Not with who his parents truly were.
I was sure Cian had no idea he was adopted. He would have told me, or at least told Mac, or Duncan or Sal. No, I was positive he had no idea that the parents who raised him, who loved him unconditionally, were not his biological parents.
And I was sure he wouldn’t want to know who his parents were. Not after reading through the files and knowing what they had done.
“What haven’t you told us?”
I looked him in the eye. I felt the fear, the apprehension descending like a cloak. It engulfed me. If I told him what I knew, he would be devastated.
If I kept it from him and he found out anyway, he would hate me. There was no winning move for me. No matter what decision I made, I would be hurting the one man I loved with all my heart.
“Caity,” he growled.
“Ci, please leave it be. Secrets from the past have a way of destroying people’s lives.”
“What secrets, Caity?” He stalked toward me, his steps filled with purpose. His eyes held a warning, one that I knew would force my hand.
“I need you to be sure you want to know the truth, Ci. Because there is no putting that genie back in the bottle.”
His face paled. “Is this about me?”
I nodded as I bit my lip. Cian took a step back, then turned and walked to the windows. He braced a hand on the glass and hung his head.
“Is this about my birth parents?”
“You know?” I whispered, afraid to speak aloud.
“I know I was adopted. My parents told me when I turned eighteen. They wanted to give me the choice of joining the organization or following a different path.”
“So you know?”
He glanced over his shoulder at me before turning completely and leaning back against the glass, his hands buried in his pockets. He shook his head.
“I never asked. They didn’t want me.”
“I’m not sure the man who fathered you knew about you,” I said quietly, watching as his eyes snapped up to mine.
“What?” He pushed himself off the window and stalked toward me. “What do you mean?”
“Ci, I don’t think—”
“Tell me, goddammit!” His anger was warranted. I knew it wasn’t directed at me but my father.
“The woman who gave birth to you was raped. She came to my father because he was the bookkeeper. He had the information on the breeding farms, and the families waiting for a child. She wanted you gone.”
“Then how did I end up here?”
“She never told Eamon the identity of the man who raped her. He knew your parents had been wanting a child, so he brokered the adoption.”
“So he knew who I was?”
I nodded. Waiting for him to catch up. Emotions flitted over his face: surprise, sadness, anger, then recognition.
“Who was she?” I bit my lip, hesitating to reveal the truth. “Who?” he growled.
“Sylvia St. James.”
His knees gave out, the back of the couch preventing his fall.
