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“You are not my father.” Her eyes flickered over him with something approaching humor. “I would have had to kill myself.”
“Then how is Bliss your sister?” Natches growled. “Kid, you need to take this act somewhere else, fast.”
Angel didn’t answer, but Tracker and Grog both moved closer to her as she stared back at Chaya, eye-to-eye. The silence was deafening now.
The same arch of brow, the same curve of lips. Darken her hair, or was hers lightened? Son of a bitch. Rowdy almost stepped back as his eyes narrowed at the roots of the blond strands. Just the smallest hint that the blond wasn’t entirely natural.
There had been something familiar about her. Something that didn’t make sense. But this was unbelievable.
“That’s not possible,” Natches stated in that voice that made Rowdy worry that Trudy was going to come out and play. “Chaya has no other children. Just Bliss.”
But Chaya wasn’t speaking. She was barely breathing. Her gaze was going over the other woman’s face and if Rowdy wasn’t mistaken, she was trembling.
“Is Bliss your only child, Mrs. Mackay?” Angel asked and for a moment Rowdy glimpsed fear in the woman. Angel was renowned for her lack of fear. She would, and had more than once, charged through flames, a flood, and it was rumored, a category five hurricane to follow Tracker and Grog.
Chaya still hadn’t spoken. Her gaze kept going over Angel’s face as though searching, desperation and agony reflecting in her eyes.
“Stop this,” Natches snarled. “Get her the fuck out of here, Tracker.”
Angel swallowed tightly and Rowdy realized the girl was holding on to the icy façade she placed between her and the world with the thinnest thread.
“Angel.” Tracker said her name softly, gently, his hand tightening on her upper arm. “Let’s go darlin’.”
Angel stared into Chaya’s eyes, the fractured blue of her own eyes appearing more like a shattered sapphire than before.
“Is he your lover?” Chaya’s voice caused Rowdy to flinch. Hoarse, filled with such pain that for a moment Rowdy’s gaze flashed murderously as it caught and held Tracker’s.
“No, ma’am,” Angel answered, that unfailing politeness never cracking.
“Angel . . .”
The younger woman’s breath seemed to hitch, and if Rowdy wasn’t mistaken, her lips nearly trembled. “I’m so sorry I’ve upset you and your family,” she said then, her tone so unfailingly polite and sincere Rowdy felt his throat tighten. “I promise, I won’t bother you anymore. I’m ready.” Reaching around with her ot
her hand she patted Tracker’s fingers gently as they lay on her upper arm. “I guess we’re heading out after all.”
No one stopped her.
Rowdy watched Chaya, the paleness of her skin, the agony in her brown eyes as she watched the young woman leave. In Natches’s eyes there was pure, demonic wrath. If Rowdy didn’t stop him, he’d go after the girl. What really scared Rowdy was the fear he’d find that damned gun he’d named Trudy.
Outside, the sound of the powerful motorcycles revving caused a brutal flinch to jerk Chaya against her husband. Tearing out of his arms she raced from the office, a harsh sound of pain escaping her throat as the sound of a cycle racing through the parking lot to the exit echoed through the room.
Chaya stopped at the door, her fingers tight on the wood, her breathing rough, loud.
“She’s lying,” Chaya whispered, tears roughening her voice as Natches pulled her into his arms again, holding her to his heart as her fingers clenched in the material of his shirt. “She’s lying . . .” she whispered again.
Rowdy met Natches’s tormented gaze and in them he saw the suspicion that Angel wasn’t lying.
“She’s lying . . . That’s not my baby. Oh God, that’s not my Beth . . .”
If Rowdy wasn’t mistaken, even Chaya wasn’t convinced.
