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when my
eyes stopped and opened wide on a photo of Cal with a wide grin and his arm
draped around none other than my father. I sucked in an audible breath and
swallowed hard. It must have been taken at least ten years ago, if not longer,
and my eyes filled with involuntary tears at seeing the warm smile on my
father’s face. My fingers drifted to the frame as I tried desperately to get a
handle on my emotions. Both men wore their respective club patches proudly on
their jackets as they grinned at the camera. The “Sinners” club patch adorned
on my father’s jacket was one of the most familiar images from my youth. My
father loved that club and he raised me to love it, too. It was the only family
I’d ever known. The club believed in community and brotherhood, until all that
changed.
    “You’re Ray Malone’s girl aren’t you?”
Cal’s gruff voice asked from behind me, sending me whirling around in shock. I
hadn’t even heard him come in.
    I couldn’t seem to get any words
around the lump in my throat as Cole came up behind his father and eyed my
tearful expression with surprise.
    “I’d know those green eyes anywhere,”
Cal continued, smiling fondly as I stood rooted to the spot unable to speak. “I
met you when you were just a little thing, I’m sure you don’t remember. Your daddy
was so proud of you. Called you his Scarlet Rose,” he remembered fondly,
sending the tears that filled my eyes spilling down over my cheeks. I wiped
them away as quickly as I could.
    “How did you know him?” I finally
managed.
    “Our clubs supported each other from
across state lines. Whenever we had business in California we’d stay at your dad’s
club and vice versa,” he explained.
    It wasn’t uncommon for clubs to be
aligned from such a distance, but it explained why Cal wasn’t immediately
familiar. I’d probably met him very few times during my childhood.
    “Over the years we became like family,
your father and I. We were a lot alike. Both single fathers. You and Cole
played together once or twice when you were little,” he explained, and I looked
over at Cole whose surprised expression matched mine.
    “Never thought the world could be
quite this small,” I muttered.
    “Damn shame about your daddy, honey,”
he continued. “He was a good man and that club went to shit without him,” he
muttered angrily.
    The circumstances surrounding my
father’s death were still somewhat of a mystery. He lost control of his bike on
his way back from a visit with a neighboring club. He collided with an oncoming
car and died on impact. Upon closer inspection, Henry, my father’s right hand,
had discovered that the brakes had been tampered with. Anyone close to the
situation knew that Jake had somehow been involved, but they couldn’t prove it.
    Jacob and I had grown up together in
the club. We’d been best friends since toddlerhood, often driving my parents
crazy with our antics. When my mother died of cancer, Jake was a source of
unfailing strength for me. He seemed to know just how to get me through those
terribly dark days. Years later we became a couple, though I never felt
passionately about him. I gave him my virginity and my love, but I was never in
love with him.
    Then, Jake started to change. He
became brooding and removed. His attitude toward me became commanding and
aggressive. He was set on having a position of power within the club, but my father
didn’t like his leadership style, or lack thereof. Jake used force and
intimidation to get what he wanted. The men didn’t respect him or want to
follow him, which served to drive him deeper into anger.
    I broke it off with him and I tried my
best to stay as far away from him as possible, until he drove me to leave altogether.
Even though I had witnessed truly cruel behavior from Jake, and had been a
victim of it myself, I still had trouble grappling with the fact that he could
have taken my father’s life. And though there were times that he had made me
fear