“They don’t like us," he added vaguely.

You have got to be kidding me. “They don’t like you guys?”

“Yeah.”

“They don’t like you guys so they beat up Sonny instead of looking for our dad?” I could smell his bullshit a mile away.

He knew I had him, so he nodded his answer. “It's more complicated than that, Ritz. They're all Widows’ rejects. They'll try to start shit with us for whatever reason they can come up.”

"Explain that."

He lifted a brow. "Explain what?"

"What do you mean by them being rejects?"

Dex sighed, his mouth twisting. "Your pa never told you this?"

I gave him a flat look.

"You know the Original 12?" he asked.

I shook my head, earning another sigh. "They were the first Widowmakers. Twelve pissed off vets. Tough as shit, hated every single thing about the government. My granddaddy on my ma's side was one."

That made a heck of a lot of sense. One badass passing on the gene to another badass.

Dex kept going with his story. "They got into shady shit. Drug runnin', enforcin', shit that gets everybody into trouble." He shook his head. "Gets people killed, babe, but what the hell did they care? I remember my granddaddy was cool as f**k but he wasn't right. None of 'em were."

I suddenly had the urge to find out what Dex considered as "not right." Then again, I probably didn't want to.

"As the club grew with more and more ass**les wantin' in on the money and the respect and the ass, they got into more shit. Girls—"

Prostitution?

"—bad shit, Ritz. Years, that was the way things were run. Once the 12 were all too old to give a f**k, Luther took over the club. He knew we were in deep with the Mexicans when he took over. Some of the brothers were gettin' restless, sloppy. They wanted more money, more drama. More, more, more, more. Then, a run got f**ked up. The Mexicans got pissed, and took care of Luther's wife in retaliation."

I made a face that earned me a slow nod of understanding from Dex. Even hearing it again after so many years, it sounded just as terrible.

"Yeah, babe. It was bad. I was a little pimple-faced shit back then but I remember. Lu lost his f**kin' mind. I mean, lost it. He made it his mission to clean us up after that. The club was all cash capital back then. He wanted to open up businesses and make the money legit. It was a good plan. Better for everybody even if the money wasn't goin' to be as good first, it would've worked. The problem was, not everybody wanted to get clean."

That I could understand. Men living in their own little world with no regard for society, making money, scaring the shit out of people? It made sense though it didn't seem like a life I'd want to live.

"There were more brothers who wanted to get clean after Darcy's death than not. It scared the f**k out of everybody with families, babe. They saw that Lu had his shop. It'd never been tied up with club finances. Lotta members left when the club voted to try the clean way. They left but they were pissed. Felt like they'd gotten f**ked over, and men like that don't get over shit. Ever. They all hooked up, started up the Reapers."

And then I winced. I could understand why the men would have held a grudge. I did. They'd join the WMC for one reason and then that reason had morphed into something completely different. After everything they'd lost—friends and family—they'd gotten kicked out.

"It took a couple years but the MC bought the bar. Lu wasn't starvin' for money and he financed us buyin' an auto parts store." He lifted a shoulder like the conclusion was inevitable. "That didn't help the situation out."

"I bet."

"Just the way shit is."

I tried to process everything he'd explained. Why the Reapers hated the Widowmakers. Why they'd be such jackasses. But there was one thing about his explanation that didn't make any sense.

"Why did they let my dad borrow money if he was a Widow?" Right?

Dex slid a piece of pancake between his lips, his dark blue eyes hooded. "No clue, babe. Maybe they were expectin' him not to pay up. Who knows."

Well, shoot. That didn't add up but it wasn't like I could hound Dex for an answer he didn't have.

“I just don't get it, I guess. Neither one of us is close to him," I didn't need to be specific about who him was. "He won't give a crap about either one of us paying for his mistake.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, disappointment and sadness pierced my belly.

It was the truth. The awful truth. Curt Taylor wouldn't give a shit about his son getting beaten up. Getting a freaking concussion and left behind at a freaking park. Alone. Unconscious.

Just as quickly as the sadness had poked at me, it disappeared, replaced by pure anger. It was red and hot and just... dark. And I hated it. Hated that I could feel so much disdain toward a man that I should have loved.

A man that should have loved me.

Should have loved his sons.

"Babe," Dex murmured, reached out to place a hand on my forearm. "Baby, quit it."

"Quit what?" I asked him in a gloomy voice.

He squeezed my forearm. "Quit thinkin' about him. I already told you that prick's not worth you gettin' upset."

How the hell did this man know what I'd started thinking about?

I had to swallow back that weird feeling and try to plaster a smile onto my face. "I wasn't—"

"You were."

Crap. I sighed. "I know he's not worth it but it still just... gets me.” My fingers flexed around the silverware I was holding. “I want to punch him in the nuts so bad."

Dex choked. "What?"

"I said it." My tone was husky, almost a growl in frustration. I shouldn't be calling him an ass**le. I told myself that I wouldn't but he'd gotten Sonny hurt. I could forgive the old man for a lot of things, ignore a lot of things but this had crossed the line. "He's so stupid."

Stupid for messing around with a group he had to know would only bring trouble. And so friggin' stupid for the dozens of other mistakes he'd committed along the way. I don't know how long I sat there, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth to calm down but when I managed to, I caught Dex looking at me with an amused tilt to his mouth.

"I don't like feeling this angry," I admitted to him, feeling incredibly vulnerable.

Like all things Dex, his response was so simple I wanted to laugh. "Then don't."

~ * ~ *

We pulled into the parking lot opposite from Mayhem about twenty minutes later, parking the solid black motorcycle into the closest open spot next to another Harley. Hoofing it across the street, I spotted the same guy that had come into Pins a few weeks ago standing by the door. The one who had gotten into an argument with Dex my first night in Austin, I finally realized.

"Dex." The man tipped his chin up before looking over in my direction, a smug grin crawling over his lips. "Sweetie."

I smiled at him weakly. “Hi.”

“How you doin’?” His thick eyebrows went up.

“I’ve been better, and you?” Crap, what was his name again? I couldn’t remember.