Page 50 of Filthy Secret

ATOMIC

I’m angrier than I should probably be, or maybe I’m not. I don’t really know. Riding to the clubhouse, I decide I’m going to spend the day working. I have some serious shit to handle with the warehouse pickups and deliveries. I also need to find that goddamn pimp and that fucking sister of Ryan’s.

Plus, I have to talk to King about this strip club, although I’m pretty sure it’s a good idea. As long as they can run it on their own without bringing me any shit to deal with. And I trust Nash as much as I did my own father. He will take care of his shit. He handled this club for decades. He’s a good man, a better leader.

When I walk into the clubhouse, I ignore the two whores who are going at it in the middle of the bar at ten o’clock in the fucking morning while two of the guys sit in chairs watching them. Holy fuck.

“It’s Guts’s birthday,” Rim calls out from one of the chairs.

Guts lifts his hand in a wave, no doubt unable to tear his eyes away from one whore licking the other’s cunt.

“Party tonight for your birthday,” I shout as I walk down the hall and toward my office.

If that fucker will be able to walk later. I have no doubt that he’s going to be fucked up the whole day and passed out before dinner. I unlock my office, slip inside, and flip the switch on before I walk over to my desk.

Sinking down in my chair, I let out a sigh as I lean back and stare at the ceiling for a moment. I’m not sure what the fuck I’m going to do. I want to throttle Ryan. I want to punish her, but at the same time, I get it, and I want to fuck her.

The door opens and closes. I straighten and watch as King walks toward the chair across from me and flops down.

“Party tonight for Guts’s birthday,” I state before we get started talking about club business.

“Nice. We’ll be here. I’ll send Shawn a text. Tell her to pack up some desserts.”

I let out a chuckle. “Don’t expect him to be coherent enough to blow out the candles. He’s already getting started with the celebrating,” I say.

King jerks his chin as his fingers fly across his phone, no doubt texting his baker wife to bring some amazing-as-fuck cakes and cookies of some kind. I won’t turn them down, so I don’t tell him not to do it.

“Adam is mine,” I state.

King’s gaze flicks up to meet mine. I watch as he places his phone on his knee, but his gaze doesn’t leave me. “You thought he wasn’t?” he asks.

“Ryan told me he wasn’t. Said he was a Nomad King’s kid, but that she raised him alone.”

King clears his throat, his lips curving up to a grin. “Brother,” he murmurs,

“What?” I ask.

“She named him Adam. Your road name is Atomic, the only name that she knew you by then. She knew he was yours. I can’t believe you believed that shit.”

I can’t either. He’s right. Plus, Adam does look like me, even if it took Nash to point it out, which I fucking hate. I knew it, though. From the moment I laid eyes on him, I knew he was mine. I might have fucked around on Ryan a lot, but she never did.

But it was easier for me to believe the betrayal than it was the truth. Because the truth meant that she didn’t want me around my own fucking kid. That she thought it would be better to struggle than for me to be part of his life.

“This whole thing has me fucked up,” I admit. “I wasn’t a teenager when she had him. He was only born five years ago, and then to fucking lie to my face about this shit.”

King is quiet for a moment, but I know he has an opinion on the whole scenario. “Atomic,” he says, his voice low, and I know he’s going to say something that I may not like.

“Honest to fuck. If you say that I wasn’t ready for a kid, I’m going to beat the shit out of you. I was thirty-seven when he was born. I wasn’t a fucking teenager. She fucking lied to me. To my goddamn face, after taking fifty grand of my money and running off with our rival club.”

He nods his head to each point I make, his eyes searching mine as he does. Then he clears his throat and places his forearms on his thighs as he leans over. He’s going to give me some real talk. I’m just not sure if it’s what I want to hear or that I’ll agree with any of it.

“You need to talk to her about this, but my guess is that she’s had a lot of demons inside of her from her parents and her fucking sister that caused her irrational decision-making.”

“My fucking kid,” I grind out. “The rest doesn’t mean dick, only my fucking kid.”

“Talk. To. Her.”

Throwing my hands in the air, I spin around in my chair, facing the wall and seeing nothing. I’m not sure what the fuck I think about any of this. What I want to say, what I need to say. All I know is that I missed five years of my kid’s life, and I’m fucking pissed off about it and growing angrier as every minute passes.