“It’s bullshit, and you know it.” Everest crossed his arms. “If I’ve learned anything about Merrick, it’s that he would never stifle someone’s decisions. If he were that type of guy, he’d never survive Kenna.”
* * *
I dragged ass into the clubhouse the next night after working all day in the Texas heat as security at an outdoor concert, keeping drunk chicks in white cowboy boots away from the lead singer. I sat at the bar, nursing a beer, while Leah complained about another missing bottle of liquor.
“I’m going to figure out how to rig an electric fence back here,” Leah said to no one in particular. “Or maybe I’ll pour cheap whiskey into an empty bottle of Woodford as a decoy.”
Reaper typed away on his iPad as he reviewed a set of blueprints on the bar. He glanced up and smirked. “Thane would know. If you gave him cheap whiskey, he’d dock your pay.”
She ran her fingers through her hot-pink hair. “Thane might be president, but Jack’s the treasurer. He signs my paychecks.”
“Nepotism at its best,” I commented.
Rev approached and rapped his fist on the bar. “Anyone know who the fuck Jonah is? We’ve got some girl insisting that there’s a Jonah here.”
“There’s no club brother named Jonah,” Leah said, wiping the bar with a towel.
I froze, mid-sip. “Fuck,” I muttered. “My name’s Jonah.”
Leah's brows shot up. “Your real name’s Jonah?”
I huffed a laugh. “You didn’t think my real name was Hatchet, did you?”
She grinned. “Yeah, I kind of did. It fits.”
I glanced at Rev. “Did she give you a name?”
“Jessa.”
I scrubbed my beard. The name didn’t ring a bell. “What’d she look like?”
“Young. Likereallyyoung. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Kind of looks like you, now that I think about it.”
“Maybe you have a kid,” Leah threw out.
I grimaced. Not helpful. Not possible. Well, OK, technically possible. But unlikely. And I hoped the fuck not. I guzzled the rest of my beer and walked outside to see a lanky hurricane of a teenage girl with long hair arguing with Coast, attempting to bulldoze past him to get into the clubhouse.
“Can I help you?” I asked pointedly.
Her gaze snapped to me, and she put her hands on her hips. “Are you Jonah?”
“Legally, yeah. And you are?”
She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “I’m Jessa. Your sister.”
The words hit like a baseball bat to the ribs. I took a sharp breath.My fucking what?
Coast let out a low whistle and patted me on the shoulder as he walked past, heading back into the clubhouse. “Good luck with that.”
I blinked at her. “What do you mean you’re my sister?”
“Are you dumb?” she snapped. “We share a mother. That makes me”—she pointed at her chest—“your sister.”
My jaw tensed. “Well, I’ve never known my mother. And I don’t know you. How do you really know that we share the same DNA?”
“Google,” she explained. “I found your name in a newspaper article about a self-defense class you taught for the club.”
My gut tightened at the memory of that debacle. My life was just one fuck-up after another.
