The Devil's Daughter (Devil's Right Hand MC #4)

Chapter 4

Chrissy's POV

Dangerous.
Vicious.
Murdered.
Convicted felon.
Gang leader.
The devil.

My eyes scan the hundreds of articles on the old computer in the library. All of these words have been used to describe Christopher, and these are just the PG ones. I thought that if I came to the library and saw these words on a bigger, more official screen, it would make things clearer. I even printed out most of the articles. Subconsciously, I pat a stack of papers detailing all of Christopher's past crimes. In some corner of my brain, I thought that seeing this in real print would convince the very fucked up part of my brain that I need to let dead things lie.

As I mindlessly flip through the pages of this book of sins, I nervously swallow though my mouth is dry. God, I'm fucked up. I know I'm fucked up because seeing this doesn't change a damn thing for me. I still want, no, I need to see him. I need to see the man who made half of me. Maybe that will tell me who I am. Somebody has to tell me who I am.

Stella went back to Yale last week and I have to be out of the apartment by next week. My whole life turned to shit and this is the one thing I can focus on. I don't know why, but I feel like this will answer every question I've ever had about my life. That he can answer those questions.

"Fuck it," I mutter as I shove the papers into an old brown purse I stole from Mama. "Forgive me Stella."

The tires of my bike crunch against the gravel as I idle into the parking lot. I still have no fucking idea why I'm here, I just know I need to be. I need to face him. I need to know if half of my DNA is pure evil. I mean, I trust Mama, but she was with him at some point, right? So she must've seen a little bit of good in him. Shouldn't I trust that too?

With a sigh and as much courage as I can muster from my broken heart, I pull my helmet off and run my fingers through my curls to tame them. I'm wearing a V-necked black shirt and black jeans which match the dark bags under my eyes. I guess this will do, but I don't know the dress code in a biker bar. Even from outside, I can hear laughter and see shadows through the darkened window. It's 7 pm on a weekday and the place is popping, I didn't expect this.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I push the old glass door open and I'm immediately hit with the smell of beer and stale bread. Wait, maybe the beer is what smells like stale bread? Who the hell knows, but it's a distinctive smell. People are lining the bars and some in the back booths, all seem to be very comfortable and relaxed in the bar supposedly owned by a murderer. 

My eyes slowly work their way over the crowd as I finally notice a group of men wearing leather vests huddled at the far side of the bar. Cautiously, I walk to the bar and I try to find Christopher in the sea of leather. He has to be here. It's his bar. He has to be here.

"What can I get you?" A redhead with dark eyeliner asks from behind the bar.

"Can I get a Corna?" I ask as I dig in my pocket for the fake ID I haven't used since high school. Well, high school was just a year and a half ago, so it hasn't been that long. Shit, it feels like another lifetime, though.

"Sure thing," she says as I flash her my fake ID. She eyes me cautiously as she looks at it and I expect her to clock it as fake, but she doesn't say anything. She just nods her head and turns around to get my beer.

"You wanna start a tab?" She asks as she places the beer in front of me.

"Nah," I wave. I'll just have one beer, finally see my father face to face, then get the hell out of dodge. I don't want to talk to him. I don't want him to know who I am. I just want to know him. I want to know who he is and I think I can figure that out by watching him. Besides, I've always been an excellent people watcher, this should be a piece of cake.