I wish I were so lucky.
Baxter goddamn Heron sits in a waiting room chair, right by the door, a polished expression on his face I want to rip right off. He should be grateful this is a hospital.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I snarl, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end.
Sabrina comes through the door a second later and stands beside me, staring at the stranger she’s never seen before. I’ve seen him, though, and damn it, I wish I never had.
“Mag, what’s going on?” she asks quietly.
Baxter stands, straightening up, only a few inches shorter than I am. He looks at Sabrina.
His frigid blue eyes meet mine and a cocky grin crosses his face, heavy with a few more wrinkles than I remember.
“Ah, both my sons are here, I see. Perfect.” A slow, serpent smile twists his lips.
My fist tightens into a rock.
“If you have any sense left, old man, you’ll shut the fuck up, turn the fuck around, and walk the—”
“I still check the company website from time to time,” he cuts in, his voice horribly calm. “She’s your executive assistant, isn’t she? I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree after all.”
I’m going to strangle him with my bare hands.
His eyes flick past me to Brina.
Then he makes a tsking sound and shakes his head. “So hypocritical, but I do understand. She’s a delightful creature, and perhaps you’ll have a chance to make Jordan here an uncle very soon.”
The rage inside me goes volcanic, and I pity anyone nearby, because I know how this ends.
I’m going to jail. Right after I beat the ever-living shit out of this man right here on the hospital’s tiled floor.
“If you so much as look at her again, I’ll scoop your eyeballs out,” I roar, my voice ragged. “Call her delicious again, Baxter, and you’ll be having a second nose job. Good thing we’re in the right place.”
“How pathetic. Threatening me like the emotional little brute you are.” He waves a dismissive hand at me. “I didn’t come here to squabble over your whore of a secretary—”
Up until now, I always thought the expression seeing red was an exaggeration.
Not anymore.
I’m living it, seeing the world through such a neon blood-red crimson tint, I wonder if I’ve ruptured something in my head.
“Listen,” I bite off. “I’m using every bit of discipline I learned in the Corps to not break your face in front of a kid. Mention her again, and I’ll bounce your head off the ground until your skull splits. I watched you treat my mom like shit and then wipe your stinking feet on the women who worked for you. I’ll be damned if you talk to Sabrina that way.”
“Yes, yes, I heard what happened. That’s why I came here all the way from Saint Thomas to check on Marissa and my boy,” Baxter says, a cruel smile slowly dragging across his reprobate face.
Shit, shit, shit.
Why is he here? He never sets foot on the mainland since he fled to the Virgin Islands. I’ve kept tabs on him for years.
I look over at Jordan with another shot through my chest.
The wheels are turning in his head. He’s not an idiot.
“So you’re the infamous Baxter Heron? I thought you’d be taller,” Sabrina sneers. “Everyone at HeronComm hates you.”
She never minces words, but this isn’t her fight.
I put one arm around Brina and another around Jordan, trying to steer them both to the elevator.
Oh, I’ll be back.
I just don’t want them to see me assaulting Baxter Heron, plus the kid will have to stay with her and Armstrong if I get hauled off in handcuffs.
“Wait. Wait, wait, wait!” Jordan says, twisting, struggling away from my grasp. “Hold up...”
We all look at the kid as he draws a deep breath.
I reach for him again, but he swats at my hand.
“Dude. No. This is bullshit,” he growls, a hatred in his eyes that spears me alive.
“Jordan, ignore him. He’s a liar. Go with Brina. We’re going home,” I say, trying my damnedest to keep control.
“Is your mom okay, son?” Baxter calls behind him, his footsteps echoing as he approaches. “It’s so good to finally meet you. They’ve tried so hard to cut me out of your life.”
Jordan glares hellfire at me.
“You...you fucking lied to me. You told me he was dead.”
“He is dead,” I snap, shaking my head. “You don’t understand what he is, what he’s done. He’s dead to us, and he’s caused your mother nothing but agony.”
Jordan takes a step back, still glaring, trying to figure out the truth.
“And he was just leaving, weren’t you, old man?” I jerk my head at my father. “Either you go, or we do.”
Jordan’s eyes don’t soften.
He still hates the shit out of me, and why shouldn’t he?
I had weeks—months—to spill more about our family. I didn’t.
Not when I thought it was keeping him safe.
Baxter shakes his head. “You always did think you were the boss. Sometimes I wish I’d taken you down with me, you sad, hotheaded brat—”
“Your shareholders don’t. But you didn’t have a choice, did you? You were about to fuck everything up. Remember, Dad?” I spit the last word.
Baxter’s gaze shifts to Jordan.
“You can’t trust this one. He was born with a forked tongue.” He gestures toward me. “He stole my entire company. Why, I bet he even told you I was dead, didn’t he, son?”
Jordan nods, his lower lip trembling. I think he might cry.
Shit!
“Jordan, listen to me. You’re fourteen,” I growl. “You’re not his son. He gave up the right to call you that years ago. Why didn’t he find you before now? When your mom could’ve held her own and told you the truth?”
Jordan meets my eyes, and for a second, I think it might be okay.
His hell-gaze swings to Baxter now.
“W-why didn’t you?” His voice is small, shaking, confused.
My demon father shakes his head. “I always tried. It just didn’t work out between your mom and me. She wouldn’t let me see you. Hell, she wouldn’t even let your older brother into your life. But you’re my son, and I love you, and now that she’s in a bad way...I’m here.”
Damn his lies.
Damn the fact that he’s breathing.
I want to shout the whole truth. Your mom was sexually harassed by her sicko boss who tried to convince her she didn’t deserve her job or support for the child he created. Don’t go. Don’t walk away with Lucifer.
But there’s no good way to explain that to a very confused, very upset eighth grader—especially to an eighth grader who’s been aching for a dad his whole life.
Not without flaying him alive.
I meet Jordan’s eyes.
“Look at me. I’m his son, too, and I wish to hell I wasn’t. I’d rather be an orphan, Jordan.”
Baxter moves between me and my brother, his back to me. I want to shove him away, but I can’t deliver his well-deserved beating now. Jordan won’t understand, and I’ll definitely be the bad guy then.
“Don’t listen to him, son,” Baxter hisses. “Come back to my hotel and have dinner? We’ve got fourteen years to cover that I missed out on.”