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My mom was killed. By bikers. Now I had to visit dad, who didn't want me. He-ll, he was the President of the Iron Predators MC. A fu-cking biker gang! "Sharon Lawrence." Blade—my father—fixed his eyes on me, a distant, vacant look in them. I knew exactly why: I had my mom's face, almost identical. "Why didn't she come here herself?" "Because she's dead, you fu-cking as-shole!" I choke out, the words practically a scream. "None of your business. My mom wrote a letter to you, and I'm here to give it to you. Don't worry, I don't want anything from you, and you can just pretend that I wasn't even here." I put the letter on the table, then turn on my heels and quickly run out of there. "Stop. April, stop!" His yell rang out behind me. "Kane. Follow her—keep her safe!" The next second, I crashed hard into a chest as solid as stone. Kane! He was a lot larger than any other biker I'd seen. He was got a well-groomed beard and a lot of tattoos and muscles. No question, the brute of brutes. Before I can react, Kane leaned his head down, grabbed my thighs and threw me over his shoulder. "Aaah! What the he-ll are you doing?" I scream at him while he walks out of the room. "Let me go, you fu-cking ape!" "Listen," he said sternly. Then a slap on my as-s. "Don't try to run. Because me—you can't prank." —— "Ever heard of overtraining syndrome?" the young guy behind the desk at the gym asks when I'm about to run back home. I've been running here and working out for two and a half hours for the third day in a row. "Ever heard of 'shut the fu-ck up and mind your own fu-cking business' syndrome?" I snap at him, making him lean back in his chair with his hands in the air. "Jeez!" I push the door open, fix my ponytail that's gotten a little loose, then start my 30-minute run home. I don't even want to go home. I hate that house. I'm glad that it's sold, but they're not moving in until next week, and I have to decide where I'm gonna live before leaving. Isn't that something you do before you decide to sell your home, you think. Well, fu-ck you and mind your own godda-mn business. I've got my reasons for selling it as soon as possible...without having the slightest idea of where I'm gonna live from now on. One thing I know is that I'm not going back to college. When I'm home, I take a shower, then grab a frozen meal and put it in the microwave. I eat, then continue to pack stuff in boxes. I've donated everything, both small decorations and furniture, to Goodwill. They'll pick everything up tomorrow. All I'm keeping are my clothes. I don't want anything else. I would rather just leave everything like it is than having to pack it away, because it still hurts, but I'm done crying. I would rather be angry and hate the world right now. It's easier than being sad. I'm up almost all night, packing. I don't get much sleep anyway. The next day, two guys from Goodwill come with a truck and carry everything inside. I kept a mattress, pillow and cover so I have something to sleep on. When they're done and the house is totally empty, I go for a long run. Running and working out is the only thing that keeps me sane. I have all this energy from all the pent-up anger, and if I don't do something to get myself tired, I'm afraid I'll explode. The thing is, I don't seem to get tired no matter how much I run or work out, but it helps...a little. The day after, I decide that it's time for me to leave. I thought that all the things that held memories in this house were worse to have around, but it turns out that being in this house without them, in an empty shell, is even worse. There's nothing left now and I have no reason to stay here any longer. I fold down the backseats in my Volvo V70 and put the mattress, pillow and cover there in case I need to sleep in the car for some nights. I already got the money for the house, so I can rent a place, but I need to know where I'm gonna stay first. I walk up to my bedroom, take my suitcase and the letter that was lying beside my mattress on the floor. I take one last look around, then close the door behind me and drive off. The other letter, I burned after reading it. I just tore off the part with my dad's address on it. That's where I'm going first, to give him his letter. I thought about burning that one too. Why should I give him a letter from mom when he didn't even want me? That's why mom left all those years ago when she found out that she was pregnant. He didn't want me, and that's why I never asked mom about him. Now, she wants me to give him a letter, and since I don't know where to go, I can at least go there first and drop it off. The drive from Virginia to Texas takes two days with only a few small breaks. I stop at night to sleep a few hours in my car. I check my GPS to find this little sh-ithole that I'm going to. It's a tiny town not far from New Mexico, and if I don't find my dad here, I'm sure that someone knows where he is or can give him the letter so I don't have to. It's the kind of town that you can't step your foot into as an outsider without everyone knowing. I decide to sleep in my car one more night before going to the address that was written in the letter. I park in the far corner of a parking lot outside of a diner. There are a few trees around, and the windows in the back are tinted, so I hope no one will notice me sleeping here. I walk into the diner to grab some food before bed, or in this case, mattress in the car. "Hi, what can I get you, darlin'?" a middle-aged, not so fit man asks me. He seems to be having more body hair peeking out of his shirt than on top of his head. He stands behind the register, chewing gum really loudly with his mouth open. He checks me out, and I feel like puking all over him, let him clean up, then puke all over him again. "A burger and fries." "Want a coke or something with that?" "Sure," I say, looking at the menu on the wall beside the counter, trying to soothe my gag reflex. I really hope that he's not the chef too, but by the looks of his stained, greasy shirt, he is. While I'm sitting there eating, I hear the rumble of bikes, and I soon see a whole gang of bikers drive by. Good, they didn't stop. I loathe bikers from the bottom of my heart. They're not what started my dislike for the whole wide world, but they're the ones that really got me hatin', like they say here in Texas. I quickly eat up my burger since Chewbacca behind the register is still ogling me. Perv. I wonder if it's such a good idea to sleep outside the diner in my car, but I don't want to go further into town yet, and my car is at least a little hidden. It's not like I'm gonna sleep that much anyway. I walk to my car, open the trunk, crawl in and close and lock it. It's kind of cozy here. I rather sleep in my car than in a run-down motel room. At least it's clean and I've got my own mattress that doesn't have old dried up semen stains on it. I might rent a room just to get a shower once in a while before I know where I'm going and can get something more permanent. I wake up early the next day, and since I don't want to show myself too much in this town—since I only plan on giving the letter to my dad and drive the he-ll out of here—I guess I have to visit Chewbacca again for breakfast...or at least a coffee to calm my already angry mind. Even if I'm always up early nowadays, I'm not really a morning person. I need coffee, and preferably a long run or a few hours at the gym to be somewhat of a not so pissed off person. But like I told you, I hardly get tired anymore no matter how much I try. I just still have my morning temper...that now is kind of stuck throughout the whole day. Luckily, there's no sight of Chewbacca. A kind-looking, middle-aged woman is standing behind the register. I hope this poor woman isn't married to that man. "Good morning, dear. What can I get you?" she says, smiling. "Just a coffee, black." "You sure that you don't want anything else? You could use some protein." God have mercy and let me not snap at this nice woman. Men are another thing—they can fu-ck the he-ll off, whoever it is—but this nice lady will probably start crying if I let my temper takes the upper hand. "I'm fine, thanks," I say, biting my cheek to not put a curse word in there. "Well, here you go, and let me know if you change your mind," she says, giving me the coffee. I take it 'to go' and drink it in the car. It's a little too early to visit my dad, so I drive to the gas station I saw when I drove here, to fill up the tank. There's a motel on the other side of the road. I might stop there later and take a shower before driving off to wherever the he-ll I'm going next. I decide to wait until around noon before I drive toward the address. There doesn't seem to be many houses around this part of town, mostly trees and fields, but then, I spot a small road down to the left. The GPS says that it's here, but who the he-ll wants to live out here? I slow down and stop before turning in on the road, and I see a big as-s house further down. Is my dad one of those rich pricks? I'm sure that's why he didn't want me. He and mom weren't married, and I'm sure he didn't want a bast-ard. Fu-cking as-shole. I'm starting to get even more pissed at him and consider leaving the letter here on the road and hope he finds it...or I don't give a fu-ck and just drive off. Just then, I hear the rumble of bikes and two bikers come driving and turn in on the road. They stop, and one of them gets off and walks to my car. Fu-ck! Da-mn bikers. He knocks on my window and I roll it down even if I rather tell him to piss off, then drive the he-ll out of here. "What are you doing here, little darlin'?" the big brute asks. "I'm looking for John Carter." He looks over to the other biker, then turns to me again. "What do you want with him?" "Well, apparently, he's my fu-cking father and I have a letter to give him, but since you're here, you can give it to him and I'll be on my way," I say, starting to lose my temper. "John doesn't have a daughter," he says, crossing his arms over his chest, and I'm starting to really lose my temper. "Listen, you prick! My mom wrote me a letter, saying that my dad, whose name is John Carter and lives at this address, is my father. She wanted me to give him this letter. Either you shut your fu-cking mouth and let me in, or you take the godda-mn letter and give it to him. I don't give a fu-ck which one you choose, but rather the latter option so I can be on my way out of this sh-ithole." He smirks at me and motions me to drive down the road. Fu-ck! Couldn't he have chosen the second option. I should've just shoved the godda-mn letter in his hand and sped off. When I drive down to the big as-s house, I see a whole bunch of bikes standing outside. Just fu-cking great. I get out of my car with the letter in my hand, and take a deep breath. The big brute and his scrawny companion get off their bikes and motion me to follow them inside. "Who's the new girl?" another brute, sitting with a half-dressed bimbo on his lap, asks while checking me out. Da-mn creep. "Apparently, she's the Prez daughter," brute no 1 says, grinning like he doesn't believe a word I've said. Well, he can just go fu-ck himself since I would rather not him being my dad either. And why the fu-ck is he called Prez? "I can be your daddy," brute no 2 says, grinning and trying to look se-xy. Barf! The bimbo on his lap crosses her arms over her chest and gives him an evil glare. "And I can be the one who cuts your balls off. Go fu-ck yourself!" I snap at him. "Oooh! Feisty." "What do you expect? She's a redhead," brute no 1 says, wiggling his eyebrows. "For God fu-cking sake! Can you take me to John or not, or am I gonna have to stay here and listen to you perv motherfu-ckers for the rest of the day?" They start to piss me the he-ll off, and I'm thinking about shoving the letter down his throat just to shut him the he-ll up. And why the he-ll is it that just redheads need to be feisty? I've got more auburn hair, just a tiny amount of freckles on my nose, and blue green eyes. Before it all started to go to he-ll in my life, I was actually a really calm, nice girl—too nice—but when life hands you sh-it—a lot of sh-it in a small amount of time—it's hard to be nice anymore. Even the nicest person can snap, and then everyone can just piss the he-ll off, because it's easier that way. Got nothing to do with my fu-cking hair color. "Jesus! You're one little spitfire, ain't ya?" For the love of God. Can I just claw his tongue out...just a little? "Shut up, you fu-cking perv!" "We better get you to him before you get into a fight," brute no 1 chuckles. "He and Kane are up in the Chapel," brute no 2 says. Chapel? If my dad is some kind of high priest in a fu-cked-up biker cult, I'm gonna throw the letter in his face and run the he-ll out of here. I follow brute no 1 up the stairs, then he knocks on a big door and I hear someone say, "Enter." "Prez, I've got a little lady here looking for John Carter. Says she's your daughter." I hear a pen drop on the table, and then brute no 1 opens the door so I can walk inside. At the end of a large oval table is a man in his late 40's with salt and pepper hair and beard. I guess that's my dad since the other one seems to be just a few years older than me. He's a lot larger than the other brutes here. He's the brute of brutes and has a face of stone. If I wasn't pissed all the time and high on adrenaline, he would probably make me pee my panties out of fear. He's got blue eyes, a little longer, dirty blond hair on the top that he seems to run his fingers through a lot, because a strand of hair is now hanging se-xily down on his forehead. He's got a well-groomed beard and a lot of tattoos and muscles. He sits leaned back on his chair with his arms crossed over his chest and his feet crossed up on the table. I turn to my so-called dad, and he's sitting there with his arms crossed over his chest. "Who are you?" he says with a cold tone. "It doesn't matter. My mom wrote a letter to you, and I'm here to give it to you. Don't worry, I don't want anything from you, and you can just pretend that I wasn't even here." I put the letter on the table, turn around and am about to walk out when he speaks again. "What's your mother's name?" I sigh. Shouldn't he know that, or does he have other women he impregnated and dumped? Of course he does. Fu-cking as-shole. "Sharon Lawrence." His eyes go big and he looks at me. I know that I look a lot like my mom. We have the same thick, long hair in the exact same color, but she had almond eyes, and I guess I inherited mine from this man, aka my dad. "Why didn't she come here herself or send the letter to me?" I feel like I'm gonna explode if I don't get out of here soon. "Because she's dead, you fu-cking as-shole!" I yell, then turn on my heels and quickly run out of there. I don't look back or at the fu-cking brutes and bimbos that's filled this big as-s house. They can have their fu-cking who-rehouse to themselves, and I'm actually glad that dad didn't want me and kicked mom out. I quickly get into my car and speed off. God, I'm so fu-cking angry. I'm gonna explode if I don't run, otherwise I'll do something destructive. I drive just right out of town and park my car on a small dirt road that leads into the woods. I get out and scream all my anger out, then start running. I'm like Forrest Gump right now. I feel like I could run through every continent of the world, and even that wouldn't get me tired. I run until the sun starts to set, then decide to turn back the same way to get to my car before it gets dark. I'm all sweaty and need a shower, but I don't care right now. I crawl into the trunk and soon fall asleep. Blade (John Carter) I take the letter in my hand. She's dead. The love of my life, who left me almost 20 years ago, is dead...and I have a fu-cking daughter. When she said her name, I couldn't believe that I didn't see it at first. She's the spitting image of Sharon when she was younger. "Prez," Kane says, looking worriedly at me. Bull is still standing in the doorway, wanting to know what's going on. I just hold up my hand for them to be quiet, then open the letter and start reading it. Hi, John. If you're reading this, I'm afraid that it didn't end up so well for me. Don't worry, though, I had a good life. A calm life without worries or more betrayals. You did me wrong, but I know that you loved me. I never stopped loving you, but I couldn't forgive you. When I found out that I was pregnant, I knew that I had to keep our daughter away for her sake. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you about her, but I can't change that now. If you received this letter, I guess you've met her. Her name is April and she was born the year after I left. She's the sweetest girl, stubborn like me, but nice to everyone. Maybe a little too nice sometimes. April got a letter too. I'm sure that she'll be angry at me after reading it, because I always told her that you didn't want her and kicked me out, just so she would stay away. I know that it was wrong of me, but I had to keep her safe. I didn't want that life for her. I gave her your name and address to go and find you in case she needed protection, and to give you this letter. Even if she doesn't need your protection or want anything to do with you, I beg you to watch over her now when I'm gone. She doesn't have anyone else. Love always, Sharon I put my face in my hands and start crying. I never cry. Kane grabs the letter and starts reading it. I try to compose myself and wipe away my tears. She's fu-cking gone. After all those years, I still loved her. "Bull." "Yes, Prez," he says with a worried expression. "Where did she go?" "I don't know. She just ran out and drove off." "Fu-ck! You need to find her. She's my fu-cking daughter." "You sure about that, Prez?" Kane says. "I know what it says, but it could be fake." "No, she's the spitting image of Sharon, and it's her handwriting. I would recognize it anywhere even after all these years. Did you see her eyes?" "Yeah, I know," he says, leaning back in his chair. She's got my fu-cking eyes, that's for sure. Everything else is from Sharon. Everyone here knows about Sharon. She was my old lady, but I messed up once. I was drunk as he-ll and let one of the Sweet butts give me head, and she walked in on us. Biggest mistake of my life that cost me the love of my life. I knew that I couldn't get her back. When she was set on something, there was no stopping her. She was stubborn and didn't take sh-it from anyone, even me. I never met anyone else after her. There wasn't anyone that could compare to her. Bull reads the letter too. He scoffs and I raise a brow at him. "Sorry, Prez, but her being too nice doesn't really fit the description of what I saw before she came in here. She was cursing like a sailor and was fu-cking pissed as he-ll. She was about to cut Knuckles balls off for hitting on her. I had to take her upstairs before she started a fight." I rub my face with my hands. "Call Church." "Yes, Prez." Bull steps outside the Chapel and yells, "Church, now!" I know that everyone is here right now, and I need to handle this. Everyone piles in and sits down in their places. Kane is still to my right. He's the VP and took over after his old man died 5 years ago. Bull is our Sergeant-at-Arms, and Knuckles, my best Enforcer. "You might've seen a young, red-haired woman barging out of here," I say to them. "Yeah, she was about to rip me a new one. Feisty little thing," Knuckles says, chuckling. "She's my daughter." "Oh," he says, and everyone looks surprised at me. I tell them about the letter and about Sharon. "I'm sorry, Prez," Doc says. He knew her too. He knew what I went through after she left, but I had only myself to blame. "Hacker, I want you to find out how Sharon died, and I want all the in-fo you can get on my daughter. Her name is April Lawrence and she's 19. That's all I know. I don't even know where they lived. Kane, you take Bull and the Prospects with you and search the town. I want you to find her. Bull, you know what her car looks like. The rest of you, spread out. She couldn't have gone far. She might be pissed, but I need to know that she'll be okay. Bring her back here. I need to talk to her and sort everything out since Sharon didn't tell her the truth." "Yes, Prez," they all say and pile out. "Kane, can you tell your mom to get up here? She needs to know too." "Sure, Prez," he says and walks out. When I started this chapter of The Iron Predators, Kane's dad, Mac, was my VP. He and his old lady, Lydia, bought a house and moved out of the clubhouse when Kane was born. He was only 6 years old when Sharon left, so he just remembers bits and pieces of her. Lydia and Sharon were best friends, so of course, she hated me too when Sharon left because of me, but we've become closer again over the years, especially after Mac died. She needed our support, and the club takes care of their own. She works at the diner in town a few days a week and is here a lot in her free time. She cooks dinner for us most days, and we really appreciate it since she makes the best food and keeps the boys in check if they get too rowdy. She's like a momma bear that takes care of everyone. "Hi, John," she says, walking into the Chapel. "Hi, Lydia." "What's going on?" I give her the letter and she reads it and starts crying. I hug her and we stand there crying together. "I can't believe that she's gone too," she says, sobbing. "Me neither. Did you know that she was pregnant when she left?" "No, I didn't. She only called me once when she had settled down to let me know that she was okay, but that was the last time I heard from her. She said that it was too hard for her to keep in touch because she had to get over you, and she just wanted to try to start over. I guess she couldn't have kept it a secret from me if we kept talking either." "Do you know where she went?" "Virginia. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you, but that was for the best." "Yeah, I understand," I say, sighing. "Kane and the boys are out looking for April right now. Apparently, she was pissed as he-ll and ripped Knuckles a new one when she came here." "Well, that boy had it coming," she scoffs. "Poor girl. I don't blame her for being angry, though. She lost her mother and thinks that you didn't want her. You need to find her and help her, John." "I will." "Wait a minute," Lydia says. "Does she have long, auburn hair, is short and skinny?" "Yeah, she looks almost exactly like Sharon, but she's got my eyes." "Oh, I saw her at the diner this morning. She ordered a coffee to go. I asked her if she wanted anything else. She didn't seem healthy. Far too skinny." "Do you know if she stayed in town at the motel or something?" "No, but Lloyd said that there was a car he hadn't seen before down in the parking lot behind the trees, and it was still there this morning when I opened." "What kind of car was it?" "A navy blue station wagon of some sort." I call Bull. "Hey, what car did you say April was driving?" "A Volvo V70." "Color?" "Navy blue." "Lydia says that her car was at the diner last night and this morning. If she didn't stay at the motel, she might've slept in her car." "We're at the motel right now, but she hasn't been here according to the manager." "Keep looking." "Yes, Prez."

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"Sharon Lawrence." Blade—my father—fixed his eyes on me, a distant, vacant look in them. I knew exactly why: I had my mom's face, almost identical.