“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.