Broken Halves

Chapter Twenty-Seven

POV: Cole

            With one final shake of my head, I bring myself out of my memories and head outside of my temporary room to check today's fight list. To my complete and utter surprise, my name is not listed in any of the day's matches. Furrowing my eyebrows, I try to think back to a time in the past seven months where I hadn't had to fight at least once every day.

After taking a second to re scan the list, I just mentally shrug my shoulders, not at all upset that I will not be fighting today. I don't crave the adrenaline rush like some of the men here. No, in fact, not fighting today just makes my life in this hellhole a little bit easier.

Lying back down on my makeshift bed, I close my eyes and once again lose myself in the peace that is my memories. Immediately, all of the tension and stress disappears at the sight of my beautiful soulmate.

            "What are you thinking about?" I look down to see my brown haired beauty in my arms looking up at me with those innocent green eyes that I instantly fell in love with. I take second to move my hand from her hair to her upper arm before answering, "My childhood." Dani frowns slightly before sitting up in bed so her body is facing mine. I sigh, before sitting up against the headboard, once again on her level. Dani grasps my face in her hands in a way that has the moonlight shining in from the window making her look even more breathtaking. Lightly kissing my lips, she utters the words I least expected to come out of her mouth. "Tell me about your father before he lost your mother." I pull her into my arms and close my eyes as the image of my father takes over.

            When I think about Dalton Richards, it is hard for me to remember the man he used to be. For the majority of my life he had been a monster; gone was the man who was once my idol. Now, all I see is the man who would storm pass me in the hallway as I stood there begging for him to notice me, or the man who engaged in a business only the most horrendous could run. He stopped being a father the day my mother took her last breath.

When I was younger, I used to pray to the Goddess that he would realize that I was still here and needed him. I used to believe that one day, he would become the man I needed him to be. I continued to overlook how merciless he was towards the pack members as I was still holding on to hope. I would watch as he yelled at and hurt our people before he threw them into the prison, and I'd think to myself that my father is still in there; this man that everyone sees and hates, it isn't the real him.

But then, one morning I woke up alone and wandered down the stairs only to find Nona crying in Grandad's arms, and I knew he was truly gone. Nona cried harder when she saw eight year old me standing there clutching my blanket to my chest as my eyes glistened. I didn't need them to tell me that he was gone to know that he had left me; that he truly didn't care about me anymore. I didn't cry; I wouldn't cry over him. It wasn't too long after that when Jorden and I adopted Grandad as our father as he was there, a physical presence that would never leave us.

If I am being honest, I used to be so jealous whenever Quinton called. He might have been living away, but he was there for Jorden always. Hell, he even waited to leave until we were 11 so Jorden didn't feel completely heartbroken over it. He called once a week, and either came to visit or flew us out to him for Jorden's birthday every year. I'm not saying Jorden had it easy, because he didn't. He never had peace until after his parents left as all they would do was fight with each other; when Calla and Quinton went at it, they were loud, and the whole pack house could hear them. 

            My father never called or sought me out after he left. The first time I saw him, was on the mission when I walked in on his trafficking ring. After that, I truly knew the extent of what kind of monster he was. I buried myself in work after that; trying to uncover every single detail of what he had been up to all those years. That's when I learned about everything. The drug cartels in Mexico and the sex rings using Dutch girls. I saw then, what a truly sick and twisted bastard my father was, and from that moment forward, I couldn't hear his name without seeing a red haze.