Page 10 of Sinner's Storm

Instantly, her body relaxed.

“If you move, tonight ends. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then let’s have some fun.”

“Jesus fuck, Storm.” Fury laughed, taking a seat next to me at the bar as I watched Malice drag Stephanie kicking and screaming from the clubhouse. “How in the hell do you keep finding the fucking crazies?”

“You’re one to talk,” I huffed out, turning to the shot of whiskey Silver slid toward me. “The last piece you had damn near ripped your dick off.”

Fury chuckled. “Lana was feisty.”

“She was fucking psycho.”

“But an animal in the sack.”

“One of these days, someone’s going to neuter you.”

Fury laughed loudly. “Not fucking likely. I’m gonna die a bachelor. Besides, I don’t need a woman. Got my perfect, beautiful girls, my brothers, and all the bitches in the world. My life is perfect.”

Whatever.

Getting up, I headed upstairs. Too damn tired to head to my penthouse. As a board member, I got a bedroom at the clubhouse. Mine for life. While I still had a place in the city, I preferred staying at the clubhouse. Convenience was a wonderful thing.

Chapter Three

Delany

“Momma tired.”

“Yeah, baby, I am,” I said with a yawn, my arms wrapped tightly around my daughter, as we patiently waited for the nurse to call her name. It was definitely not my preference to be in the emergency room at such an early hour. However, the sudden increase in my daughter’s temperature to 104 degrees left me with no other option.

There was an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I refused to leave until someone could uncover what was bothering my baby. Since the day Harlow was born, frequent illnesses plagued my daughter. Everything from ear infections to pneumonia. Hospitalized three times already in her short life, I couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t give a damn about what her pediatrician said. No child was prone to constant sickness.

I wanted answers.

Now.

“Harlow Campbell.”

Gathering my daughter close, I stood, reaching for her bag and my purse as I followed the triage nurse to a cubical. Placing Harlow on the bed, I reached into her bag, looking for her favorite toy. A biker teddy bear. I don’t know why I bought it, but when I saw it in the store, I thought she needed something that resembled her dad.

Whoever he was.

“And what brings Harlow into the emergency room tonight?” The nurse smiled at my daughter as she pressed a thermometer across her forehead. Only to frown when she saw the temp.

“Her fever spiked to 104. She still has a runny nose, and now there is a rattle in her chest when she tries to breathe. I brought the antibiotics her pediatrician gave her. They are not working. She is getting worse.”

The nurse nodded, listening as I explained while she hooked up my daughter to a heart monitor, before placing the oxygen tube under her nose to help her breathe better.

Once she did her standard tests and got my daughter comfortable, the nurse left, telling me the doctor would be with us momentarily.

I should have known that was a lie, because five hours later, I was hanging on by a thread. In the time we’d been there, my daughter’s temp spiked three times to 105, forcing the nurse to administer more antibiotics, and when Harlow started vomiting, everything went downhill from there.

My daughter was crying, wanting to go home, and I didn’t blame her.

Out of patience, I flipped the curtain back and yelled, “Does anyone fucking care that my two-year-old is sick?”