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Bishop moved faster than I did, the chair he was sitting on toppled backward as he practically leaped to his feet and stormed toward the door. Cain stepped back just in time to avoid being run down by our club president.
“Goddammit,” I cursed under my breath, getting to my feet and storming after him.
“I want to see Taylor,” a voice boomed across the clubhouse lot as I hurried toward the gates.
“I warned you to stay the fuck away,” Bishop roared, reaching through the bars of the gate and grabbing a fistful of my father’s blue button-up and yanking him forward, slamming his body against the steel.
My father struggled against Bishop’s tight grip, coughing and fighting to catch his breath.
“Bishop,” I said, placing my hand on my uncle’s shoulder.
It wasn’t that I wanted to speak to this man, but I knew it wasn’t a coincidence that he was there just days after my sister was snatched off the street and my woman was beaten. And I needed to hear what my father had to say about it so I could decide my next move.
“Bishop.” I tried again.
For a couple of seconds, he didn’t move, not a single twitch or sign he was about to give up on his endeavor to dismember his own brother by dragging his body through a four-inch space.
Could I blame him?No.
He grew up in The Valley, just like my father did. Same family, upbringing, and teachings. But just like me, he saw the cracks in the façade and the way the darkness peeked through their religious ramblings. Maybe it was only visible to sinners. Those of us who were born to see the world in more than just black and white.
We saw the gray.
The shadows.
That was where our souls felt at home.
Not the good guys, but not the bad, either. We were willing to do what we had to while protecting the people we loved, the people we considered our family.
My father walked me into the church that day, knowing that Prophet Andrew was planning to make an example out of me. He was going to let the entire Valley watch as the venom from those snakes seeped into my skin, into my veins, poisoning my blood system and killing me.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Like fucking torture.
My own fatherwas willing to let me die that day because his beliefs told him that was the right thing, and if he had spoken up, he would have gone down with me. He chose his salvation over my life.
That was the kind of man he was.
The kind of father he was.
Which was why I had no fucking time for whatever the hell he was there for.
Bishop finally released him with a shove, sending him stumbling back onto the sidewalk outside the front gates. Cain tapped in the code to the gate from our side, the tall steel bars slowly slid aside as my father adjusted his shirt, pulling at the cuffs and tucking any loose pieces back into the waistband of his khakis.
I hadn’t seen him since the day Bishop rescued me.
He looked so much older and weathered, gray hair streaked through his slicked-back style, and heavy frown lines were etched deep into his forehead. There were few times I remembered seeing him smile, at me at least. He looked at Grace and my other siblings like they were the light of his life. The way they sang The Valley hymns and repeated scriptures made him proud.
I was the odd one out.
The dark cloud that kept him from having that perfect, obedient family.
“Say your piece,” I told him, folding my arms across my chest and lifting my chin. “Before I say mine, which is bound to include a few words you’re not going to like.”
He straightened his back and squared his shoulders, attempting to make himself look a little taller and match my stance, though I could tell he was shaken. “I need to know what you have done, what you said to her.” The sound of his voice and the proper way he spoke felt like someone sliding a knife into my chest and twisting it ever so damn slowly.
