Page 90 of Sterling Clay

Leaving the door slightly ajar so I can see Dutton in the tub, I step back into the bedroom area, leaning against the door jamb, and purse my lips while looking at Darren.

Hoping the water drowns out Darren’s story, I tip up my chin. “So speak.”

Darren moves to the edge of the bed, eyes fixed in the direction of the bathroom where I’ve closed the door as a shield from Darren but can still see Dutton myself. I’m working double time here, watching Dutton out of the corner of my eye while keeping my sights on Darren.

“I loved her,” Darren states.

A fire rushes up my belly. “You had a funny way of showing it.”

“Denying I did was my way to prove it. I had to protect her.”

I glare at him. How dare he think denying his kid and pushing my sister to the side was protecting her?

“If I’d claimed her, she’d have been marked.” He swallows hard, hands clasping together between his spread thighs. “But not claiming her damned her anyway.”

He blinks rapidly before clearing his throat. I don’t offer him any sympathy. I’d been there when my sister found out she was pregnant and there for the aftermath of Darren’s rejection. I was there as she held her son for the first time, and there when my sister was discovered, her last breath gone.

“I thought I was doing right by her.”

“Save it,” I snap. “You broke her heart.” Thankfully, not her spirit, though. My sister was a vibrant force which I imagine might have caused Darren’s attraction to her. Not that Cecilia wasn’t also beautiful in body and mind, but her energy was contagious.

“It broke mine as well,” he admits. The large man before me, a wall of strength and pride, looks ready to crumble. “And I hate myself every day for what I did to her. What happened to her.”

“You killed her.”

“I didn’t.” He sits up straighter.

While he hadn’t been the one to pull the trigger, my sister was dead because of him. Someone had it out for him and took my sister out as a warning.

I check on Dutton, my eyes filling with tears at his loss. My loss. He’ll never know what he’s missing, and many days I consider myself a poor substitute. But we are all each other has, and I’ve come to terms with that.

Me and Dutton . . . and Clay.

I close my eyes, once more thinking about him, and how he must be going mad. I hope he understands I didn’t leave by choice. I’m hoping someone found my car in the ditch, and he found my phone at his house. I’m praying he takes each clue as a sign that I’d never willingly let him go, unless the decision was made for me.

“What does this have to do with Dad or the club?”

“I want a meeting. I want to explain.”

I turn my gaze toward him again. “And you’re holding us hostage?”

“Collateral.”

“What if Dad refuses?”

“I have faith he won’t.”

I equally hope that’s the case.

“I don’t have my phone.” Surely, Darren’s noticed by now, especially as he didn’t give me time to gather my things.

His brow arches, but he sits up straighter. “You can use mine.”

I’m afraid Dad won’t recognize the number. Or he will. Or it’s blocked. But I’m willing to try anything.

I step into the bathroom and turn off the water, allowing Dutton to simply soak and play with a thin washcloth and a plastic drinking cup that had been wrapped in a protective cellophane cover near the sink.

Stepping out of the bathroom, but still keeping my eyes on Dutton, I hold out my hand. Darren sets his phone on my palm but pauses, keeping his fingers on the device.