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

Chapter 6

Chrissy's POV

Self-defense. That's a simple concept. When someone is threatening your life, when there is a gun to your head, you must choose between yourself or your oppressor. I thought I would never know the feeling. I hoped I would never be here. But, here I stand in the middle of a standoff. It's either shoot or be shot. I don't have a choice.

"I think I'm your daughter," I scream as my eyes lock on the target of my bullet, a bullet of nineteen years of secrets and lies. I didn't want to tell him like this. Hell, I didn't want to tell him at all, but I should've known better than coming here if I wanted to remain hidden. In the heat of the moment, I had to choose, and like the coward I am, I chose to save myself. Besides, I don't know what the fuck the shop is but I don't want to find out.

By the look on the fearless leader's face, you would think I shot him with a real bullet. His rigid and authoritative persona is shaken as all of the color drains from his already pale face. Though most of his face is hidden by a beard, I can see his jawline sharpen as he grits his teeth. A part of me of me expected him to call me a liar and another part expected him to embrace me with open arms. But nothing in me expected this. He isn't doing anything. Did he not hear me?

After a few seconds of awkward and tension-filled silence, Skillet clears his voice as he speaks. "Damn Pres, you a baby daddy." I have to fight back a laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of his comment, but nobody acknowledges his remark which tells me he is known for making inappropriate comments. That doesn't surprise me at all.

"You are a good liar, I'll give you that," the first lady snarks, but the redhead lowers the knife that was lightly digging into my throat. At least some people believe me.

"He knows I'm not lying," I say,  summoning all the confidence I have left in my body. Christopher isn't saying anything, he's just staring at me. Maybe he's trying to decide if I'm lying. Maybe he's trying to find a resemblance to my mom. Hell, maybe he's trying to find a resemblance of himself.

"November 30th, 2002?" He asks, but his voice sounds hoarse. This man oozed authority and confidence mere seconds ago and now he can barely speak.

"Yeah," I whisper as we finally lock eyes. I was always so jealous of my mom's hazel eyes. They were never the same color twice and they added to her mystical demonar. I'm jealous because my eyes are so dark they look black. Sometimes Stella would joke I'm possessed, but now I know where I got them. His eyes are dark too. I just hope his soul isn't.

"Somebody do the math on that?" He asks as he snaps back into reality.

"You mind telling your minions to let me go?" I ask as my wrist begins to ache and my nose throbs with my heartbeat as blood slowly trickles down my face. I think the worst of the bleeding is over, but my shirt is definitely ruined. The little short one broke my nose and at least one of my ribs. These women are fucking crazy.

"Hell no-" the first lady begins but Christopher stops her.

"Let her go," he orders and the bubbly blond drops my wrist immediately. All of the women take a few steps back, giving me space but still staying close, except the first lady. She stays where she is with her shotgun clutched to her chest, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

"You're looking at conception between mid-January and mid-March," the bubbly blond finally answers.

I know what that means. Hell, everyone knows what that means because Christopher's face turns white as a ghost. This is really happening. I think I just met my father.

"Are you okay?" The woman with short brown hair asks. She's the only one who didn't pounce on me like a lioness after a hunk of meat. Though I'm not fond of being said hunk of meat, I do admire how these women will protect their pride.