Teller
The truth is a painful weapon.It burns, cuts deep, and can scar you for life. Eventually pain fades, blood washes away, but the truth remains. Dirty, savage, mocking truth you can’t escape.
Blood never lies.
Thank fuck I’m not the father of Inga’s kid. None of my brothers are. Best news we’ve gotten since the porn star who used to dance at our strip club—and bang our president from time to time—decided to sue almost all of my MC brothers to determine the paternity of her son.
DNA doesn’t lie.
It’s been a tense couple of weeks while we waited for the results. One where I enjoyed needling Rock a little too much about how he’s responsible for bringing this fuckery into our lives.
I pull out my phone and send Charlotte a quick text.
Me: Not the father of the porn star’s baby. None of us are.
I stand and push in my chair, ready to celebrate.
“Teller, can you stay for a minute?” Hope’s soft voice is a mix of urgency and sadness. This lawsuit was the last thing she needed to deal with while she’s pregnant. Last thing Rock needed when all he seems to want to do is hover around his wife. Talk about a helicopter parent. He’s a helicopter husband. Hell help their poor kid. These two first-time parents probably won’t let their baby out of their sight.
Murphy claps my shoulder and leaves the war room. I drop back into my seat, curious but not alarmed that Hope asked me to stick around. Maybe she wants to talk to me about planning Heidi’s wedding or something.
Hope winces and Rock jumps to his feet, guiding her into Wrath’s chair.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I’m fine.” She squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep breath. “The lab discovered something else. I, uh, don’t understand the why of it, but they tested the samples against each other… Gosh, I don’t even know—”
Cold fear stabs through my stomach. “What, Hope? Are we sick or something? You’re freaking me out.”
Rock reaches over and grabs my hand. To shut me up? Or reassure me that everything will be okay?
Tears rain down Hope’s cheeks. Pregnant or not, she’s not prone to crying around us. Not even when Wrath used to get his jollies off trying to terrorize her away from the club. Today, she’s shaking and taking deep sips of air.
“There was a match,” she finally says.
“Who? Are we related to someone famous or something?” What kind of testing facility did she send us to? They were only supposed to take samples to match to Inga’s kid. Did they put us in some national database? Shit, did those tests link us to a past crime or something?
Rock slowly turns and stares at me. Is he running down the long list of club enemies we’ve disposed of over the years too? We’re always so careful getting rid of the bodies.
“Rock?” Hope’s strained voice twists my heart. I’ll take the fall for whatever they want to pin on my president. He can’t be in jail when he has his first kid coming in a few months.
“They matched. You two. Teller’s your…Teller’s your son.”
“What the fuck?” I jump out of my chair so fast, I lose my balance, crashing into the wall behind me. “What are you talking about, Hope? That’s not even possible. That’s crazy.”
Being matched to a past crime is more plausible than Rock being my father.
Rock sits there, staring into space. A complete non-reaction. Like Hope just announced she was going to take a nap instead of blowing up our entire lives.
“Are they sure?” he asks in a dazed tone.
“They tested it a few times…” Her quivering voice is a mix of misery and embarrassment. She shouldn’t be the one delivering this news. Some doctor in a lab coat who has no connection to us should be telling us this. So I could grab him by the throat to choke off this outrageous lie. “Because of the age difference, they tested it a few times.”
“Rock, that’s insane,” I protest. For fuck’s sake, he’s barely twelve years older than me. “That can’t be right.” I wait a beat, searching for some sort of response. Anything at all. But Rock’s useless, lost chasing his own internal demons. I turn toward Hope. “How is that possible?”
She struggles to get out of her chair and rounds the table, approaching me slowly.
“How?” I ask again.