“It wasn’t his fault, cousin,” Romeo said as he sat down.
“Then whose fault was it?”
“Her mother’s,” I growled.
“Bullshit. Scarlett loved that girl more than her own life,” Gator argued.
“I don’t doubt that. But something spooked her,” I conceded.
It was the only logical answer. I had a feeling I knew what, or more precisely, who it was. How he found out about them, and why he never used it against me, I’d never know because the son of a bitch was dead. But George Stone must have come for them.
“What?”
I looked up and found the rest of the Bourbon Kings gathered around. Worm stared at me, waiting for an answer.
“I assume George Stone found them.”
“But you don’t know?” Juju asked.
I shook my head and stared at the cup in my hands. “And I never will. Scarlett is gone, and she never told Grace the truth.”
“Maybe this will help.”
A book slammed down on the bar in front of me. The sound echoed through the room. I looked up at Gator, a silent question I couldn’t quite bring myself to ask.
“Before Scarlett died, she spoke to me in private. Asked me to take care of Grace. Told me her father would come looking for her one day, and I should give him this.”
His hand lay on the leather-bound book. I stared at it warily. I knew Christina loved to write in journals. I’d seen her do it in bed, at the kitchen table after breakfast. She’d recorded every aspect of her pregnancy with Grace.
“Why not give it to Grace?”
“Scarlett said not to. Said there were answers in here that Gracie wasn’t ready for.”
I glared at the Bourbon Kings’ president, my eyes filled with fury.
“And you fucking believed her?”
“Had no reason not to.” Gator shrugged. “And if you tell Gracie I had this, I’ll fucking deny it.”
Gator and the others walked away, leaving me alone to stare at the journal. I set the coffee cup to the side andhesitantly reached for the book as if it were a snake ready to strike.
I picked up the journal, running my thumb over the worn leather cover, and considered unwrapping the black ribbon that was wound around the pages—pages that might hold the answers to the questions I’d been asking every day for fifteen fucking years.
Answers I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear. Revelations I wasn’t ready to accept.
Instead, I slid it into the inside pocket of my jacket. So much of the past had been coming back to bite us all in the ass. I was no longer sure that I wanted to know what had happened.
I’d finally found my daughter; she’d made room in her life for me, and in less than a year I’d be a grandfather. Maybe some secrets should stay buried.
Maybe the truth didn’t always set us free.
CHAPTER ONE
Trudy
April 2026, present day...
The bell over the door jingled, and I tried not to notice how quickly the air shifted. How the tension in the room tightened, and my lungs struggled to take in air.
