Keeping a firm hold on Sierra’s slim waist, I lift her away from the broken glass on the floor, over to the other side of the living room. I’m working hard to control my temper so I don’t accidentally kill my little Firefly. It’s not easy though. I think I’ve gone through a whole gamut of conflicting emotions in the past few hours. Shock. Grief. Pride. Happiness. Relief. Remorse. Fear. Anger. With the latter being the overriding emotion this past hour as I’ve hidden inside her house—my son’s home—listening to everything.
“Start talking,” I growl, invoking huge self-control as I gently place her feet down on the ground. Walking to the lamp, I turn it on, casting a faint light over the proceedings. Then I back her up against the wall, clenching and unclenching my hands as I glare at the woman who hid my child from me for over five years.
The first thing I did while Alessandro tailed Saskia from the village was to call one of my tech guys and request a full background check on Rowan and Sierra. Within an hour, I had everything I needed to know, which only added to my rage. It was too easy to find them, and it’s a fucking miracle no one has discovered them or made the connection to me before now. If Saskia wasn’t so stuck up her own ass, she would have connected the dots today. Thank fuck, she was too busy ogling me to notice.
Looking at the photos of my son in the electronic file Phillip sent me is like looking at a photo album of myself as a kid. The resemblance is that strong. Not that there are many photos of me as a kid. There actually weren’t that many of Rowan online either. I’m assuming that’s because Sierra didn’t want me stumbling across an image of him. But it doesn’t matter. All it takes is one photo.
“Cat got your tongue again, Firefly?” I hiss, rotating my neck from side to side to loosen the tension sitting there.
“How did you find out?” she asks, her tone betraying no trace of the fear plainly etched upon her face.
“That doesn’t fucking matter,” I say, through gritted teeth. “What matters is you kept my son’s existence from me. That I missed his birth. Missed the first five years of his life,” I snap, losing the tenuous control on my emotions, which is most unlike me.
I amalwaysin control.
It’s how I have run my life for the past fourteen years since my father upended it so completely. I have learned to shut my emotions off. To not care. And today is testing my whole belief system and challenging my entire way of living.
“You left me no choice,” she says, and I see red.
Advancing on her, I wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze. My nostrils flare, and fire charges through my veins, infusing my anger with self-righteous indignation. “There are always choices, and you made the wrong one.”
Terror dances across her green eyes as she claws at my hand.
“How fucking dare you deny me the opportunity to know my son. How dare you let your stupid fucking pride get in the way of what is right for an innocent child.” I know I was cold and cruel to her the morning after the night we spent together in Vegas, but that was necessary to ensure she walked away for good. If I had known it would stop her from telling me she was pregnant, I might have handled the situation differently.
She raises her leg, to knee me in the balls I’m guessing, but I won’t give her the opportunity or the satisfaction. I lift her up by the neck, her legs thrashing against the wall as her skin turns a pale shade of gray. “You know I grew up without a dad.” Mom had only died a few months before I met Saskia, and I remember a painful conversation over dinner one time where Joseph Lawson grilled me clinically over her death and the absence of my father. Sierra was there, lapping up every word. “Did you ever stop to think this is the very last thing I would want for my son?”
Pain slices across my chest as I consider my child lying in bed at night wondering why his father doesn’t care enough to know him. My fingers tighten around her neck, but then I let her go before I kill her in a blind rage.
She slumps to the ground, sucking greedy mouthfuls of air into her lungs, working hard to quiet the strangled sounds coming from her throat, as silent tears spill down her cheeks.
I crouch over her. “I could fucking kill you right now, Sierra, for depriving me of my rights. I have already missed out on so much of his life.” I sit back on my butt, crossing my legs in front of me as I hang my head, willing my errant breathing to steady.
I hate feeling out of control.
It’s unsettling.
Her quiet sobs are the only sound in the room for a couple of minutes while I grapple with my anger. I didn’t come here to kill her. From watching her with my son today, it’s clear Rowan loves and adores Sierra.
To hurt her is to hurt him.
That’s not part of my agenda, and I need to remember that.
I came for answers, and to start making things right.
When I feel calmer, I lift my head, not shocked to find her bloodshot eyes shooting daggers at me. “Who the fuck do you think you are to break into my home and threaten me?” she says, her chest heaving. Her voice is hoarse and borderline hysterical. “I was right to keep him from you. You’re a fucking monster.”
My lips pull into a snarl, and I invoke every ounce of self-control to avoid lunging at her again. “Choose your words carefully, Firefly. You have no idea who you are dealing with. I will not be spoken to like that.”
“And I will not be abused in my own home!” she shrieks, quickly clamping a hand over her mouth, her eyes darting to the door.
She is trying to stay quiet so she doesn’t wake Rowan. That helps to tamp down my anger a little. Listening to her with him earlier helped too. She’s such a good mother. Kind, fun, and loving. The exact opposite of the way Saskia was with Rowan earlier. She reminded me of how my mom was at one time before she fell prey to her addictions.
However, any goodwill she engendered disappeared the instant I overheard her talking to that asshole boyfriend. Fuck buddy. Whoever he is to her. Anger returns and I pin her with a dark glare that has caused grown men to piss their pants.
It doesn’t have the desired effect though. It only seems to enrage her further. If looks could kill, Sierra would have just buried me ten feet under with the force of her resentful glare. She tucks her legs into her chest, glowering at me like she wishes she could riddle my body with bullets.
Where the hell does she get off being furious with me? I’m the one who has been wronged here. If I haven’t made that point clear enough, I’m about to. “You better not have had any other man around my son. I will fucking murder any asshole who thinks he’s taking my place.”
