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She glared. “I usually use a condom. You were the only one where I didn’t use protection.”
“If you went bareback with me, you might have fucked other guys bare too.”
“He’s yours! You can do a DNA test if you don’t believe me.”
I didn’t want to believe a fucking word out of her mouth. But I didn’t need a DNA test to know he was mine. Fucking mine. He had my eyes, and something about him just screamed Falcone. I couldn’t explain it.
“I’m not taking him back with me,” she said as if we were discussing a piece of furniture, not a kid. Didn’t women usually have motherly feelings for their brood? My mother would have chopped herself to pieces before she would have abandoned us, but of course I knew the stories about my crazy-ass grandmother who tried to kill my father and his brothers. Wasn’t it fitting that I had picked a crazy bitch for a fuck?
“I’m not taking him back,” she repeated as if I hadn’t heard her the first time.
“I don’t want him either!” I roared, fucking furious and also fucking overwhelmed for maybe the first time in my life. She’d popped him out of her vagina and taken—more or less—care of him since then. I was seeing him for the first time. If she didn’t have feelings for the kid, did she really expect me to have them? Fuck, feelings and I weren’t on a first-name basis.
He was a kid, all right, and had part of my DNA, but I didn’t feel like a father. I didn’t feel anything but utter confusion and rage.
She shrugged. “Then abandon him in the desert or drop him off in front of a hospital, or do what you do at night. Everyone knows what you are.”
Was she fucking serious? Was she really suggesting I kill that kid? Fuck, I was a psychotic fucker, no doubt about it, but even I had certain limits.
I grasped her throat so tightly that my fingers dug into her skin and slammed her against the side of the car. Her eyes bulged, face turning red. She wanted to speak but couldn’t. I wasn’t sure how much the kid had understood of her cruel words, but since he hadn’t sought her closeness since she’d dropped him on the towel, I supposed he wasn’t used to affection from her.
I would have killed her, most likely, if the kid hadn’t started bawling. Fat tears rolled down his chubby cheeks, and his face turned dark red. I released her, and she bolted, losing a flip-flop as she rounded the hood of her rental, then flung herself inside. The car jerked as she reversed it, then steered it to the side and raced away, scraping the side of my bumper with hers in the process. She left a trail of dust behind—and the boy.
I watched the car disappear on the horizon, whirling up dust. Fuck.
Slowly, I looked back down to the kid sitting on the dirty towel. He was covered in a fine sheen of dirt, which clung to him because he’d broken into a sweat after he’d been moved from the cold inside the car to the heat outside.
He had dark hair that curled above his temples and at the nape of his neck. Only Adamo had curls in our family. But maybe this was her heritage. She’d looked like she didn’t originally hail from France but rather North Africa or maybe the Middle East.
I didn’t even know how old the kid was. Fuck, I didn’t remember much from party nights. He looked really small, definitely under one.
My head felt like it was going to explode, and not just because the kid didn’t stop bawling. I wasn’t sure if he was crying because his mother had taken off without another glance at him, though I could hardly imagine that she deserved to be missed by him. Or because I scared him.
I glanced back at my own car, half tempted to take off as well. What was I supposed to do with a kid? I sighed and rubbed the back of my head. It seemed to be getting hotter by the minute, and sweat trickled down the nape of my neck. A small body probably had a harder time against the sun.
I stepped closer to the kid, and he cried harder. I got down on my haunches like you were supposed to do with scared animals, but the kid cried still harder. Not that I had expected anything else. Most people cried when I pretended to be sympathetic.
“Shhh,” I said. But the boy didn’t even react. Usually, I shushed in a very different context, mostly to mock my victims.
I picked up my phone and called the first person who came to my mind to save the day in a situation like this.
“Isn’t it enough that you follow me everywhere?” I hadn’t been sure if she’d even pick up, but trust Rory to have a too big heart even when she tried to hate me.
“Rory, I really need you to come to the abandoned car yard.”
Silence on the other end.
“I’m not meeting you in the middle of nowhere.”
I smiled. Maybe she finally understood that she should stay away from me. A little too late. “What’s that sound in the background?” she asked, her voice dripping with concern and suspicion.
My crying son. Fuck, I really couldn’t believe it.
“I need your help. This is serious. I can’t call anyone but you. I’m fucking desperate.”
“What—”
I hung up. Maybe if she thought I was lying in the desert bleeding to death, she’d come running. Though she had every reason not to care. Knowing Rory, she would help. She was too good.
