Page 89 of Sterling Clay

“Biologically, he’s mine.” Darren continues as if Dutton isn’t present. Little ears with big listening power.

“And in every other way, he’s mine. Cecelia wanted it that way.”

“Don’t mention her,” he growls.

“Don’t you,” I warn.

He dropped my sister like she was some sweet butt, a woman hanging around the club easily offering up sexual favors in hopes of a higher status within the club ranks. But Cecelia was better than that, and I never understood what she saw in Darren in the first place to make her start sleeping with him. Or how he thought he was worthy of my sister.

“I could take you to court.”

This is one of my biggest fears, as Darren does have paternal rights, even if the birth certificate is blank in the box that reads Father’s Name. However, I can’t imagine a court in America that would give rights to an absentee father who has had no recorded address for six years. I doubt he’s employed. And I don’t care. I also know Darren has lived a lifestyle that prides itself on living outside the law. He won’t take legal action, but he could try to kidnap Dutton and disappear on me.

“What would you do with him?” I sneer at the flat burger bun dripping with sauces that Dutton hasn’t touched. “What’s his favorite meal? His favorite book? His favorite shirt?”

“He wouldn’t be wearing no damn girl sweatshirt, that’s for sure.” Darren nods at the one Dutton wears.

I tug Dutton into my side. Everything in me wants to shut this conversation down, while I’d love nothing more than to continue defending Dutton . . . just not in his presence.

“He is who he is,” I snap. “You accept him as such, or never see him again.” Just like he hasn’t seen him in six years. “What do you really want, Darren?”

Because I don’t think it’s his son or the right to claim who is biologically his.

“I want back in the club.”

Ah, there it is. I lean back in the chair and run my hand up Dutton’s little back.

Going rogue can be dangerous for a member. Going rogue is also rough when the club is all you’ve known. They are family and friends, camaraderie and competition. Being a member is everything to some.

Not me. I’d wanted out, and being a woman, I wasn’t ever officially in.

“You want me to call Dad.” It isn’t a question.

“I want to explain myself.”

“Explain it to me.” Darren isn’t getting anywhere near a conversation with my father if he can’t tell me first what he wants to say. Daddy won’t give him a breath of a chance, especially if he knows Darren has Dutton and me held as hostages. And if I can’t help Darren get what he wants, so I get what I want, which is no contact with him ever again, we’re at a stalemate. Or worse.

Darren might be a coldhearted man, but I’d like to hope he doesn’t have the emotional strength to harm his kid. As for me, I’m another story.

Darren and I stare at one another, eyes narrowed, neither willing to look away.

“Not in front of the kid.”

“And what do you suggest I do with him?” I’m not letting Dutton out of my sight.

Darren shrugs. “What do you do when you need a minute?”

I might let him watch television as a distraction, a guilty form of babysitting. Or I could stick him in the tub, the running water drowning out a conversation. Turning to Dutton, I swipe a hand through his hair. He looks tired, and I know he’s still hungry. Maybe a bath will distract him.

“How about a bath, buddy?”

He looks up at me. “Are we spending the night here?”

I glance at Darren. “I hope not.”

Darren simply shakes his head. He doesn’t have an answer. Hasn’t made up his mind.

“Let’s give you a bath for now.” Gently, I nudge him off our shared seat and guide him to the bathroom. While the water runs, Dutton steps into the tub, swiping his hands underneath the stream coming from the faucet. I check out his thin neck again, angry once more that Darren didn’t stop at a pharmacy for ointment or pain meds.