caused him pain.
I tried to pull back, but he kept me in place. “No . . .” he whispered against my lips. “Stay.”
My heart melted.
I kissed him softly, trying to pour everything I was feeling into the touch—love, gratitude, pride, and adoration. All of it, every emotion that had ever coursed through my soul in my years with him. In our fight to be together.
I tried to communicate it all.
I reared back and looked at his face. There was no confusion, anymore. “We’re . . . alive . . .” he rasped. My heart cracked when, with shining eyes, he smiled. “We’re alive . . .” He said the words with such relief, such awe—a whispered benediction from his lips.
“Yes,” I cried, laughing, letting caged joy break through. “We’re alive.” I kissed him again. I kissed him through fallen salty tears, labored breathing, and painful injuries. But it didn’t deter us. We were here. Saved.
Saved for the sake of the other.
Breaking away, I passed Tanner the water from the nightstand. I brought it to his lips, wincing at the movement.
“You’re hurt,” he said quietly. Then his eyes widened. “Diego . . . he shot you.” Tanner’s eyes dropped to my side. He tried to reach for me. But I stopped him by placing my hand on his chest.
“I’m fine.” I ran my hands near his wounds. “You were hurt worse.” I met his eyes. “You killed Diego.”
Tanner relaxed on the bed, and I could see the relief in his eyes. I settled back down on his chest. Tanner put his arm around my shoulders. I heard him hold his breath as he moved. I sank into his side.
The room was silent. I basked in the moment. The silence was the perfect soundtrack to match my thoughts. At peace. Happy . . . liberated.
In love.
“Baby . . .” Tanner murmured. I smiled as the gravel of his deep voice vibrated against my ear.
“Mmm?”
“There’s something I have to tell you.” His wary tone made me tense.
“Okay.”
I looked up to his face. Tanner’s eyes fell to meet mine. There was apprehension in his gaze. But there was sadness too. I braced myself for whatever it was. “Alfonso . . .” Tanner paused like he didn’t want to say whatever came next. “He wasn’t your father.”
My heart sank. “I know.” Tanner’s face wore a mask of shock. “I found out just before Diego killed him.” I swallowed back the sickness of what I’d discovered. “Tanner . . . they said I was trafficked. That my father got me in some kind of a trade?” My hands shook. “My mother—Quintana’s wife—found out . . . and he killed her.” I took a moment to keep my composure. “He killed her, Tanner.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “I have no idea whose daughter I am. But I know my mother, whoever she is, didn’t want to give me up.” My stomach tightened, and I fought back the urge to cry for woman I didn’t know. “They ripped me from her, Tanner . . . I was stolen and given to my father.”
Tanner held me to his chest. He said, so quietly I almost missed it, “I know who she was.”
I froze. Every muscle in my body stilled. My breathing increased in pace, and I slowly lifted my head. Then a single word Tanner said hit a crescendo in my mind.
Was.
I know who she was.
I couldn’t speak. The swelling of my throat and the fear of hearing more kept me paralyzed at Tanner’s side. Tanner’s finger ran down my cheek. “She was from Texas.” My breath shook on an exhale. “Your father was too.” I hung on every word Tanner said. Every single word. “Sanchez, your father, was Mexican. Your mother . . .” I glanced down at my arm. At my skin. My skin that had always been a touch lighter than that of my friends . . . than that of my father.
I knew what Tanner was going to say before he did. “She was American. A white American.” I closed my eyes.
“I’m Mexican. I’m a proud Mexican.” All my life, I knew who I was. I was Mexican. I knew my heritage, cherished it . . . That heritage was now up in flames.
“You’re still Mexican, princess,” Tanner reassured. “Your father was Mexican. But you have American in you too.” Tanner leaned forward and kissed my lips. He hovered close, so I opened my eyes. “Baby . . . this seems crazy, and I’m still wrapping my fucking head around it myself, but . . .”
“What, mi amor. What?” I didn’t know if I could take anymore.
“Your mama . . .” He braced himself for whatever he was about to divulge. “She was Styx’s mama too.” The world stopped. Everything in the room seemed to freeze as those words filtered into my brain. Styx . . . Styx . . . ? I thought back to him and Mae being in my room. To Mae holding my hand and kissing my head. Telling me we needed to talk . . . Y’all are family . . .
Was. Was Styx’s mama . . .
“She’s dead?” I asked, hopelessly.
“Styx’s papa—the old prez—killed her. He fucking killed her in front of Styx. He was still a kid at the time.” Tears immediately filled my eyes as I tried to imagine such a thing.
Looking at Tanner, I said, “I have a brother . . .” I thought back to Styx’s face. To how he stared like he couldn’t believe I was real. Like he’d never seen me before . . . and now I understood.
“Has he just found out about me too?”
“Yeah.” Tanner shifted so he could pull me close. “You need to talk to him, baby. Soon. When you’re better. I know he has something to show you.” I nodded, because I couldn’t find words. Then Tanner hit me with another bombshell. “You have another brother too. Your biological father’s son.” I tried to breathe, to take it all in. “Chavez. The Prez of the Diablos. They helped us.”
“Chavez . . .” I whispered.
I was silent for so long that Tanner lifted my chin. “You okay, princess?”
“Yes.” And I meant it. I was . . . My head was full to the brim with all the new events and information. But I was lying beside Tanner. And we were alive. After all that we had been through, that was enough. I didn’t need anything else in my li
fe. “I am good, mi amor. I am more than good . . . I have you.”
Tanner smiled, and then raised my left hand to his lips and kissed my wedding ring. “My wife . . .” he murmured as his eyes began to close. Exhaustion was lulling him back to sleep.
“Mi esposo,” I whispered back. I laid my head back on Tanner’s chest and closed my eyes too. The world could wait. This was my wedding night. Our deserved night by each other’s side.
And even wounded and emotionally raw . . . it was a perfect kind of bliss.
*****
One week later . . .
“You want me to come with you?” I leaned down and kissed Tanner on the lips. We were in his room now at the clubhouse. Edge and Rider had allowed us to move from the medical room a few days ago. Tanner was still hurting. His injuries were more severe than my own and were taking more time to heal. He needed to rest.
“I will be fine, mi amor. Sleep and get stronger.”
“Come straight back. I’ll be waiting for you,” Tanner said, and I ran my fingers through his hair.
Leaving Tanner to sleep, I met Beauty in the hallway. “You ready, darlin’?”
“Yes.” Beauty led me to her truck. We didn’t say much as she drove us to Styx and Mae’s house. Nerves were smothering my senses. I didn’t know what to say to Styx. He didn’t even speak.
It was all so hard to comprehend. He was my brother . . .
I had always been alone. I didn’t know how to be a sister. I knew nothing of my mother—our mother—except she was dead.
“He’s a good guy,” Beauty said, clearly seeing my unease. I liked Beauty. She was turning into a good friend. Tank had been in every day to see Tanner . . . and me. And Beauty had been forever by his side. “Styx is one tough motherfucker, I ain’t gonna lie. But he’s a good man.” Beauty paused as if debating whether to say something. Finally, she did. “His old man was an asshole. A real fucking prick, Lita. Styx grew up with that bastard, yet still he’s a good guy.” She smiled at me. “I like to think it was y’all’s mama who made you both so fucking pure.” A lump built in my throat. “That man loves Mae something fierce, and you’ll never find a bitch as sweet as her.” Beauty squeezed my hand as we pulled up to a log cabin. “I know it must be a real fucking head-spin finding out your man’s prez is your brother, but give Styx a chance. Ask Sia—Styx knows how to be a good brother if you let him.”
“Thank you,” I said, quietly.
Movement from the house caught my attention. Mae was on the deck. She waved when she saw me. I waved back, then took a deep breath. Hands trembling, I opened the truck door and got out. My side still hurt from my injury, but I could walk. And I wanted to be here today. I wanted to know what Styx had to show me.
And I wanted to speak to him. To him and Mae.
I wanted to know my brother.
Mae came and met me, threading her arm through mine. You would never know she’d just had a baby. She looked perfect, dressed in a flowing white dress, her black hair cascading down her back . . . beautiful. “Here, let me help you.” Mae aided me up the stairs to the cabin, and I followed her through the door.
The home smelled of cookies and bread. “It smells so nice,” I complimented.
“I baked,” Mae said. “It is not every day we find out Styx has a sister.”
Mae led me into the living room. Styx was in the corner, staring out of the window. He was dressed in jeans, a white shirt and his Hangmen cut. He looked so big, so imposing . . . until he turned and my heart melted seeing him holding baby Charon in his arms. Styx’s hazel eyes met mine, and my frayed nerves returned.
“Please have a seat,” Mae said and pointed to the couch. I sat down. “Tea?” she asked, and poured me a cup from a teapot that was on the coffee table.
“Thank you.” When my tea had been placed before me, Mae went to Styx, who was standing as still as a statue in the corner of the room. Mae took Charon from her husband.
She nodded in the direction of the couch opposite mine. Clenching his jaw, Styx sat down. His gaze stayed on the floor. Mae sat beside him, and he looked right at her. In an instant, I could see what Beauty meant. The way he looked at Mae . . . he adored her. It was plain to see. And she was clearly his strength. Even men as formidable as Styx needed someone to hold them up.
“He’s so beautiful,” I said, referring to Charon, who was sleeping soundly in his mother’s arms.
Mae smiled wide. “He is the biggest blessing of my life.” She looked at Styx. His lip flicked up in the corner. Mae faced me again. “I cannot imagine how confusing this has all been for you, Adelita.” My chest tightened, and I fought back the emotions swirling in my chest. Mae took hold of Styx’s hand. “We had no idea—Styx had no idea—that you even existed.” Mae nodded at Styx. Styx went to the fireplace and took a leather book off the mantle. He paused, looking at me, then brought it over. He sat down next to Mae again. “There are many journals from your mother. But this is the last one . . .” Mae paused, then said, “This is the one pertaining to you . . . and everything that happened.”
My heart started beating so fast It made me breathless. I glanced down at the journal and saw a name engraved on the front. “Lucy Sinclair,” I whispered. I traced her name with my finger, feeling a connection to that name so profoundly it was as though a rope was tied around my heart and was being tugged toward the brown leather journal.
“Your mother’s name—” Mae paused, and took Styx’s hand. “Both your mother’s name.”
Styx bowed his head, his dark hair falling over his eyes. When he lifted it, he pulled his hand from Mae and started to sign. “Read it,” Mae translated. Styx pointed at the front door. “There’s a porch swing out there. You need to read it to understand everything.”
I rose from the seat. I didn’t look back at Styx or Mae, desperately needing to read my mother’s words. I wanted to know who I was . . . I simply wanted to know her.
Lucy Sinclair.
Sitting on the porch swing, my hands unsteady as I turned the page and began. With every passing minute, a hole caved in my heart. With every sentence about being pregnant with me, the name she had given me, how she had held me close every night, alone in a home owned by Sanchez, rocking me to sleep . . . with my mother’s love for Styx . . . River, her son who she cherished so much. I fought to breathe. I fought past the devastation of what someone so young, so kind-hearted, went through at the mercy of cruel men. When all she ever wanted was a family. Her babies. All she ever wanted was to be loved and to love with her whole heart.
My daughter . . . my Sofia . . .
I’d been named Sofia.
I paused at the beginning of the next section. Because I knew this was it. When she discovered where I had gone. Who had betrayed her.
He has given her away. He has given her to a man named Alfonso Quintana. My baby . . . my Sofia . . . has been taken to Mexico. Where abouts? I do not know.
Tears flooded my face, and I had to repeatedly wipe my eyes so I could read.
He said he loved me. Said he was going to lose his club if he didn’t give her up. He said we could have another baby in her place, to heal my broken heart. Does he not understand that he has given away my heart?
I don’t know how to get her back. I need to get her back. I have to think of something.
Desperation pulsed off the pages. The desperation of a mother who had lost her two children. A woman who had no idea how to get them back.
I have no choice. I can’t stay with Sanchez. Reaper wants information on the Diablos. I can give him that, on the condition he helps me get Sofia.
There was a smudge on the page, and I realized that she had been crying. I ran my finger over the smeared ink. This was my mother’s tears, her pain . . . and I was here. I had returned. I wanted to tell her “Your Sofia has come home,” but she would never know . . .
I’ll give Reaper information on the Diablos, provided he promises to help me with Sofia, and lets me take River. I’ll take them far away from this
life. I’ll take them to the countryside, buy a small farm, where it is just them and me, and nothing but happiness and love. My son, and my daughter. No pain or people who want to hurt them.
My dream come true.
My greatest wish in life.
I turned the next page, but there were only empty pages. I flicked and flicked through them hoping for more, but there were none. Closing the journal, I held it to my chest and let the tears fall.
My mother’s dream had not come true; instead it was shattered. She never got her wish. She never got her small country farmhouse for me and Styx. She never got any of it. I held the journal to my chest and wept for the woman who was so young to have dealt with such pain. The mother I had always yearned for, but never knew. For the life that could have been . . . peace and smiles and a mother and brother who loved me, and I them.
Someone sat beside me. I lifted my head to see it was Styx. He was sitting forward, his hands clasped together as he stared out over the forest surrounding his home.
“He never helped her, did he?” I whispered, referring to his father. Styx shook his head. “He killed her when she returned?” I saw pain flash across Styx’s face . . . but he nodded. “Did . . .” I sucked in a breath. “Did she suffer?” The muscle in Styx’s jaw twitched, then I saw a single tear fall from his eye and travel down his dark, stubbled cheek. His face never moved. There was no indication he was even crying, breaking . . . but for that single telling tear.
That single tear shattered me.
That fallen tear came from the little boy who saw his mama die. It divulged the racking pain Styx lived with every day.
Reaching across to him, I covered his hand that rested on his knee with my own. He tensed at first, but then let it be. I hoped that somewhere, wherever she was, that our mama was looking down at us and smiling. Finally, her children had found each other.
“It would have been good,” I whispered, staring out at the forest. “The life she wanted for us.” I smiled, imagining the idyllic scene in my head. Of the three of us at the small farm, running in the fields, laughing and free. I squeezed Styx’s hand. “The farm. Us all together.” I looked up at his face. His skin was red, and he held such sadness and pain in his hazel eyes I couldn’t bear it. “You and me. Brother and sister.” I sighed. “It would have been lovely.” I thought of the cards we both had been dealt instead. Styx, under a father who hurt him; and me, with a father who kept me imprisoned, and wasn’t even my father at all.
