Shouldn’t the fact I want to strangle her mean there is no way in hell I could ever find pleasure within her body?
There is no getting past the fact she kept my son hidden from me for nine years. I get she had to leave in the dead of the night, without a choice in the matter. She was young and scared, and I understand that. I can’t even imagine the stress of finding out she was pregnant on top of all that. I get why she couldn’t reach out to me at first.
But her dad testified against the mob over eight years ago. Kynan’s sources in the Department of Justice have confirmed the continuing threat level to him is fairly low, but admittedly still exists. Does Leighton even know that? Did their handler inform her the high potential for danger was over? Did she even bother to ask, particularly after Sam was born, so she could potentially notify me?
I can’t seem to accept that there’s any reason that could have kept her from reaching out to me at some point, long before now.
God, I want to kill her as much as I want to fuck her.
I should have been okay—satisfied—when I walked out of her hotel room. After all, I’d just experienced the most powerful orgasm of my life. I should have been content to go home and fall into a dead sleep. But she had driven me from her bed with the ridiculous comment that she was glad we had reconnected. It had infuriated me—her shallow words. I hadn’t given them a second thought, heading straight for The Wicked Horse.
As always, there was a tempting buffet of willing female flesh in every room. I found Declan in The Silo, tangled up in a group of men as they all fucked the same woman—who was locked in the club’s stocks. Watching them all take a turn on the willing brunette was erotic as hell, especially since she orgasmed over and over again as the men did all kinds of dirty things to her.
Declan spotted me through the glass walls. Shooting me a devilish grin, he motioned for me to come in.
That I had no desire to go in there was even more infuriating. I didn’t want anything the club had to offer. Choosing to blame Leighton for that, too, I stalked out and went home.
To say I have a lot of issues weighing me down would be an understatement. But it’s not Leighton or my lack of desire to join in the fun at The Wicked Horse that’s pressing on me the most.
It’s the fact I now have a son.
A nine-year-old son named Sam whom I don’t even know but already love.
The enormity of it is something I don’t think I’m prepared for. My life will never be the same. It’s not something I had ever thought I would be dealing with at this point in my life. Sure, there was a time when I was young and probably stupid where I thought I would marry Leighton and have kids. Or, rather, marry Tracey. It was Tracy I wanted to live my life with—not this Leighton woman who kept my son hidden from me.
But now, I not only have to figure out how to be a dad, but I’m also facing having a kid who could die before I even get to know him. Or perhaps Leighton will decide she’s not going to let him stay in Vegas after the treatment. Will I actually fight her for custody if that happens?
Too much to think about without a single clear answer in sight.
My phone vibrates on the table in front of me, and I nab it to see a text.
Kynan: Checking in.
I have to admit I love the benefits of flying privately, especially the free and strong Wi-Fi. Quickly, I reply.
August: On way now.
His reply is short and simple.
Kynan: Let me know if you need anything.
I can’t imagine I’ll be asking Kynan for much. As my boss and the sole owner of Jameson Force Security, he’s already gone above and beyond what an employer should do for an employee. He dug up all the information I needed from the Department of Justice regarding Rich’s situation and how deep he was in with the mob. Most importantly, he found out just how much of a safety issue we’d have if we brought Sam to Vegas. I had to know if it would put him in real danger if I took him out of Denver.
I blustered a lot by telling Leighton she had no other choice but to bring Sam to Vegas, but truthfully, I would’ve never moved him if it were too dangerous. If it had been safer to leave him in Denver under the government’s watch, I would have gladly had the transplant done there.
But once Kynan confirmed the threat was low, I felt like Sam would be just as safe with me. This was true mostly because the US Marshals don’t provide twenty-four-seven oversight to families at this point in their tenure in the program.
It was comforting to know Leighton, Sam, and her dad were relatively safe. It didn’t mean the danger was gone, because it still very much existed. The mob family her father testified against is still pissed. Her dad still has a target on his back according to some chatter over the years saying if he ever surfaces, he’s a dead man. But, in reality, no one knows where he is. The mob family isn’t actively looking for him. There’s a lot of distance between New Jersey—where we grew up—and where they’re currently living in Denver.
Someone from that mob family would have to literally walk by her dad and recognize him to find him. Not sure they would ever recognize Leighton or Sam.
In addition, Kynan said DOJ was confident their location and new identities are completely secure. That information is locked down tight on secure servers with only limited people having access to it. There’s been nothing in any of the chatter they’re monitoring among the mob families, or in conversations with confidential informants, to indicate they have any clue where Rich is.
In essence… it was low risk to bring Sam to Vegas. I’ll admit I want him there for purely selfish reasons. My life is there. Why should I have to uproot my world when I’m the one who has been wronged?
I set my phone down and lean forward, waving my hand in Leighton’s line of sight to get her attention. She blinks in surprise, then pulls the buds out of her ears.
“Tell me more about Sam,” I demand. I’ve been so focused on whether I was a match, finding the best doctors to treat Sam—again thanks to Kynan and Jerico—then making the travel arrangements to pick him up that I haven’t had the presence of mind to ask about much of anything.
Wariness creeps into her expression. She’s expecting a fight from me. “What do you want to know?”
I shrug, giving her a wide smile. “Oh, I don’t know. Whatever one might tell a father who has missed out on nine years of his kid’s life.”
My jab makes a direct hit, her cheeks flushing red. Still, I give her credit for taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, refusing to be shamed.
“He looks just like you. Same color hair and eyes. Except my nose… he has that, but you’ll see. He’s smart. Science is his favorite subject. But, oddly, he has a real artistic side and loves to draw. He’s a quiet boy. Introspective. I suspect it’s because of the life we live. Since he was a toddler, he’s known about keeping secrets and having to be careful to never divulge too much. But he’s funny, August. He learned sarcasm early on, and I have no clue where he got it from because I’m so literal about everything. He’ll just snap out these one-liners that’ll make you double over in laughter. He hates most vegetables…”
She talks for a solid half an hour about Sam without ever having to pause once to come up with something interesting to say about him. If I let her, I bet she’d talk for hours.