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.”
Her face turns as white as a ghost, and she’s not looking so self-righteous now. Her eyes pop wide with renewed terror. “No one has taken your place,” she croaks. “I’m strict about keeping the men I’m dating away from Rowan.”
A growl rumbles from my chest, and an unwelcome surge of jealousy floods my system as I think of her with anyone else besides me. It’s irrational, and it’s not like I haven’t considered this in the years since Vegas. Sierra is stunning and free-spirited, and she can’t help but draw people to her. I knew she must be dating. When I really wanted to torture myself, I imagined she was married. So, this isn’t news. But it’s completely different now I know she has had my son this entire time. A fresh layer of murderous rage sweeps through me at the thought of any man even coming into proximity with my flesh and blood.
“What about the asshole on the phone?” I bark.
Her eyes narrow as anger, once again, replaces fear. “Rowan doesn’t know I’m dating Dion.”
Dion. An asshole’s name if I ever heard one. “But Mr. Stewart knows Rowan. From what I hear, he’s his favorite pupil. I wonder why that is.” It’s ironic the douche is in New York this weekend while I am here. I could send one of my men to relay a message, but I’d much rather deliver it in person. I think I’ll organize a nice little welcoming party for Mr. Stewart on Sunday night at the airport.
Her face pales again. “How do you know that?”
“It’s my job to know everything, and it didn’t take long to dissect every aspect of your lives here.”
She shivers, and her lower lip wobbles. “Rowan loves his teacher, and Dion is a great guy,” she whispers. “Don’t do anything to hurt him.”
I’m surprised she has gone straight there. Then again, she was around Salerno and his men in Vegas, and she would have noticed my soldati carrying weapons. It wouldn’t take much for her to piece things together. I doubt she knows exactly who we are, but she knows enough to understand we are dangerous. That I’m dangerous.
Good. That should make this easier.
“That all depends on you.” I expect her to ask how, but she surprises me again.
She clears her raspy throat. “I never planned to keep my pregnancy a secret. I wanted to tell you. I even flew to New York to see you in person.”
If I wasn’t already sitting down, that statement would’ve flattened me on my ass. I examine her face for lies, but she is telling the truth. “When?” I grit out.
Her tongue darts out, wetting her dry lips, and I try not to think about how good it felt to have her tongue slide up and down my cock. My dick swells behind my zipper, but I ignore it. While angry fucking her has a certain appeal, I never force myself on women, and there is no way Sierra will let me touch her after I broke into her house, scared the shit out of her, and almost choked the life from her body.
“It was the January after Vegas, the first week of spring semester,” she explains, coughing a little. She lifts a hand to massage her throat, and a small pang of guilt accosts me.
Wordlessly, I get up and walk to the kitchen, grabbing a couple waters from the refrigerator. She hasn’t moved when I return. She’s just sitting, staring off into space, lost in thought.
I sit down on the floor in front of her again, handing her a bottle. Sitting cross-legged, she stretches her arm toward me. Her fingers brush against mine as she takes the bottle from me, and a jolt of electricity shoots up my arm. She jerks her arm away, her expression a mix of lust and hate—a lethal combination that only swells my cock to the point of pain. I blatantly rake my gaze over her sexy body as she drinks, noticing she has filled out more.
Her thin pajamas conceal little, and she may as well be naked. She’s not as slender as she was when I saw her in Vegas, but she is still slim with curves in all the right places. Her legs look endlessly long and smooth, and my fingers twitch with a craving to explore every inch of her silky skin. I lift my eyes, spotting her nipples poking through the flimsy material of her tank. Her tits are definitely bigger, but unlike her sister’s, they are clearly not fake. I imagine tearing her top from her body and sucking her neat rosy nipples into my warm mouth while she strokes my cock.
“Do you mind?” she hisses, pinning me with a hateful look as I’m dragged from the pleasant visual in my head.
I smirk as I uncap the lid from my bottle. “I don’t mind at all.” On purpose, I let my eyes linger on her chest and adjust myself in my pants, making sure she sees.
Her eyes lower to my crotch for a couple of seconds before she collects herself. Scowling, she rubs a spot between her brows. “Do you want me to explain or not?” she snaps, eyeballing me.
I wave my hand dismissively in the air, knowing it will infuriate her. “Continue.”
Her nostrils flare, and her eyes scrunch up, and I’d love to kiss that defiance off her beautiful face. But we are a long way from that point. I’m still mad at her, and she’s spitting blood.
“I went to the Caltimore Holdings office, but you were leaving as I got there, so I hopped in a taxi and followed you to some seedy club in Queens, a couple blocks from the Hudson.”
I know the place she’s talking about. I sold it and the rest of the old strip joints four years ago because they didn’t fit into my new business model. Now, I own a string of high-end casinos and clubs—some regular clubs, some sex clubs—catering to an exclusive VIP clientele who have big pockets, big desires, and an even bigger need to keep their activities on the down low. But that is only one small part of my business empire. An empire that has doubled in value in the past six years, largely due to my ambition and my meticulous execution. I run a very tight ship, and I have considered every possible angle.
Except for a child.
“And?” I arch a brow, urging her to continue while I drain my water in a few mouthfuls.
She rubs a hand across her chest as potent fear returns to haunt her troubled eyes.
I tilt my head to the side, curious now.
She stares at me. “I saw you torture a man,” she blurts, and all the blood drains from my face. I nod for her to continue. “It was in the basement. He was Russian. Sergei. You ripped his fingers off one at a time, and then you slashed him with a knife.” Her voice lowers to a shaky whisper. “His insides were hanging out.” She gulps, pausing for a second as if she might puke. “It was the most shocking thing I have ever seen.” When she raises her eyes, they radiate with sheer terror. “I barely remember getting out of there. I was that scared.”
“You brought your bodyguard with you,” I surmise, remembering the mess he left for me to clean up.
Death doesn’t scare me, and my hands have plenty of blood on them. I don’t remember all the dead bodies I am responsible for, either by my own hands or by another’s hands, but I remember every innocent life that has been needlessly lost. I didn’t kill those two old men drinking at the bar, my bartender, one of my soldiers, or the taxi driver, but I have carried the weight of responsibility with me since that day. I never understood why. We didn’t keep cameras in the strip clubs, for obvious reasons, and whoever killed them left no trace. I knew it was a professional hit. But I never knew why or could find out who did it. At least that mystery is solved.